Drink in case of Emergency (3 page)

Four miles away, in a small basement apartment, Scott Mankowski pulled off sweat soaked black shorts and a white tee shirt and climbed into the shower. The water cooled his skin and washed the salty residue from his morning workout away. Two minutes later, he was drying himself off, and adjusting his hair in the mirror.

              Scott heard the chime of his cell phone receiving a text in his bedroom. Applying deodorant as he walked over to check it, he was reaching for his phone when he heard a shout through his bedroom wall.

              “Up for some day-drinking today?” Chris Randolf, Scott’s roommate and longtime friend, shouted from the other bedroom of their tiny apartment. Scott ignored the shout at first as he checked the text message. Drinking on a Thursday? This wasn’t college anymore. Scott could never understand how Chris could be satisfied on getting by with achieving so little in life. Such wasted potential.

After a brief glance at the text message, he understood the shouting. The message was from Justin, and read: Tyler lost his 2 year old job today. Funeral services start as soon as you arrive. In lieu of flowers, bring meat to grill and more alcohol than you feel comfortable imbibing. You will be drinking all of it.

Scott considered his options. He had a few errands to run today, but on the other hand, he didn’t have to be at work tomorrow until noon, which would offer him plenty of time to recover. One of the things he loved about his work as a grad assistant in the physics lab
was the flexible hours.

Scott had known Tyler and Justin for a couple of years now, having met at a party he went to with Chris back in their junior year of college. He genuinely liked Tyler, even if they weren’t especially close, and felt badly for him. This economy was tough, and everyone was feeling the pressure.

Making his mind up, Scott decided that he could use a good day of relaxing with friends. Scott texted back. ‘My condolences to you and yours, be there for the mourning around 2pm. I think Chris has to work, but I’ll check.’

Scott dressed quickly in a sharp looking red polo and khaki shorts. He walked into the kitchen to find Chris standing in front of the refrigerator, clad only in a pair of navy shorts and a single black sock, which happened to be on his left foot. As Chris stood there with the band of the athletic shorts cutting into his waist, Scott couldn’t help but think of the word ‘muffin-top.’

Chris was shuffling items around in the freezer. Without turning, he began shouting, far too loudly for the small kitchen. “Hey do we have any brats or anything that we could grill?” Scott cringed a little at the volume.

“Right behind you, buddy.” Scott spoke softly to get the point across that he was a mere three feet away now. “I think we’ve got some ground beef for burgers. I thought you had to work today, though.”

“Yeah...I’m calling in to let them know there was a death in the family and I have to take off for the weekend. Bereavement leave, you know? How about beer, do we have enough of that?”

“I can pick some up this morning.” Scott paused a moment before asking his next question, even though he was pretty sure he already knew the answer. “You’re really going to lie to them about a death in the family? Doesn’t that seem a little dishonest?”

Scott wasn’t actually surprised. Chris worked at a mid sized bakery a couple miles away. They made white and wheat bread locally for a well known brand. At one time Scott had been reassured to know that his bread was made locally, instead of shipped in from Mexico or something. Since he had moved in with Chris, he had a more intimate glimpse of the quality of people who worked there, and had since switched brands.

“Well it’s not really lying. It’s more like speaking in code.” Chris responded as he found the ground beef in the back of the freezer and pulled it out.

“Code?” Scott echoed, not really understanding Chris’s line of thought.

“Yeah...the code.”  Chris paused before continuing. “Scott, If I called and told you that I wasn’t going to be around this weekend because my great Aunt Gertrude died, how would you interpret that message?” Chris was opening the cabinet where they kept the liquor.

“I would assume you got tickets to some music festival and were going on a three day bender.” Scott said blandly as he moved to the countertop to start the coffee maker.

“Exactly. You would assume I was lying about my excuse, but not about the outcome. I was most definitely not going to be around this weekend. The point being, they don’t really care if I’m there or not, so long as I give them notice of my absence as well as what they deem a legitimate reason.” Chris spoke these words into the cupboard as he shuffled bottles of liquor around.

“And they know that you’re lying about this?” While not surprised, Scott did feel a little disgusted at the lack of professionalism.

“For the third time. It’s not a lie; it is a code. I know you’re a smart guy, Scott. But sometimes you really need to work on your people skills. They need to know I won’t be there so they can call in one of the part timers for a few extra hours, and they need something that looks legitimate on the books in case they get audited 5 years down the road by corporate.”

             
“Whatever.” Scott knew it wasn’t worth arguing with Chris. “Do you wanna come with me on my errands so we can go straight over to Justin’s then?”

             
Chris turned to face Scott for the first time, scratching the thick black stubble on his chin, his blue eyes lighting up. “Well I have to get my mourning clothes on...but then I’m ready to roll,” he said with a small wink.

*****

             
An electronic “Ding-Dong” rang through the liquor department of the Mega-Low-Mart as Justin and Tyler walked in through the automatic door. They each had the tiny swagger in their step of those who have had a drink or two, with Tyler having a little more swagger than Justin. An overweight man in his late 40’s waved at them from behind the checkout counter.

“Welcome to Mega-Low-Mart!” Tyler recognized the clerk’s enthusiasm as genuine. His nametag read “Tom!” Exclamation point and all. “You boys celebrating the meteor shower tonight?” Tom! asked as the two friends sauntered past.

“Meteor shower?” Justin was taken aback by the randomness of the question. “There’s a meteor shower tonight?”

“Of course! It’s all over the news. Supposed to be a doozy, a real once in a lifetime event. Something about a lot of space dust riding on some invisible comet. It’s going to be pretty spectacular.”

“That’s exactly what we’re celebrating, Tom.” Tyler’s words carried the same amount of enthusiasm as ‘Tom!’s. Justin could tell that Tyler was slipping into his first drunk stage, verbal diarrhea. The uncontrollable urge to say anything and everything that comes to mind.

Justin also noticed how Tom’s eyes were both wide with excitement and empty at the same time. “Anything I can help you guys with today?”

“Thanks but no thanks, Tom.” Tyler replied with a wink he never would have used without the four beers he had already drank. “We’re here for drunk juice and we know exactly where to find it.” Walking towards the back of the store, they began a search as old as civilization itself. The search for a substance or experience that will dramatically alter one’s perspective.

             
“So what should we get fucked up on today?” Justin asked wryly as they browsed past a wall of vodka stacked fifteen feet high. Under normal circumstances, he wasn’t much of a drinker. It had seemed like Tyler had been a little ‘off’ for the last few months though, and he was honestly a little worried about leaving him alone right now.

             
When in Rome...

             
Tyler replied cheerfully, “I dunno, I’ve already had my beer before whatever liquor we end up with, so it’s bound to be a rough night.” Tyler’s answer was a comment on the old wives tale “Beer before liquor, never been sicker. Liquor before beer, you’re in the clear.” He paused to admire a sculpture of sorts, built out of cases of beer to look like the Chicago Bears logo. “Hey...How many lives do you think could be ruined with the amount of alcohol in this room?” Tyler had always been full of these hypothetical questions that were usually completely unrelated to whatever was being discussed, and Justin usually played along.

Justin looked up and down the aisle they were in, and then along the length of the store. “Ballpark estimate? One thousand, five hundred and twenty three. Give or take a few hundred, depending on individual tolerances.” Justin, having been friends with Tyler for a long time, had learned that it was more fun to play along with these random questions than to argue with their logic. Tyler stopped his saunter and paused to look around, a look of thoughtful wonder on his face.

             
“You know...I think you may be right!” He exclaimed, a little more excited than Justin had expected. “I believe you...” Tyler gestured boldly at himself with both hands, “but still..it’s a math problem, so show your work.” This was still well within ordinary behavior for Tyler with four beers in his system.

             
“Remember Cody Parbell?” Tyler nodded in recognition of the name, an old friend from high school, neither were all that close with. “Two years ago, when he had his meltdown, he left his pregnant wife and drove to Mexico or wherever he ended up, never to be seen again.” Tyler continued to nod. The cautionary tale of Cody Parbell was local legend. “I was there when he melted down, and prior to his freakout, he put away a bottle and a half of tequila.” Justin was running his hand across a shelf full of spiced rum as he explained the rest. “I figure there’s around 200 bottles of liquor per aisle, and the store has 10 aisles for liquor.”

             
“You’re forgetting about the wife and child, as well as the wine and beer though.” Tyler gestured toward the rest of the store.

             
Justin tilted his head in jest, “I think we both know that beer and wine haven’t ruined any lives that weren’t going down the crapper anyway. Maybe sped things up, but never ruined on their own.” Tyler shrugged in half agreement, and Justin continued. “And this might be terrible to say, but that kid might be better off never knowing that his father might be working as a drug mule for Mexican gangs now.”

             
“Touche.”

             
Justin was actually mentally backtracking now, doing the math in his head, multiplying the number of bottles and aisles, multiplying by 1.5...or was it divide by 1.5? What about the bottles that were bigger than the standard size? While this math battle was waging in his head, the two continued their slow swagger until they reached the aisle for gin.

             
“Yep...I think tonight’s a good night for Angry Christmas.” Tyler reached for his favorite brand of gin, the label of which had the image of a Christmas tree on fire. It was also, naturally, the least expensive brand.

             
“You sure? Last time you had that stuff you almost moved back in with old whats-her-face.” Justin knew that her name was actually Tiffany, but it had become a taboo name around Tyler, hence the nickname that was now used in its place.

             
“Yeah...but that’s only because I mixed it with orange juice. Everyone knows that too much vitamin C messes up your thinking.” Tyler bluffed as he pulled two bottles from the shelf and set them in the shopping cart.

             
“Two bottles today? I’m not touching that stuff buddy. I told Beth I wouldn’t overdo it anymore. Last time I got drunk with you, we got in this huge fight and almost broke up. I’m sticking to beer tonight.” Justin was thumbing through a mixology book that was on sale.

             
“I know you can’t stand the high class taste of my gin.” Tyler was still gesturing too much with his hands. He hadn’t drank that much yet, had he? Justin got a little more worried. “These are both for me. I figure if one and a half bottles ruin a life, and my life’s already ruined, logic says that it will put me back on track. Two left turns make a right.” Tyler continued eyeing the bottles that were going to turn his life around, while Justin was doubting his logic. “What was the fight about anyway?” Tyler asked as he walked past Justin and rounded the corner into the first aisle of red wines.

             
“I don’t remember, something about her thinking I was cheating on her because I met you guys out at the bar instead of having you come over? I’m a little fuzzy on the memory, on account of some jackass buying me a half dozen shots that night.” Justin called over the aisle as he returned the mixology book back to the shelf.

             
“Jackass? That man was a saint. The patron saint of fuzzy navels.” Tyler called back, perhaps a little too loud. “I don’t think I’ll ever understand some of the women you pick, buddy.” I do remember that night. The only girl you talked to was the bartender, and even that consisted of you rebuffing her flirting and paying the bill. Beth is a little too hands on.” Tyler picked up a bottle of merlot, glancing at the label before replacing it. “Does she like red wine? I feel kinda bad that she’s going to come home to a house of drunken male mourning.”

             
“Shit...Yeah, grab a bottle of red for her. I should call her and let her know.” Justin pulled out his cellphone as Tyler picked the bottle back up and added it to the cart.