Unhappy Hour-a Story of Alcoholism and Survival
those moments when I was alone with my thoughts. Those times gave me my lift in life.
The background noises in the office seemed to intensify and as usual I was beginning to feel that the walls were closing in on me. There was half a beer left and I lit another smoke. I was more or less sure that I had talked to Mary about going out to get some clothes for the hospital for my grand entrance. I had worn out all my clothes. I had also developed severe fears about washing them, as well as myself, and the drinking problem had not made that any easier to treat.
I looked like death yet still, something deep inside wanted me to be well thought of. I stood up very slowly. “I’m off to the shops. I’ll see you later.” Much to my relief there was no answer and I took that as approval. Maybe it was the silent prayer from everybody in the room that this would be my last excursion. Or maybe a terrible weariness that prevented any meaningful reply. Whatever, I took this as my cue and headed for the garage and the car. Their Anxiety of my gradual downfall was all too clear now.
They had tried absolutely everything to encourage me not to drive but I had held out to the end on this issue. The car was my passport to a relative freedom. It enabled me to go out and buy my beers and then pick my spot to drink them. Drunk or not, I realised the potential terrible consequences of my drinking and driving. I knew only too well what risks I was taking. To this day I carried the scars and old wounds resulting from the battle between drinking and motor vehicles. As a young man I had been lucky and yet I still pushed my luck. To me it was a calculated risk. I had long ago reasoned that if it was a choice between risking my life and that of others, and not being able to get my ‘fix’, then there was no choice. Very selfish, uncaring logic, but for me, as I was now, a total necessity. I believed that I could drive reasonably well, even under the influence.
Priority number one was to get to a bottle store and buy some pots. Even after a few minutes without a drink I could feel the nerves calling out for some liquid. Bastards, they never left me alone. There was a time when I could go for hours without a drink but that was history. My Addiction of Alcoholism was now in full swing.
I had three bottle stores that I frequented and I was heading for one of these. We live in a quiet suburb of Margate and I had a five-minute drive before running into any traffic. I knew the area
like the back of my hand and as a result I could stay off the main roads as much as possible and avoid the local traffic cops.
I found the trick was to drive slowly. Luck had really been on my side, especially in the last couple of years. I had never been stopped in a roadblock, let alone tested.
One advantage of Manaba Beach shopping centre was the fact that there were no car guards to deal with. Nothing personal, but I didn’t need to be looking for change on my return. That would only add to the list of things to do and right now I was beginning to feel bad.
As I parked, one of my attacks started. The sweat poured off me while terrible cramps hit my stomach. I rested my head on the steering wheel and waited for it to pass. Sometimes they came and went in a couple of minutes. This time I realised that I was in trouble. I urgently needed a dop and felt unable to walk. The bottle store was only 50 metres away, but it might as well have been on the moon. I flung the door open and vomited all over the tarmac. Luckily I was facing away from the shop entrances and this event went unnoticed.
After retching for a minute I slumped in the car seat. Tears filled my eyes and the urge to cry out overwhelmed me. My hands were gripping the steering wheel and I turned my head slightly to take in a breath of fresh air. Looking out I watched normal life going on, people oblivious to my drama. Taking a deep breath I managed to get out of the car and take a good look at the scene in front of me. There were no cars parked between me and the bottle store so I had a clear path. I checked my pockets for money and found a R50 note which would get me 24 beers, more than enough to last until this evening. I walked very slowly and stared straight ahead but after a few steps I had to stop and drop to my knees, resting my hands on the ground. Then I lay down. Turning on my back I looked up at the clear sky. Not a bad view. My mind was spinning but I had not lost my urgency to get to the bottle store. One beer and I would be okay. I summoned what was left of my strength and got to my feet.
The manageress and a guy behind a till were the only people in the shop and I made my way to the walk-in beer fridge at the back. Over the months they had got to know me well and no doubt had their own thoughts about me. But I was probably one of their best customers so they always treated