TheBanyanTree: Cheers

[Margaret R. Kramer]

I’m still frantically looking for a job while my coworkers down a few vodkas
and lemonade at lunch and come back to work half looped.

No one will know they’ve been drinking if they have vodka.  That’s what they
think.  They don’t know that the liquor smell oozes out of their pores and
anyone getting of whiff of them as they walk by will think they’re at Cheers
where everyone knows their name.  No, we’re at work and we know each other’s
names, but the vast majority of my coworkers appreciate sobriety while they’
re doing their jobs.

They slip back into their cubes and are very quiet.  There’s no laughter or
joking or rehashing lunch.  They focus their woozy eyes on their computer
screens and are silent.

The two and three hour liquid lunches only occur when my boss’ boss is out
of the office.  Then my alcoholic boss with gout in his feet so bad that he
walks with a pronounced limp and gave up his annual golf trip because he
just can’t handle the golf course anymore even using a cart and his friends
actually want to play golf rather than sit in the clubhouse and drink,
gathers up the follow drunks in my unit (there are four of them) and off
they go.

I guess they figure no one will know or notice, but more and more people do
notice and comment on it, and I suppose something will come to a head
eventually and it will have to stop.  My fear, because these people have
never heard of a “designated driver,” is that some innocent family of five
will be killed on the drunks’ way back to work, and that sad event will end
their lunch time excursions after my company gets sued.

The main motivator in these lunchtime happy hours is my alcoholic boss.  He
has what some of us call “the short man syndrome,” this need to make up for
his lack of height by puffing himself up like a frightened prairie chicken
and acting more important than he really is.  He looks like a blonde beach
ball – all circular – round Charlie Brown head, big round belly, short round
legs.  The rules he lives by are not what he expects for other people.  He
is not accountable for any of his actions, like the gazillion days he takes
off when he’s hung over and can’t function enough to get to work.  If we ask
to have a day off, he rolls his eyes and sighs and acts like the company is
going to fold up and die.

Then we have Bonnie.  She’s the hardest one to know, because she reveals
very little about herself.  She’s married to an older man and has an adult
daughter living in Colorado.  I think she has a good relationship with her
daughter, but I’m not sure, because unlike the rest of us who blather on and
on about our families, she’s very tight lipped.  But, of course, this is my
impression, because I’m not that close to her, and I’m sure she’s much more
open with her friends.

Bonnie is the only one who doesn’t make funny little jokes about drinking.
She doesn’t snicker every time someone mentions a type of drink.  I think
she tries to fly below the radar, because I know she drinks a lot.  I’ve
seen her down several drinks in a very short period of time at the few
lunches I’ve been forced to go to with them.

Bonnie reminds me of the girls in high school who are just on the fringe of
popularity.  She’s not popular for herself, because she doesn’t have the
social skills that make people want to be around her, but she clings to the
belle of the ball, in this case Margaret, and seems to hope some Margaret’s
magic rubs off on her.

Yes, Margaret, the belle of the ball.  The one with the worst drinking
problem of all.  The one who needs to be in treatment before she kills
herself.  Margaret is an attractive, 50 something woman whose big income
lawyer husband of 26 years dumped her not to be with another woman, but
because he didn’t have any feelings for Margaret anymore.  Yes, that’s
devastating.  And I’m sure I would be in shock, too, if something like that
happened to me, but gosh, it happened over five years ago, and yet Margaret
acts like he just walked out yesterday.  Hey, it’s a good excuse to have
another drink!

Margaret has a very active social life with other drunks, as I’m looking
frantically for jobs, she’s frantically working the dial on her phone,
looking for pals who want to share a few hours with her and a few drinks in
a bar.  The dawn of 2004 found Margaret retching into a wastebasket her high
school daughter was holding for her.  Not a pretty picture, is it?

Margaret and Bonnie are best friends, and that undercurrent of undying
friendship is also apparent in our unit.  They’re like high school girly
girls who are tied at the waist.  One evening the three of us left at the
same time.  As soon as we got out the door, Margaret and Bonnie lit
cigarettes for each other, and scampered off to sit in Bonne’s car and yuck
it up before going home.  It struck me as so strange these 50 something
women are glued together like 16 year olds.  The topper was one morning
Bonnie came in and kissed Margaret.  At work!  There’s a time and place . .
. but not at work.

And finally, there’s Pat.  Good old Pat.  Her mouth knows no censor.  She
spits out whatever she’s thinking and doesn’t care where her thoughtless
comments land and who they hurt.  Actually, I like Pat the most out of the
group, because she is so honest, but she isn’t honest with herself.  She’ll
swear up and down she’s a non-smoker, because she doesn’t smoke at work.
But she’s puffing those cancer sticks one after another at any other time.

Pat will try to watch what she drinks when she knows she’s driving, but it’s
a struggle.  Oh, it’s awful watching her struggle not to order another drink
while the rest of them slam them down.  But she’s a drunk, too, because she
can’t pass up an opportunity to drink.  It’s like watching a smoker who hasn
’t been able to smoke for a long time, because they’ve been in a meeting or
on a long flight, start breathing hard and looking for relief from the
nicotine sensors flashing on and off.

Pat’s told me she has black outs, which I think scares her.  I think it also
scares her that she needs to drink at home.  She’s aware and worried, but
can’t stop.  She’s at a point where she can’t imagine a good time unless it
involves drinking.

My other unit comrade is Joy who isn’t talking to me, but that’s another
story.

I’m the only one in my work unit soberly fighting for truth and justice, but
I can’t keep doing this or I’m going to go insane.  So I keep looking and
looking and no matter how long it takes, some job, some job with relatively
normal people to work with, will find me.

Cheers.

Margaret R. Kramer
margaretkramer at earthlink.net

http://www.polarispublications.com
Be a star!

http://www.bpwmn.org
Business and Professional Women of Minnesota

Springtime is the land awakening.  The March winds are the morning yawn.
~Quoted by Lewis Grizzard in Kathy Sue Loudermilk, I Love You