Nobody Reads This Page – “Beer Break”

 

c. 2023 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(12-23)

 

 

I have sometimes written in this column about my friend Janis, who lives near the shoreline of Lake Erie, not far from a popular summer destination known by local residents as ‘The Strip.’

 

We first met 14 years ago, while both employed at the same business in Geneva. Our kinship sprang from a shared love of Chinese cuisine, which made us partners for trips to a buffet in the city. From there, our friendship blossomed as she was socially selective, and I had endured divorce and bankruptcy while pursuing my management career.

 

As years passed, her health declined with a series of strokes. I became less mobile due to physical limitations, and finally retired early. She landed in a nursing home, near the Cleveland Clinic. I became her one dependable contact with the outside world. Answering the phone which might ring a dozen times throughout day. Often, her need to be connected was stronger than any desire to engage in actual conversation. So, when listening to awkward periods of silence or extraneous sounds of medical equipment in the background, I offered personal memories to keep her entertained.

 

As a morning exercise, I remembered the stress of having workplace duties that occupied my waking hours. Upon arriving at home, long after sunset, I would crave the cool refreshment of an alcoholic brew. Partaking of this ritual libation would cleanse my thoughts, and deliver a kind of comfort that kept me able to continue the journey.

 

One particular night at the store where I was in charge had been extremely challenging. Impulsively, I bought a 12-pack of suds and a bag of Doritos while shopping, to make sure my lonely household did not run out of supplies. I sometimes used the detour to our parking lot as cover for a bank run with deposits. At home, I stopped at the community mail barn before reaching my own driveway. But once I had parked under our mercury-vapor streetlight, with most of the neighborhood in bed, a rowdy thought took hold.

 

A chilled beer was tantalizingly close at hand.

 

I nearly inhaled the first drink, while walking to my mailbox. Shadows under the roof kept me shielded from public view, though there was no traffic. I had stashed a second round in my hoodie pocket and opened it while working my key in the postal lock. A third container disappeared after I pulled into my narrow parking space, just up the next street. A fourth made my fingers go numb and cold, as I reached for the front door. My manufactured dwelling seemed oddly peaceful as a welcome feeling of bliss descended.

 

I gave thanks to the Great Spirit of native ancestors in our brood. It was good to be numb.

 

Janis laughed softly after hearing my recollection. The sound was one that rarely echoed over the telephone line. It made me glad that this oddball story had somehow given her a momentary diversion from the woes of being confined to a hospital bed.

 

My confession continued, as I recited similar memories from working days that were now long in the past. Once when living in Painesville, I had asked my wife to station herself at the end of our property with a beverage at the ready. My plan was that she could hand it off as I arrived home and rolled down the truck window, before making my exit. This request caused her to react with narrowed eyes and a wrinkled nose.

 

“ARE YOU KIDDING? I WANT A HUG AND A KISS, YOU BIG LUG! AFTER BEING GONE ALL DAY, YOU SHOULD FEEL GRATEFUL TO SEE ME AGAIN!”

 

What I wanted of course was to drown out the noise of working a dozen hours in a human zoo filled with noisy, needy patrons. But making that point seemed ill advised. Therefore, I stayed quiet until she had finished summoning twin ghosts of guilt and remorse. Her small body would block my access to our fridge like a skilled, NFL lineman. She used an effective strategy to keep me cowering in a corner of our kitchen, with a scolding stare of authority making me paralyzed. I would salivate while pondering that packaged hops and grains were behind the insulated door of our Kenmore appliance, adorned with the school pictures and festive magnets.

 

My hippie friend from Saybrook Township seemed livelier than before, after hearing the tale of spouse-enforced depravation. She giggled and gasped while fluffing her pillow.

 

“Is that all you’ve ever done in life? Work and drink, work and drink?”

 

I bowed my head feeling somewhat ashamed. The mood had turned to a kind of nakedness most often experienced in a church pew, or during a private encounter with a priest.

 

“It’s a tradition of sorts in the business. A method to reset mental parameters. Most of my bosses were blitzed during their off-hours. Some even tipped a bottle at work. Offloading stress, you might say...”

 

Janis coughed and wheezed while turning over on her rubberized mattress.

 

“Does that mean you’ve got a mug by the phone right now? Yikes! I’m amazed you answered when I called!”

 

I shook my head and snorted.

 

“Of course not. It’s too early yet, I’m at the desk trying to write something for my online newspaper. I just finished breakfast a few minutes ago...”

 

My distant companion lowered her voice to a whisper.

 

“One more of these stupid yarns about getting drunk, and then I’ll hang up for the day. I promise! Listening helps me pass the time! This place is boring!”

 

I scratched my beard and thought hard for a moment. Then locked onto a memory from being with Rini-Rego Stop-n-Shop, in the 1990’s.

 

“Earlier in my retail odyssey, I was at a store with earnings issues. Our weekly sales had gone in the tank. The corporate supervisors kept urging our general manager to cut labor hours. This meant that eventually, I was one of two people on a grocery crew that worked overnight. We did everything. Stocking shelves, ordering product, building displays, even floor care and organizing the receiving area. My body was always sore in the morning. I started using pain ointments like a professional athlete. And soaking my feet in Epsom salts.

 

She was unimpressed. My arrow had missed the bullseye.

 

“WHAT ABOUT THE BEER? WHAT ABOUT THE BEER?”

 

I paused briefly, and delivered a summation.

 

“After the holiday season both of us were really exhausted. My cohort on the team suggested that we split a six-pack of seasonal brew before going home. So, we sat outside on the concrete, by our lane for parcel pickups. No one paid attention to this miscreant act. Not even members of law enforcement who happened to pass as we were quenching our thirst. Afterward, we shook hands and drove off in opposite directions. That location was closed for good, only a few months later.”

 

Finally, Janis was snoring into her cellular device. I glowed with satisfaction at having offered a bedtime story that freed her from the cares of her treatment regimen. With a press of the ‘end call’ icon, I severed our electronic link.

 

Then, headed toward my refrigerator.