Click here for Part 1.
Day one of rehab was stupid really. Everyone is pretty much preparing themselves to be miserable. Nobody is looking forward to the shakes and all that fun stuff. I don’t care. Shit happens. I wander around getting the lay of the land of this place until I head to my room. There’s a big Black guy sitting on one of the beds. Hmm. Didn’t know we were gonna have roommates. He’s staring at the wall where a TV should be and has a pile of Kleenex sitting on what is my bed.
“Hello, Sad Sack” I say to him. He stops crying and looks at me for a few moments before he starts crying again. Oh, this is gonna be so fun. You have no idea how excited I am about this.
“Who the fuck are you?” he asks me between sobs.
“My name is Alan Thompson and I am an alcoholic” I tell him with a bow. We don’t bow enough anymore. He doesn’t bother to introduce himself so he will continue to be known as Sad Sack for the rest of this tale. “You mind getting your shit off my bed so I can lay down?" Sad Sack grabs all the tissues and throws them on the floor. I hate a mess so I pick them up and place them on his pillow.
Black people scare me. No, I’m not racist. I love Black porn and Black music. But I’m just not used to being around them. Sad Sack jumps off the bed and grabs me by the collar and slams me against the wall. I’d say something real clever but all the air in my lungs is currently moving the curtains across the room.
“Don’t fuck with me!” he shouts. His breath smells like cinnamon. “I got too much shit on my plate to have your ignorant ass making things worse!”
“Uh…you’re not supposed to touch me” I tell him. “If I scream for security they’ll snatch you out of here so fast you wont even--you have beautiful eyes” I tell him. Gay stuff always catches people off guard. He lets me go and sits back down on the bed. “Why are you here? You don’t look like a drunk or druggie.”
“Anger issues” he says. Figures.
I forgot to mention that. This rehab is for all kinds of stuff. Not just substance abuse. We have sex addicts, drug addicts, anger addicts, sad addicts, cigarette addicts, and yet to be determined addicts. I look at the doorway and some chick is standing there smiling at the two of us.
She has one of the best bodies I have ever seen in my life. She is standing forward but I can still see her ass. Her boobs are enormous. The perfect woman. But gott im himmel her face looks bad. Its like she plays baseball with it.
“Hello, Boobs” I say to her. She waves and walks away.
“Goddamn” Sad Sack says. “You know her?”
“No” I say. “But I’d like to get to know parts of her.”
“She look like she fell out a ugly tree and hit every fucking branch on the way down” he says. “Sorry about roughing you up. That wasn’t right and I’m sorry.”
“Its okay” I tell him. “When you fall asleep I’m gonna floss your teeth with my cock.” Sad Sack’s eyes widen and I start laughing. “I’m joking. That would be gay and I’m not. Yet. Who knows? After a month we might take a shining to each other. Next thing you know we bring our beds together and spoon.”
“I ain’t fucking you, man” he says.
“Its not fucking. Its making love.” I walk into the hallway and see Mr. W. Scott making his way past each room with his goddamn clipboard and checking things off. He stops at my room and peaks inside. He spots the tissues all over the pillow and eyes Sad Sack.
“Pick it up” he says. Sad Sack smacks his lips and doesn’t move. You can practically hear the theme from Ironside playing while they’re staring at each other. Oh, this is gonna be awesome! “I hate repeating myself” Mr. W. Scott says. Sad Sack stands and walks towards him. “Giant African Americans do not frighten me.”
“What you call me?” Sad Sack asks.
“Do you find that offensive?” Mr. W. Scott asks not really wanting an answer.
“I’m offended” I say. They both ignore me.
“Let me say it in a language you may better understand” Mr. W. Scott says and commences to make my day. “Yo, dawg. This spot be chargin’ extra cheddar if you be makin’ messes an’ shit. You best be cleanin’ up yo shit fo’ ya get stomped, feel what I’m sayin’?”
It was like hearing a Shakespearean actor recite NWA. Told you I listen to Black music. Sad Sack stares at Mr. W. Scott and I’m waiting for him to clock him. But then I remember Mr. W. Scott has the license to carry a concealed weapon. Its time to break the tension.
“Who is the ugly chick with the hot body?” I ask.
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