That White Mustache Man

I'm sure you all remember that story of The Man With The White Mustache, yes? If not, perhaps you need to a refresher or you didn't get a chance to read it. Start here if that's the case: http://averybusyb.blogspot.com/2014/04/the-man-with-white-mustache.html

I remember I felt so much pain for him for that night. Pain for his family, pain for his true friends, but mostly pain for who he was and the decisions he had made. And for about a week after it happened, I continued feeling pain, sorrow and concern as he would cross my mind each day.

Drug overdose is the new "thing." It's happening everywhere, taking many lives and leaving many heartbroken. 

I worried.

What if I never saw him again? Had it been too late? 

Not even a friend of mine, but more of an acquaintance I feared the worst of things for him. Death. 

A couple of weeks passed and I hadn't seen him around. And finally last week I saw him. He was walking around outside, his shirt flipped inside-out, smoking a cigarette- the typical Sunday routine for him.

It was about 3:00 in the afternoon and he finally began making his way towards the bar where I work. He walked in, he was sober. No marijuana, no beers (yet) and apparently no cocaine, thank heavens.

He seemed well. He seemed better today. Perhaps he had no money and so of course he would be sober. I'll really never know.

He sits at the bar, "Hey baby," he says in his scratchy exhausted voice, "Can I get a Budweiser." And so I go, I pour him a nice cold beer and he sits there, sipping his beer, occasionally walking outside to smoke a cigarette, the usual.

But before he leaves he calls for me, "Brittany, come here." And so I go, almost fearful of what he may say. I get some weird things you, know, so I'm pretty much always on edge when people call me over. "Guess what," he says... "I quite." At this point I'm thinking to myself that there is absolutely NO way this guy quit. But it's true. He continued, "You were right. I really don't know what I was thinking and I lost so many friends along the way. Thank you so much for looking out for me. You're a very good lady." For a few moments I just sat there in awe. Literally awe. My heart has probably never felt so happy. Finally, "I'm so proud of you. You're right to have changed your lifestyle, good job name." And he left.

This was last week, and I hadn't dare written about it yet, because drug addiction is no joke. Just because someone says they quit doesn't mean they actually quit. Anyone who has experienced drug addiction first hand or even in the family knows this is true. Just yesterday he came in early in the afternoon, he had a beer (but was sober before) and on his way out the door said he'll be back later. Around 9:00 he came stumbling through the door. Drunk, of course. I began to ask him, "Are you drunk?" He replies, "Yes." "Have you had anything else?" He replies, "No." This is a man of sweet-brags. The guys who thinks drug-dealing, pot-smoking and cocaine-snorting is the "cool thing" to do. And he wouldn't lie to me. 

So yes, he was belligerent drunk, but that was all. And I'm somehow okay with that. After all, this isn't my life we're talking about. It's someone who 4 weeks ago was falling-about sporting a cocaine mustache. How could I not be happy for this guy? 

I'm not saying that my harsh words changed his life, but I am saying that maybe my words were the final words he needed to really fix himself. A stranger from the outside with no input saying, "Hey, you're fucking up." Even if it wasn't me, someone else, there had to a be a point that really makes you go ask yourself what you're doing with your life. I'm just thankful I had enough care for him to stand up and speak out for how I felt. And even more so I'm thankful he listened.

Xoxo,

    B!