I’ve mentioned my neighbor briefly. If you recall, he is the one who likes to drink vodka all day. As a result of his unquenchable thirst, he is often forgetful of our encounters and conversations. It amuses me because when we meet, it is like the meeting before and the one before that never occurred. So we start with a clean slate nearly every time we bump into each other. If you think about it in the right way, it’s almost refreshing. I mean, there has to be some advantage to being an alcoholic.
At any rate, I was standing out in front of the pharmacy, which is just down the road from my house, waiting to get filled my daughter’s prescription for her sore throat and earache. As I’m out front looking at mouthwash for the 11teenth time, up strolls my neighbor.
“What’s up dude?” I hear someone say to my left.
I look over and there stands my forgetful neighbor pushing an empty buggy (buggy is shopping cart for us Southern folk). I’m sure he was drunk but I can’t tell — mainly because I’ve never seen him sober.
“Man, I texted you to let you know I had the fight on! You never texted me back.”
“I know man. I remember getting your text but I can’t remember why I didn’t text back. I think I may have fallen asleep.”
“But you remember getting my text?” Prying for more information.
“Yes, but I’m not sure what I was doing when I got it or why I didn’t respond.”
The back story is that I told him a week before that I planned to order the Pacquiao/Marquez fight on pay per view. I distinctly recall him being excited about the fight and he told me he would come to my house and join me. He even offered to bring a dish. Actually, the guy can cook and since the fight costs $65, I didn’t object. I said, “Good. Looking forward to it. I’ll text you a little before the fight after we put the kids down for bed.”
“Sounds good. Can’t wait.”
I considered it a done deal. But I should have known better. That was at least four or five days before the actual fight. Considering how many vodkas and cranberry juice cocktails he had over the span in between, the conversation might as well have never happened.