SNOWJOB

Should I Stay of Should I Drink Now?

One of my favorite GI Joe characters was this “Hot Dog.”

He was witty in the cartoon, and his action figure was one of the first I got (shout out, Stalker). I have no idea if Snowjob had a problem, but with a name like that, he had to dabble in the nose candy.

I bring this up because I loved to drink in the snow. Pulling a cold one out of the snow for a break in shoveling is incredibly rewarding. I haven’t had a drink in almost 3 years due to this allergy I have. You see, every time I drink, I black out and often end up in a pair of silver bracelets.

During snowstorms, I would finish my nips (airplane bottles) and chuck them in the street for the plows to pick up.

I hadn’t driven a car in 3 years either. These things are closely related.

This last snowstorm nearly broke me. I got away from my routine for two days, and it fucked me up!

This past Tuesday morning, I woke up pissed. My HS-aged kids were coming off a week of February Vacation and were now on day 2 of “blizzard break” from school.

We got nearly 40 inches of snow. I never replaced my snowblower when it died a few years back. I will be 51 years old in two weeks, and my family sat comfortably inside while I dug us out. Inch by inch, foot by foot.

I started Tuesday morning as I do most every morning with prayer, followed by writing my goals and gratitude list for the day.

I woke up stupid early as usual and waited until 8 am to check how much snow still needed to be removed. Instead of waiting for my kids or waking them up, I went out and started shoveling. I cleared the driveway and stared at my kid’s car; it was missing a wiper blade. It blew off the day prior.

I go back inside, and I can hear my wife is up and is working, but my kids are still sound asleep. Again, instead of waiting or waking them up, I practice zero patience and go back outside.

I am not afraid of dying, but there are two ways I don’t want to go.

1. Dying on the toilet

2. Heart Attack in the SNOW

Thankfully, guys like me don’t die on toilets.

How many of you have a friend like Riggs who would risk his own life on the chance he could save a friend? I know I got a few, and thanks for reading. :)

The heart attack in the snow scares the shit out of me. When I was a teenager, a kid a few years younger than me lost his dad to a heart attack while shoveling. My dad never let me sleep in when there was work to be done, but after hearing about that kid’s dad dying in the snow, I never let my father go outside alone with a shovel.

While I was out there alone in my driveway, I looked across the street, and all five members of my neighbors were working in unison. This family has the nicest yard in the neighborhood, and I would dislike them if they weren’t so damn neighborly!

With the driveway now cleared, I decided to turn my kid’s car around to make it easier for us to pull out when we go to get a new wiper blade. I sat in the car with it still running in my driveway said “fuck it,” and I went for a drive.

The gas station down the street didn’t have wiper blades. The dollar store didn’t have wiper blades or milk, so for some reason I bought a half-gallon of ice cream and drove home.

My wife and kids were all up and waiting for me when I got home. I nervously hid the ice cream behind my back like a child.

She hollered at me as my kids looked on. I was embarrassed, and instead of apologizing, I fired back. I managed to piss off my entire family and risk going to jail all before 11 am.

There is some humor that a diabetic without a drivers license went out in a blizzard for some ice cream.

The one thing that kind of struck me funny was when Ripley (my wife) said, “What if somebody recognized you?”

I was wearing a winter hat, and I am a grown-ass man driving a Nissan Rogue. It’s not like I stood out.

From there, I did mostly everything wrong. I moped and sat and stewed in my shit. I did not pick up the phone; I tried to defeat my problems solo instead of sharing them.

Fast forward to 3 PM, up till then I spent most of the day in my cell (I sleep alone in the spare bedroom) watching Bobby the Brain Heenan interviews. I was restless, I was angry, I needed an escape. So, I laced up my boots, put on some ski pants, and headed out for a walk.

By the time I was at the end of my short driveway, I said out loud to myself, “Oh fuck, I am heading to the packy.”

When an alcoholic feels unloved or undervalued, sometimes we decide to remedy the situation by “drinking at” the people they disappointed. My disease tricked my alcoholic mind into thinking, ‘They don’t value you, and they are the reason I stay sober, so fuck it, might as well drink!’

Having a case of the “Fuck It’s” has caused major catastrophes for alcoholics for generations.

Before I got sober, I was known in my AA circle as a “chronic relapser.” I went back to the same treatment center 8 fucking times in the span of 2 years (May 2021 – March 2023). I have worked hard for my sobriety, but I was ready to light my life on fire because my feelings got hurt.

When I finally put some sober time together, those same AA friends started calling me “MIRACLE.”* My friend Al still calls me “coach,” which I love.

As I made my way down my icy street, I spoke aloud again, but this time not to myself.

“God, I am on my way to destroy myself. Give me a sign that I am valued. Give me a sign I am worthy. Give me a sign that I am useful.”

I continued to walk, head on a swivel, looking for a sign. About a hundred yards later, I came up on a woman about 70 years of age who was shoveling her driveway, BY HERSELF.

I saw the handle of a second shovel sticking out of the snowbank. I said “hello” to her and grabbed a shovel.

She said, “Thank you, but you don’t have to help.”

“Miss, I don’t want to argue with you, but yes, I do.”

She shrugged, and we went on shoveling together. Before I left, I told her where I live if she ever needed help again. Giving her my number would have made more sense, but it’s the thought that counts.

I finished and went on with my walk, heading in the same direction, still towards the liquor store.

I made it out to the main road, the plaza where the package store resides, and stopped.

‘Was that a sign?’ I thought. ‘A woman shoveling in a snowstorm ain’t exactly parting the sea.’

I was looking for a miracle and spent five minutes debating with myself whether I was just part of one.

I went home. I did not drink!

I told this story to some AA friends, and my boy Ricky said, “That’s like the footprints in the sand. You only left one set of tracks cause God was carrying you on your back.”

Amen Ricky.

*“I need a miracle every day.” – The Grateful Dead