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Friday, December 18, 2009

The Welfare Check 

Las Vegas
December 2009

(Phone ringing)

(Phone ringing)


"What? I'm zleeeeping?"

"Mr. CantHang? Sir, this is security. We have a call from a friend who is concerned about you. Are you ok sir?"

"What?"

"Sir, are you ok? Someone called and they were concerned for you. We need to do a welfare check to make sure you are ok."

"What? Yeah. I'm fine. Just zleeeeping. Think I drank too much tonight."

"OK sir, we'll cancel the security guard on his way up. But you have someone standing at your door waiting. You should tell them you are ok."

"What?"

"Goodbye sir."

Stupid booze.

I stumbled to the door, still fully clothed from whenever, and saw the good Dr. Pauly through my teeny tiny peep hole. He seemed generally relieved I was alive, I was touched.

I was also still completely fucked up. He came into the room I assume to make sure I hadn't slashed up a hooker or two (Roll me once, shame on you. Roll me twice...) but I think the only incrementing evidence was a fucked up room service pizza and 3/4 of a Heineken.

He said people were worried and people were concerned I was missing in action and people wanted to know where the hell I was. None of this made any sense since it couldn't be that late. His assertion that no one had seen me in 17 hours made no sense. He pieced together Iggy getting me near my floor sometime that morning and it was now very late in the day, even though my body was calling bullshit. The Eagles were still on, see? Turns out they were the late night game that weekend and I was truly way past my due date. My trusty iPhone would tell the truth.

I think I broke it's memory buffer. The lists of missed calls, texts, voicemail was longer than the screen. Damn, this wasn't good. Fuck, imagine if I'd have won that god damned tournament. I did the first sensible thing. Let up a smoke, made my apologies and tried to wrap my head around everything. I kept throwing things at my mental wall and shit just wasn't sticking.

The doc made sure I was alive, handed over his glorious bottle of water, and told me to get my shit together whenever I could. He also asked me the one thing the brought a smile to this pour wretched soul.

"When I go back, should I fuck with everyone and say I couldn't find you?"

These are my friends, the ones who keep me within shouting distance of sane.

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