Cheap Lessons

July 7, 2016 at 5:49 am (Cosmic Encounters, Cussed Dumbers)

Happy pills?

Happy pills?

As the saying goes, you live and learn. There are lots of hard lessons in life; some come with a dear cost, others come cheap.

We should learn from all lessons, but the cheap ones bear minding. Sometimes we get off lucky.

My niece and sister conspired to buy a puppy when our dog Sandy was ill. (Sandy is better, more her tail-thumping self.) By the time I’d heard what was going on Sis had wired $300 to Texas. (It costs a lot to mail a dog, apparently. ) When the second email arrived, demanding rental of a $2,000 crate, ($1,980 refunded if dog survives!) I sniffed around and discovered a common scam. My sister got taken because she has a kind heart. Lesson learned, minus $300.

My lessons are less altruistic. My ups and downs with pills continue. I have been behaving, not going crazy, but keeping a work stash. Getting by.

Then Maverick came around. He was apologetic for the last less-than-pleasant round of business. He’d squared up with me, and I walked away swearing never again.

But he gave me the puppy dog eyes. “I haven’t had a cigarette in two days,and I’m hungry, and…” He looked me square in the eye. “I get my pills Thursday. If you give me $20 and a pack of cigarettes I’ll hook you up.”

When dealing straight up, Maverick is a pleasure to do business with. 90% of the time things go off without a hitch. I gave him a $20 and a coupon for a pack of dollar Camels. “I will see you Thursday.”

Thursday I get a text. “Sorry bro, pharmacy says I’m a day early. I can meet you at 10 AM tomorrow? Sorry for the hassle.”

Other than dashed hopes, I was fine. I had really looked forward to a floaty morphine buzz, but le sigh. I told him I would be downtown at 11 AM.

Bitch better have my drugs.

I was downtown, and I waited. He had to go to the doctor. Be at the pharmacy at noon. I was. I said good morning to all the office workers and secretaries who were probably wondering why I was hanging around outside the pharmacy like Silent Bob.

Then a bum started giving me grief. A middle-aged dirt urchin with a plastic cup in front of hm, begging for Four Loko. “What are you looking at, hippie?” He called me a faggot and walked up within striking distance. I pondered taking out my rage for a heartbeat, took a deep breath, ignored him and walked to the other end of the block. I have other things on my mind.

I walked a couple blocks, and got a call. It was Maverick. “Bro, I’m just getting into the cab. Be right there.”

Since I knew he would be a while with transportation and pharmacy, I wandered up to a group of cussed-dumbers from the Nightclub Store. We started chatting, which turned to gossip, which turned into me walking down the way to another group. It was payday for people getting goofy checks, and I was in the right place at the right time. Folks who had owed me squared up, and soon I was walking around with a handful of Vicodin and an OP40. Thank you God.

I didn’t hear from Maverick until the next day. I got a strange text from a VA caseworker, stating Maverick was in the hospital after having a seizure. I was supposed to call a number. I Googled it, Transition Projects. Nah.

That was Friday, on 4th of July weekend. His wheelchair, backpack and ID were all missing. No ID, no pills. “I can’t get them until Tuesday.”

By Tuesday his phone had died, and they couldn’t release his pills without photo ID. The doctor would have to come to the pharmacy with him. They do that?

So, finally, a week later, he is supposed to have a doctor’s appointment at 2 PM. I’m led to believe after that I will be “hooked up.”

I got up early, popped a medicated vitamin water. (Yes,they’re baaack!) Thought about it, then took out my last four Vicodin. I sat at the laundromat typing this, thinking maybe later I’ll regret not saving my drugs for work. Oh well, I will have to get used to being without them eventually. If Brother Morphine stands me up this time… At least I won’t have to go through withdrawal again.

The end is coming whether I choose to dope up or not. The government and medical industry are trying to phase out long-term opiate pain therapy. My sources will dry up naturally. It seems like opiates are the new thing, now that weed is legal. Us oldsters have to do something for fun.

Oh well, it was fun while it lasted.

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