How To Talk to a Drunkard

Well, I hope you all had a wonderful Thanksgiving (who got the wishbone?) and more importantly i hope you all survived the day after (and when I say 'you all' I mean everyone in the music business/industry.) Just how did we all do? We all have plenty to be thankful for so let's take a moment and give thanks…

OK. The newsletter wishes to congratulate the winner of two weeks ago's caption contest, Dave Brean. Dave's entry read: "Sorry your husband’s correct. This one's not a keeper. Look’s like
We’ll have to put it back," Dave got his entry in on time but someone at the newsletter office/warehouse misplaced i t . You might have noticed we previously announced another winner. What’s going on? How can we have two winners? Because as far as one person is concerned (and admittedly that ain't very far) everyone who participates in these pages is a winner!

Last week, my epitaph was delivered to me by a fellow employee in our organization. Upon our introduction, he said, "'So you’re the man who knows everything and reveals even less." At the time, my brain couldn’t decipher whether I should be flattered or insulted. Upon consultation with my guru {my Dr, Eugene Landy if you will), she assured me I shouldn't have spit on the deliverer's shoes.

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Maybe what disturbed you most about the encounter was the reflection; when you looked at him you saw a possible version of yourself. Your paths crossed in that brief moment, an inevitable meeting. Yet in an indefinable way, the crossing changed both of your lives from that moment on.

The last you saw of him, he was being taken away. His chapeau covered head was all you could see in the police car. Slowly it disappeared from your sight. Out of sight out of mind.

How did it start? Where did he come from? You were working comfortably in the warehouse, pricing a stack of ripe records when you saw him stumble through the front door. You sensed something was wrong by the sway in his walk, He stumbled back to you and said those unforgettable words, "Igottapeee." You politely but scornfully show him to the bathroom, wondering if you would have to clean up after him. You hope not.

Moments later he asks you if he could use a phone. You pull yours out (meaning the phone) from behind the counter. Placing it on the counter, you figure he would call someone and leave the store. You return back to your station and resume marking a big “X”on the labels of the records. He doesn't seem to be talking to anyone and you notice he seemed to punch a lot of keys. You worry that he is making a long distance call to New Zealand.

Your fears are partially dissuaded however when you hear the annoying mechanical tone of someone who hasn't hung up the phone. He still has the receiver thing in his hand so you glare at him in the best Ted Koppel face you can muster. He stumbles back to you and says either, "Igottacallmywife," or "Howdoyacallmywife." You look at him and shrug. He looks around the store. "WhereamI?" " Landfill 6r you notify him knowing you might as well have said "Lexington Kentucky." "Yougotanytempatationsrecords?" he asks. You point him to your fabulous R&B section.

He stumbles over to where the only other customer in the store is. This customer has seemingly been oblivious to your new friend. Your friend begins to touch the pile of records the other customer has pulled to purchase. He slaps the man's hand. You quickly step out fearing someone is about to be decked and it might as well be you as anyone else in the room. "Get him out of here," the now disturbed customer says. So you tell your friend to leave. He stumbles out of the store only to reappear a short time later.

You repeat your last orders, "I don't want you in here," you say to him. He puts out his hand as if he wants you to shake it in a show of good will, You don't touch people. You again politely ask him to leave but he stands in the doorway wobbling. You're afraid he is about to lose his innards. You've lost yours a long time ago, It wasn’t pleasant. You offer to dial a cab company for him but insist he speak to the dispatcher because you don't know if he has the fare or not and you don" want to be responsible. You look up the number and dial handing the phone over to the man. He takes it and begins punching in more numbers. From your experience on the phone you know this isn't the way it works. You try again and he repeats his actions.

You stare at him (this time with your best Brenda Walsh glare) until he turns and heads to the parking lot. You watch him from your window. He stumbles between parked cars. He appears to be returning to the store. You decide further action is needed. You call the police (non-emergency number), They send a car. You continue to watch through the window like some TV show you are remotely controless to change, The police arrive, see the man and gently escort him into the back of their car. They seem to sit there for an eternity, Then they leave. The man is gone from your life. Neatly disposed of.

"You did him a favor," the other customer says as he checks out with $ 5.00 in scratched green tags.