A Harrowing Experience

I apply to you, dear reader, for a rational opinion as to my state of mind. My name is Brian Looney, and I am currently facing a very grave crisis. So please, take a few minutes out of your impetuous American schedule to review my case. Your advice could affect my entire life. Now, I have always been a healthy-minded, albeit cynical, person. I am a man of the world, a realist. I never tend toward exaggeration or loss of self-control. My mind-set is steady and, thankfully, I exist in a state of peaceful equilibrium: more so than any of my contemporaries. So I find it difficult to understand the events which have hitherto unfolded. My writing style may not sound factual, but I swear to you that every word I relate in this memoir is true and did indeed occur. I say this because I know I have a tendency to slip into more poetic prose. I can only hope that recounting this staggering event to you will set things right in my brain.

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The date is September 25, 2007. I am a server at Texas Land and Cattle off of Pan American and Jefferson in Albuquerque, New Mexico. I am scheduled at five o’clock and have arrived ten minutes early for my shift. I must admit, I did consume four beers before work. This is the most important fact of my story. Clean shaven, I stroll into work feeling fine. My server uniform is immaculate, I have change, plenty of pens, and am ready for action. I approach the silent computer to clock-in, and there is a new contraption connected to it. Paying it little attention I punch in my identity.

HELLO BRIAN LOONEY. PLEASE BLOW INTO THE BREATHALYZER UNTIL THE GREEN LIGHT COMES ON. THANK YOU.

Startled, baffled, and indignant, I seek out the nearest co-worker. “Hey, what’s wrong with the computers?”

He stands staring at the wall with bloodshot eyes for an uncomfortable length before replying: “Oh it’s just the new state law. Businesses want to keep their workers, completely sober. Alcohol is a sick drug, bro.”

I simply nod my head. “Yeah. And what happens when somebody fails the test?”

The uncomfortable gap reoccurs before he responds in low monotone: “You, like, get fired and then you get a WUI.”

“WUI?”

“Working Under the Influence, man. You know, like a DUI but at work.” he mumbles. My face pales and worry gnaws at my loins.

At this point the manager approaches with puffed chest. His lungs are constantly filled to full capacity to achieve this effect. This is the true mark of managerial authority. His voice is affected by the effort. He breezily orders me to clock-in, shotgun fish eyes gazing through me. My face drains of color. I hate him.

I approach the accusing computer and clasp the predatory breathalyzer. I feel as though I am grasping a venomous snake and that if I make any untoward movements, it will bite and kill. I can feel the manager’s laser eyes beaming my back. Shoving the tasteless contraption into my reluctant mouth, I exhale my soul.

Red light! Alarms sound throughout the restaurant, trap doors slide open, and burly, DEA men issue forth with hefty rifles, their battle-cries resounding.

Adrenaline sours through my veins, twittering my senses. I whirl around and my WUI fist depressurizes the manager’s tense chest. The whoosh of air, as when a car tire is punctured, issues from his crouching form effectively deflating his managerial authority. All that remains is a bottle of Prozac wrapped in a patch of skin.

In the meantime, the DEA men have overturned tables and taken cover behind them. Assembled in two squads with four men in each, they begin firing rubber bullets. Group Alpha is ordered to attack my liver; group Bravo fires at my kidneys. Shooting pain peppers my body, and I blank into merciful unconsciousness.

I regain reality in a hospitable bed. A nurse and a judge sit by my side. The judge has a hammer in one hand and gavel in the other. He is the first to speak.

“Brian Christopher Looney. On behalf of the state of New Mexico, I charge you with aggravated WUI. By working under the influence, you endanger yourself as well as others. This conduct will not be tolerated. Since this is your first charge, you will only be suspended from work for one month. If you receive a second charge, you will go to prison, and you will be suspended from work indefinitely. You were also witnessed assaulting a patch of skin. Luckily for you, he does not wish to press charges. That will be all.”

The judge raps the hammer on the gavel and exits. The nurse is the next to speak. She approaches the bed with my chart in hand. Her plump, sagging face registers bored annoyance. Her nasal, disapproving voice wrenches my ears.

“You’re lucky to be alive, mister. Your liver and kidneys are permanently ruptured. If you ever consume alcohol again, it will kill you outright. Next time, think before you break the law.”

She exits with a pedantic snuffle of her roman nose.

I am left baffled. Pen and paper are my only consolation.

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This then, is my story. I still can’t figure out whether the world has gone mad, or if I am a delusional maniac. When my convalescence ends, I think I’ll check myself into the nearest asylum. Simply summarizing the events has convinced me of my mental instability. Think well of me, my friends. I may be gone a long, long while.