Why In Twenty Four Hours?

I'm back at the Eye of God.

It's cold and I'm freezing and I'm tired. Very tired.
I'm surprised that I can write this blog post.

Well the worst has happened. After the SHOUT OUT which was pretty good actually with Steve Bloom giving a thoughtful performance. The only drawback to the entire day was that the bar outside filled up quickly. Which means that the volume to the music out there gets raised, and the SHOUT OUT gets drowned out. But I encouraged everyone to be loud, and they were. Another first at the SHOUT OUT was that there were a few birthdays in the crowd, and Steve brought some delicious cake for everyone.

So far so good. Things are going as planned. Afterwards, my brother and I scoot to the nearest liquor store and glom some portables. Next is a march across town, working on our bottles to 'Nessa's party. First, the neighborhood was very impressive. Secondly, the apartment on the sixth floor was even more so. Spacious and long with sculptures and beds and a walk through kitchen and dining room. The living room was the large space in the front of the apartment which I didn't even bother going into. We met the wonderful hostess Brenda, who told us that she had just finished a screenplay and was having it made into a movie by HARPO productions. Impressive. But so then was the line up of people that we were running into. Doctors, lawyers, psychologists, artists, producers, directors and just plain rich people. OBSIDIAN took to this like a shark to water, taking down names and leaving none standing.

I did my thing, found the liquor and blended into the wallpaper.

I wasn't all that bad. I did join in the conver- sation at the dining room table. Well...more accurately I listened to the conversation. I look at my watch, it is time to go, but I dawdle. I talk my way to the door, the liquor loosening up my jaws. My brother needs another minute to gather his things and more phone numbers and business cards. I bid everyone farewell and headed back down and across town. Time was not on my side, and it would prove to be not the only thing.

I reached the Box at Ten after Ten. Already they went through the bed check. I was officially late. I walked through, heading right into the Dorm and Vanessa called me out. "You have to get tested before you go in, you know that, Hobobob."

Shit, the dreaded breathalyzer. There was no way that I was going to pass that one. I have to tell you the stunned faces when I blew and the damned numbers kept climbing. They sat the thing down after it rose past .08 and kept going! They called for another BAC counter from downstairs, this one had to be broken. It was at .14 and still climbing.

The second BAC was employed and you can imagine the shock when this one did just the same. Vanessa looks at me, shaking her head sadly, almost in a state of shock. "Hobobob, you have been a bad boy." Well, what does this mean? "This means you're going to detox."

FUCK! FUCK ME! FUCK ME SILLY!

There are no beds on the first floor downstairs, so they call the local hospitals. Bellevue has a bed. I'm given a slip of paper and pointed to the door. Kevin, another client, is sent out before me. He too was in the hotseat and had failed a piss test for marijuana. He was being sent to detox also. He will beat me to Bellevue.

The reason why? Well walking on my way to the hospital I stop at Astor Place Starbucks and get online. I send out emails to a few to let them know that I'll be offline for a few days. I intend on taking my baby with me to detox. One of the benefits of going out to detox and not downstairs. I stay in Starbucks for an hour or two before heading off. On my way to the hospital I stop off at a bodega and get a can of beer for the long, long walk. That's right, I did, because I'm pissed. If I'm going down for a fucking jag, then I'm going to make that shit worth my while.

I get to the hospital, go through triage, then to the emergency room where I'm given a chair and asked to wait. To the sodden, tired mind, that's tantamount to shooting me up with an animal tranquilizer. A doctor wakes me up three hours later to tell me that I'm fine, I don't need LIBRIUM and that detox opens at seven in the morning. It was three AM now. I am hungry and the nap didn't do shit for me. I find an all night cafeteria in the hospital and order some surprisingly delicious hot wings and french fries. But as usual there is no place to eat them IN the cafeteria because of course it's closed. Nice.

I walk back to the emergency waiting room to find Kevin coming out. "You can't wait in there," Kevin tells me. What do you mean, I ask. "There's a security guard in there that will not let you wait in the waiting room." Now, ave you heard of anything more absurd? I ask you. Not being able to wait in the WAITING ROOM!!

I go in anyway and sit down and eat my dinner. When I'm about finished the idiot security guard arrives. He stops and zeros in on me, even though I am not the only person in the room. "You can't wait in here, you have to go." What are you talking about, I reply. My sister is in the emergency room! The security guard smirks. "I just saw your friend talking to you out in the hall about not being able to wait in here," he's angry now. "What do you take me for? Stupid?" Well...since you put it that way. Uhhh, do you mind if I finish my dinner. "Yeah and then you've gotta go." Where? Is there another waiting room? "No, but there is a men's shelter right down the street." Fuck that. I'd rather have more adventures in detox-ing.

I leave and head out, wondering which way Kevin went, but then again not even giving a shit. I headed to Gristedes to get some more din din, but found them and their wonderful deli for sleeping closed. Fuck. I find a concrete park and some benches nearby. I hit a bench, slump over and black the fuck out.

I wake up an hour and a half later, achy as a stepped on shit. The sun is just starting to color the heavens pink and a very dull orange. Long shadows stretch down the blocks, few cars pepper the streets. I stagger back to Bellevue, and head down the long porcelain-like corridor from the front revolving doors and the huge vestibule to the Emergency Room at the other end. Coming up from the doors of the Emergency Room is Kevin, strolling up to me. More news. "Detox doesn't open until Seven O'clock....Monday."

What the Fuck? Why couldn't they tell us that SATURDAY night?!! Yes, indeed this was Seven O'clock Sunday. We'd have to spend another day and a night outside. I vote that we just head back to the box and fill them in on our night. Kevin agrees for the first seven blocks of walking. Then he stops. He's going uptown and getting some money. I wonder about this new plan. The Box is just going to send us packing again. I nod, we head back uptown. He peels from me at 34th street. I continue on up until 36th street, head across town to Madison Avenue Starbucks and set up my laptop. Electra comes in and sits across from me. We talk and I tell her about my harrowing experience. I then call the BOX and explain to them the issues of the night. Short Jose is on the other line. He says to come in and get retested and if I pass I can come in. They'll leave the detox up to Kelly, 'The Ten Year Old', in the morning.

Fine by me. I return to the Box, go to see Jose who promptly tests me and instantly the BAC device begins running again. It scrolls past .08, past .14, past .18. Jose's eyes pop. "When was the last time that you had a drink?" Last night. "And you're still blowing this?" I'm telling you, I haven't touched another drink since last night. "Well, Hobobob, I can't let you back into the dorm like this. You'll just have to go somewhere until you can pass a BAC.

So, of course, you know where I go. Straight to Starbucks at Astor Place. And here's where I sit, tired, sleepy, achy, hungry, cold and trying to blog.

My future is iffy. I still have detox to look forward to once I return to the Box.

Not a pretty picture for me.

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