Wino gets Serious (About being a Wino)

The other day at around noon my sleep was interrupted by a phone call.

Now, most people would simply ignore a call at such an ungodly hour, but my phone has a real bell as opposed to some innocuous computer tone, so this is not an option for me.



As an aside, do you know why phone companies made the move from bell ringers to electronic ones? Well, neither do I—but here’s my theory: I think they knew that cell phones had the potential to be huge, but realized that if people associated them with the shrill, alarm-like tone of a bell, they wouldn’t buy them! In preparation for the future, the bells were replaced by inoffensive computer chirps a decade or more ago. So now, when you observe the hundreds—and potentially thousands—of people who blab away on their mobiles every day, know that none of them have a home phone like mine; for if they did, telecommunication would be to them as it was in the beginning: an annoyance—not a hobby. Conditioning, man.

So anyway, rather than bury my head in the pillows, which does little to mute the ringing, I find it’s less aggravating to answer the thing.

“What!?” I screamed into the receiver.

“Umm, hello?” said a hesitant female voice. “Is this Wino?” She didn’t sound too young, so I held back on the charm.

“Who wants to know?” I demanded.

“Umm, this is Judy from The Dionysus Depot. I’m calling with regards to the application you dropped off a few days ago—if it’s a bad time, I can call back.”

I removed the phone from my ear a moment and tried to put meaning the woman’s words. My hangover wasn’t helping matters, but I slowly began to form a recollection. I did drop a resume off at a nearby wine store in the hopes of gaining easy (and cheap) access to alcohol, but it wasn’t “a few days ago” as Judy claimed, but the VERY day before. Why was she so quick to call? Yes, the education and experience on my resume is impressive, but just as the rules of dating state that you must wait a minimum of three days before calling a person, the same is also true for potential employers. If Judy was serious about courting my talent, she would have naturally realized how desperate calling me so soon would appear. Something about this didn’t add up, but I decided I play along.

"…Hello? Are you there?" said a chipmunk-like voice from the phone at my lap.

”Yes, I’m here,” I answered. “Sorry I snapped at you just now—I’ve been getting quite a few crank calls lately, and there’s nothing more irritating than having your work disrupted by some troublesome little brat. You understand.”

“—Of—of course. Am I to assume that you’re employed at the moment?”

She sounded a little too concerned.

“Well, not exactly. Just some volunteer work I do for UNICEF. I’m up to my neck in paper work” I said, rustling a stack of Hustler magazines that lay on the floor.

“Oh, how nice!” Judy exclaimed, sounding impressed.

She then went through the formalities, asking me where I had worked and so forth. I answered all her questions, embellishing at every opportunity. She wanted to know if I was interested in working for the Dionysus Depot, and I told her that I was.

She then arrived at what had obviously been on her mind from the beginning.

“Now, you are aware of the problems we’ve been having here lately, aren’t you?”

“Can’t say that I am,” I responded. “What kinds of 'problems'?”

Judy went on to explain that neighborhood teens have been walking into her store lately, grabbing bottles of booze from the racks and taking off. The most disturbing news she related, though, was that there had recently been an armed robbery at the establishment.

Now, I’m very much in favor of the access to alcohol this job would provide…but I’m wondering whether or not all of this extra shit is worth it. Do I really want some homey shoving a sawed-off in my face and demanding that I give him the register’s contents because he squandered his welfare check?

It’s a thinker, this one. I do like my wine. It may be worth the risk!