My life is completely fucked.
I woke up practically buck naked and cold, sitting on a toilet in a Burger King bathroom stall. How did I even get here? My pants were wrapped around my ankles and were completely soaked with what I suspected was urine. I assumed it was my own, but there was no way of knowing for sure. I was severely dehydrated and an aroma of liquor and vomit lingered in the air. Waking up extremely hungover was nothing new to me, especially lately, but it seems as if I was constantly finding new ways to define rock bottom.
The day before I was fired from my job and had a major falling out with my mother. Up until that point, I was still a freelance worker in the chore/odd job industry with my mother being my only client. Admittedly, she paid me much more than anyone deserves to do this type of work, but I thought her choice to fire me was poorly timed and insensitive.
While on an agreed upon fifteen minute break, mom walked in on me while I was laying in a fresh pile of laundry and pleasuring myself in a sexual manner. In my defense, she didn’t knock, and in my opinion, there wasn’t enough evidence to prove I was actually masturbating. I technically could have been doing any number of things, but she wasn’t willing to hear me out. Mom had made it clear in the past that she didn’t agree with my stance on the health benefits associated with a daily masturbation routine, and she wasn’t going to tolerate such behavior in the workplace (her laundry room).
Having my mother suspect me of masturbation in her home was bad enough, but the fact that she was also my employer made it worse. I was officially on a break, and what I do during that time is no one’s business but mine. I believe strongly in worker’s rights, but I can understand why she’d be upset since it was her laundry that I was laying in and it had come into direct contact with my exposed buttocks. I begged and pleaded my case, but she was too disappointed to see the logic in my argument. I thought I deserved a second chance, but the devastation of seeing her adult son’s erect penis was simply too much for her to bear. To her credit, she was kind enough to give me a $10 Burger King gift card and a few cartons of eggs as some type of severance pay.
Before I washed my hands and departed she kissed me gently on my forehead, and with tears in her eyes, told me to get my life together. I didn’t even have enough money for a taxi, so I had to think about my shameful actions on the long walk home to my recently renovated basement apartment.
The last thing I wanted to do was contemplate what I would do for work and how I’d repair my relationship with mom. I just wanted to get fucked up. I spent the evening chugging booze and smoking hash by myself like some kind of goddamn addict. And I suppose that’s how I got here, on the toilet at Burger King. I blacked out and couldn’t remember a thing, but I assume I wasn’t in the mood for eggs and came here for a greasy meal to drown my sorrows in. As I pulled my urine drenched pants up to my waist and wondered where my shirt was, I hoped I had enough money remaining on the Burger King gift card to purchase some type of breakfast. The last thing I wanted to do was suffer the humiliation of having my gift card declined due to insufficient funds.
I came out of the stall and looked at myself in the mirror. Feeling lethargic and looking flat out pathetic, I decided I had endured enough humiliation and would head home to rehydrate and sleep off this dreadful hangover.
I woke up in the afternoon feeling dirty and depressed. I couldn’t believe what I had become. Most conventional people were busy at work, progressing their respective careers, while the most productive thing I’d do all day is wash urine and vomit stains out of my pants. I always regarded myself to be a man of sophistication, but I somehow ended up blacked out in a Burger King bathroom after enduring a night of hardcore substance abuse. I really wasn’t living up to the expectations I set for myself, and something needed to change.
My life was in a total tailspin, and I had no one. The longest relationship of my life had just come to an end. What started as an erotic tryst between a sassy woman named Diane and myself quickly blossomed into seven months of lust, laughter, and late nights discussions about our dreams and innermost desires. I thought we had a real connection, but I was mistaken. I was ready to take the next step and ask her to go in on a Costco membership with me, until she unexpectedly left me for a guy named Roger. I knew damn well that I could never compete with someone named Roger. It didn’t help that he managed his own mobile phone accessory kiosk in the mall and drove a vehicle with four-wheel drive and air conditioning. I was hurt and felt as if I was treated unfairly. Admittedly, I cheated on Diane, with a few different girls actually, but this was well before we set any type of parameters regarding inviting other people into our beds. The break-up left me heartbroken and desperate for intimacy, resulting in a series of embarrassing daylong masturbation marathons.
Even my closest friends were becoming more distant. Charles had recently become the victim of an online Russian bride scam and he was now forced to put most of his money and time towards paying off his newfound debt. He claimed he had reached a point in his life where he “wanted more than just a hole to put his dick in,” and took to the Internet for an opportunity to meet an attractive Russian woman who he could spend the rest of his life with. The Soviet scam artist who took advantage of his desperation left him heartbroken and ashamed. The scam did very little to improve my opinion of the Soviet people, who I freely admit I’m not very fond of. I was still very bitter about the Cold War as it continued to haunt my dreams on a weekly basis. Nights of heavy drinking and experimenting with drugs with Charles were now few and far between as he had some emotional wounds that needed to heal.
To make matters worse for Charles, after he was promoted at work, he was quickly demoted back to his old position and suspended for a week after continually failing to adhere to his workplace’s scent policy in regards to colognes and body sprays.
Like me, Virgil’s life was in complete disarray, but on a completely different level. It had been months since we last spent time together. His depression had reached an all-time high after a rumor began to circulate that a waitress at a local truck stop threatened legal action against him, claiming she contracted hepatitis from him. I still hadn’t bothered to confront him about it as he was likely humiliated, but as a chlamydia survivor, I had compassion for him. I suspected he had been carrying the disgusting virus for much longer than he’d like to admit. Virgil had a reputation for making risky sexual choices, and giving in to temptation was having a disastrous impact on his wellbeing.
The local community had also ostracized him after a man fitting his description was witnessed throwing a cinderblock through a French family’s picture window. He claimed he was innocent, but hate crimes were on the rise, and local citizens were looking for someone to blame. I suppose being known as a racist, hepatitis spreader would make anyone depressed, but there was very little I could do to help.
As for Ben, he was back on the east coast and was now a full-time child psychiatrist, working between sixty and seventy hours a week. Even if he had time for friends, he’d have to choose his social activities more carefully, as his ethics and moral code had come into question after he was caught on a surveillance camera receiving oral sex in the parking garage of his office building.
His excellent health still remained intact, but if he stood any chance of having a successful career in the medical industry, he’d have to distance himself from drug abusers and borderline alcoholics. He still made an effort to be a great friend, and our friendship would always exist, but he had reached a different point in his life, and needed to seriously consider a different path from the one I was on.
I had been trying to stay busy, but things really weren’t working out for me. In addition to being fired and dumped by Diane, I was denied in my latest attempt to receive a credit limit increase from the people at Visa, and my attempt at creating an interracial social networking and dating website was a complete failure that cost me all of my savings. I always found it challenging to meet and connect on an intellectual level with interesting people of a different race, and assumed there’d be a real market for this type of service. My entrepreneurial spirit led to the short lived creation of EthnicSwap.com, but unfortunately, interest in the online community just wasn’t there, leading me to believe that extreme bigotry was more prevalent than ever. I’d always continue my pursuit of meeting new females from interesting ethnic backgrounds, but everyone else would have to fend for themselves as I was now out of the online dating business.
With my social and professional life falling apart I didn’t quite know what type of future I had, but I knew I needed to act quick and find work. A salary of zero dollars and a maxed out credit card wasn’t going to support my hard partying lifestyle and high protein diet. I also had bills to pay and would need daily bus fare as mom likely wouldn’t be willing to lend me her car anymore. Mom still covered the cost of my rent, but that was an arrangement that had nothing to do with our work relationship. Hopefully she wouldn’t be cruel enough to pull the plug on my rent money, as the last thing I wanted to do was take her to small claims court. The fact that she pays my rent helps, but the prospect of taking the bus every day was upsetting. No one wants to have sex with the guy standing at the bus stop, but I’d need to get around somehow. Who knows, maybe there’d be other interesting singles using public transportation.
Some might use this as an opportunity to go back to school, but I didn’t have a serious enough interest in any type of career, even though a career as a refrigerator repairman appeared to offer some great perks. Still though, the prospect of being able to repair my own fridge wasn’t enough incentive to enroll at the local community college. Fixing fridges for a living, or any household appliance for that matter is an honorable profession. The same certainly can’t be said for the fraudulent plumbing industry, which I’ll never understand. I needed to learn the hard way that you should never allow a plumber to use your toilet. The scumbag will end up clogging it and charge you to fix it, plus they’ll end up stealing any toilet paper rolls that you leave out.
I admit that I wasn’t living up to my potential, and waking up nearly naked in a fast food restaurant was likely the kick in the arse I needed to get back on track. Without hesitating, I quickly groomed myself, had a plate of eggs, and a glass of water for hydration purposes and made my way to the career resource center.