The DD
Last Sunday night I found myself behind the wheel of a 1984 Monte Carlo. The car had roughly 45, 000 miles. The owner? A very intoxicated sentagenarian who was ready to (scarily) once again pilot his tank homeward. This night, I snatched the keys and made him ride shotgun. Whew.
There was a birthday party for a friend of my mother-in-law's. It was a splendid night of BBQ, cool climate, fun group. One of the guests was a professional siren who sang renditions of "At Last" and others (she's appearing with a band at a local venue in November). And libations. When Harry, our subject, comes over he's usually already armed with a jug of red wine. It's a standing joke. He's also usually pretty sauced by the time he gets there. Normally, this is OK, as most of the soirees are at my MIL's, right across the street from his house. This particular party was a few miles away.
As usual, Harry was roaring (and I mean roaring) with laughter and singing in French. Also, asking everyone if they were fans of Edith Piaf or Sydney Greenstreet. His knowledge of film/music is unparalleled. He has me on a mission to retrieve UN CARNET DE BAL, a 1937 French film that, thus far, I've only been able to find on Amazon Francais. 40 Euros (~60 American dollars) for a VHS!!!
So yes, Harry was pretty blitzed come 8:30 P.M. We stood around and watched him as he was still laughing and clutching a wine glass. We were concerned. It was decided that I would convince him to let me drive him home while my wife followed in my car. I anticipated some hostile resistence, but surprisingly it wasn't too difficult. Maybe a little pride bruising, but he went along. "I've driven MILES while drunk," he bragged over and over on the way to and in the car. His front seat passenger side was covered with magazines and assorted crap. On top, an empty whisky bottle. Oh, dear.
The car handled well. What a solid ride. Anyone hits this chassis, we're safe. Harry mentioned that when he goes to the grocery store many of the young 'uns approach him about buying it. They think it's very cool. He ain't sellin'.
I've been the designated driver before, on the same streets in this same town. Years of being the only sober one amongst happy drunks. It's damned depressing sometimes, but also leaves you feeling as if you've prevented some potentially awful thing from occurring. That alone made all the unpleasant confrontations and near-confrontations in the old days worth it.
This night, no such ugliness. Just a chatty guy denying he had imbibed too much and some sweet alignment. I pulled the Monte Carlo into Harry's garage, and then my wife and I (as many times previously) tried to politely say goodnight while he continued to not take a breath. As usual, we prayed for him. Maybe you could, too. We may not be there to stop him another time.....
There was a birthday party for a friend of my mother-in-law's. It was a splendid night of BBQ, cool climate, fun group. One of the guests was a professional siren who sang renditions of "At Last" and others (she's appearing with a band at a local venue in November). And libations. When Harry, our subject, comes over he's usually already armed with a jug of red wine. It's a standing joke. He's also usually pretty sauced by the time he gets there. Normally, this is OK, as most of the soirees are at my MIL's, right across the street from his house. This particular party was a few miles away.
As usual, Harry was roaring (and I mean roaring) with laughter and singing in French. Also, asking everyone if they were fans of Edith Piaf or Sydney Greenstreet. His knowledge of film/music is unparalleled. He has me on a mission to retrieve UN CARNET DE BAL, a 1937 French film that, thus far, I've only been able to find on Amazon Francais. 40 Euros (~60 American dollars) for a VHS!!!
So yes, Harry was pretty blitzed come 8:30 P.M. We stood around and watched him as he was still laughing and clutching a wine glass. We were concerned. It was decided that I would convince him to let me drive him home while my wife followed in my car. I anticipated some hostile resistence, but surprisingly it wasn't too difficult. Maybe a little pride bruising, but he went along. "I've driven MILES while drunk," he bragged over and over on the way to and in the car. His front seat passenger side was covered with magazines and assorted crap. On top, an empty whisky bottle. Oh, dear.
The car handled well. What a solid ride. Anyone hits this chassis, we're safe. Harry mentioned that when he goes to the grocery store many of the young 'uns approach him about buying it. They think it's very cool. He ain't sellin'.
I've been the designated driver before, on the same streets in this same town. Years of being the only sober one amongst happy drunks. It's damned depressing sometimes, but also leaves you feeling as if you've prevented some potentially awful thing from occurring. That alone made all the unpleasant confrontations and near-confrontations in the old days worth it.
This night, no such ugliness. Just a chatty guy denying he had imbibed too much and some sweet alignment. I pulled the Monte Carlo into Harry's garage, and then my wife and I (as many times previously) tried to politely say goodnight while he continued to not take a breath. As usual, we prayed for him. Maybe you could, too. We may not be there to stop him another time.....
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