People I have spent more than a few minutes with might say that I have a drinking problem, but that’s only because the beverages I enjoy most are beer and whiskey. If I really liked orange juice for instance, than people might say “hey that guy sure isn’t going to come down with a case of scurvy anytime soon”.
The thing is, I have an irrational need to have some sort of liquid available to me at all times. It is impossible for me to attend a concert or go to a party or a bar without holding on to a pint glass of something or other. Even at home, if I’m out of beer, I will pour myself giant cups of ice water and walk up and down the hall with them or sit in front of the TV and place the glass in front of me. I may only take a couple sips, but it is important for me to know that it’s there.
As a result, I pee a lot. Sometimes once or twice an hour, I even wake up in the middle of the night to drain a few drops. People have said that I should get it checked out, that it could be diabetes or prostate cancer or something. But I know exactly what it is.
I drink stuff. Lots of stuff. All the time.
I can’t walk down a city street without a cup of coffee or a brown bag o’ suds. I can’t settle into bed at night to read without a glass of water, which the cat usually drinks half of, I couldn’t even write what you are reading right now without a cup of tea..
When I lived by the Panhandle in San Francisco, Jeff, my roommate at the time, and me realized that we were drinking too much booze and decided to take a break and detox. We agreed that for a month or so we would drink tea instead.
The first week went by fine, we felt healthier and the ritual of preparing tea was quaint and charming. By the second week however, ten minutes wouldn’t go by without a high-pitched ‘Wwwwwzzzzzzeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!’ sound coming from the kitchen.
At the sound of the kettle bubbling to whistling temperature, Jeff and I would leap from the couch and race to the stove carrying our over sized mugs under our arms like children from a burning building.
Over the next couple of weeks we drank so much tea that our bodies sloshed loudly as we walked though the house. If one of us happened to want to have a conversation while in motion it sounded as though we were trapped inside a washing machine.
“So anyway SLOSH the other day I was GURFLUSH talking to that BRUBLEBUB girl at the coffee shop FLUMPH about the new Earl Grey they just got in”.
We consumed any and all varietals we could get our hands on with equal, ravenous gusto. In the morning it might be a Darjeeling, followed by an English Breakfast with a cup of Chai for dessert. Once caffeinated we could spiral anywhere on the map from Green, to Chamomile, to Orange Spice, to Sleepy Time. It might have been three in the morning, but if I heard the sound of the kettle bubbling, a Pavlovian response would be triggered and I would roll out of bed and shamble towards the kitchen, cup in hand.
Jeff and I finally realized that we had a problem when we found ourselves one day scouring the couch cushions for change in order to purchase the Seasonal Sampler of Celestial Seasonings that was on sale at the Safeway. Digging for change was somehow more normal or respectable when you were using the money to buy booze or drugs. Even if one didn’t agree with the substances being purchased, at least it seemed natural. Ransacking your hide-a-bed for another hit of water and dried leaves however, that bordered on loony.
One day near the end of the month we finally hit rock bottom. We had been hitting the tea in every way we new how, but nothing seemed to satisfy the thirst. Reusing tea bags from the night before, double brewed, iced, frozen into ice cubes and eaten as Tea-Sickles, anything and everything, so long as it was Tea. We needed help.
Then, one morning it simply dawned to us that our ever diligent and faithful companion had been there, waiting for us the whole time. I was just about to ask Jeff if he wanted one lump or two and as he lay on the ground holding his full, water balloon of a stomach when some other words came out instead.
“Hey…you want to go get a beer?”
Jeff looked at me as though I had just said, “Well well well, will you look at that? The Arc or the Covenant has been here in the pantry behind the Cherrios this whole time.”
Without another word we bolted to the corner store and grabbed the first six-pack we could find, then we slinked back to our apartment looking over our shoulders as though the Tea Patrol was watching us to make sure we were properly steeped. Once inside we knew we were safe. We came back into the kitchen, drew the blinds and popped the caps off those frosty, 12 once bottles of salvation. The beer tasted nothing like tea…and it was grand.
I still live with my beverage dependency to this day. It’s a daily struggle, but in times of panic I just remind myself that I will always have beer by my side. And everything is gonna be alright.
The thing is, I have an irrational need to have some sort of liquid available to me at all times. It is impossible for me to attend a concert or go to a party or a bar without holding on to a pint glass of something or other. Even at home, if I’m out of beer, I will pour myself giant cups of ice water and walk up and down the hall with them or sit in front of the TV and place the glass in front of me. I may only take a couple sips, but it is important for me to know that it’s there.
As a result, I pee a lot. Sometimes once or twice an hour, I even wake up in the middle of the night to drain a few drops. People have said that I should get it checked out, that it could be diabetes or prostate cancer or something. But I know exactly what it is.
I drink stuff. Lots of stuff. All the time.
I can’t walk down a city street without a cup of coffee or a brown bag o’ suds. I can’t settle into bed at night to read without a glass of water, which the cat usually drinks half of, I couldn’t even write what you are reading right now without a cup of tea..
When I lived by the Panhandle in San Francisco, Jeff, my roommate at the time, and me realized that we were drinking too much booze and decided to take a break and detox. We agreed that for a month or so we would drink tea instead.
The first week went by fine, we felt healthier and the ritual of preparing tea was quaint and charming. By the second week however, ten minutes wouldn’t go by without a high-pitched ‘Wwwwwzzzzzzeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!’ sound coming from the kitchen.
At the sound of the kettle bubbling to whistling temperature, Jeff and I would leap from the couch and race to the stove carrying our over sized mugs under our arms like children from a burning building.
Over the next couple of weeks we drank so much tea that our bodies sloshed loudly as we walked though the house. If one of us happened to want to have a conversation while in motion it sounded as though we were trapped inside a washing machine.
“So anyway SLOSH the other day I was GURFLUSH talking to that BRUBLEBUB girl at the coffee shop FLUMPH about the new Earl Grey they just got in”.
We consumed any and all varietals we could get our hands on with equal, ravenous gusto. In the morning it might be a Darjeeling, followed by an English Breakfast with a cup of Chai for dessert. Once caffeinated we could spiral anywhere on the map from Green, to Chamomile, to Orange Spice, to Sleepy Time. It might have been three in the morning, but if I heard the sound of the kettle bubbling, a Pavlovian response would be triggered and I would roll out of bed and shamble towards the kitchen, cup in hand.
Jeff and I finally realized that we had a problem when we found ourselves one day scouring the couch cushions for change in order to purchase the Seasonal Sampler of Celestial Seasonings that was on sale at the Safeway. Digging for change was somehow more normal or respectable when you were using the money to buy booze or drugs. Even if one didn’t agree with the substances being purchased, at least it seemed natural. Ransacking your hide-a-bed for another hit of water and dried leaves however, that bordered on loony.
One day near the end of the month we finally hit rock bottom. We had been hitting the tea in every way we new how, but nothing seemed to satisfy the thirst. Reusing tea bags from the night before, double brewed, iced, frozen into ice cubes and eaten as Tea-Sickles, anything and everything, so long as it was Tea. We needed help.
Then, one morning it simply dawned to us that our ever diligent and faithful companion had been there, waiting for us the whole time. I was just about to ask Jeff if he wanted one lump or two and as he lay on the ground holding his full, water balloon of a stomach when some other words came out instead.
“Hey…you want to go get a beer?”
Jeff looked at me as though I had just said, “Well well well, will you look at that? The Arc or the Covenant has been here in the pantry behind the Cherrios this whole time.”
Without another word we bolted to the corner store and grabbed the first six-pack we could find, then we slinked back to our apartment looking over our shoulders as though the Tea Patrol was watching us to make sure we were properly steeped. Once inside we knew we were safe. We came back into the kitchen, drew the blinds and popped the caps off those frosty, 12 once bottles of salvation. The beer tasted nothing like tea…and it was grand.
I still live with my beverage dependency to this day. It’s a daily struggle, but in times of panic I just remind myself that I will always have beer by my side. And everything is gonna be alright.
This is pure comedic genius.
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