XVII. Angels and Amphibians - September 27, 2006

If heaven was twice as good as the Metro Baptist guy claimed it was, then it was still only half as good as an opiate high. It should have been no surprise, then, that opiate withdrawal was far worse than any hell I ever imagined.

I told Toad I wouldn't be able to work the entire weekend and probably Monday. I knew the horror would last longer than that, but the first three days would be the worst and I planned to spend those three days at home locked in my room.

The first day without opiates wasn't too bad. Brains have a habit of trying every trick in the book to coerce your body into obtaining more opiates. I guess I still had enough in my system to fool my brain into thinking it wasn't quite dying yet.

The second day was pure hell. I awoke with my bed sheets completely soaked with sweat, as if someone dumped a bucket of water on me in my sleep. My clothing and sheets stuck to my skin. I covered myself because I was freezing cold, yet having the sheets and blankets wrapped around me was extremely uncomfortable because they were drenched.

I only stopped vomiting when there was nothing left for my stomach to expunge and that would lead to dry-heaving and gagging. It was pointless to eat - it would end up in the trashcan next to the bed, if I managed to roll over fast enough to hit the trashcan. Every muscle in my body ached. Every nerve grated when touched by even the softest material.

A constant stream of fluid ran from my eyes and buttocks. I might as well have been defecating a constant stream of liquid acid.

Sleep was impossible, as was any degree of happiness. I was basically a sentient corpse with no ability to experience any form of joy, happiness or contentment. The complete lack of motivation was the only thing that kept me from blowing my own brains out.

An inspiration hit me. Pot would take away the nausea. I knew it would. Maybe some valium would alleviate the utter despair and sleeplessness. Both substances helped tremendously in getting me through that first week. I suffered the tortures of the damned for solid month, after which, my distress was slowly replaced by attractive gas station customers wearing alluring clothes amd suggestive smiles. The diarrhea remained a problem and I still felt largely hopeless, but not to the extent of that first week. Anytime I wanted opiates, I just thought about the withdrawal and that was enough to kill the cravings. I thought of sexy female customers with their flirtatious ways. I knew I would never again allow myself to get addicted - the horror and fear of going through that again was intolerable.

Many changes took place at the gas station during my Lost Month. Toad had finally hired more than enough help to cover all the shifts. Josh split the night shift with two college students, Tony and Roy, and they all took turns working various hours as needed. Toad and I split working weekends with one of the three night shift people. Eventually, Roy and I got to be good friends and would frequently hang out even outside of work. It got to the point where we told Toad we would handle the Saturday shifts ourselves - from open to close - just so we could hang out and party at work without any inane early morning radio shows and Toad's constant ranting about current politics. His favorite subject at the time was the Gulf War. Customers would inevitably complain about gas prices and Toad would take it personally. He usually gave the customer a fifteen minute lecture about how gas prices in the United States were the cheapest in the world and it was about time we kicked in our fair share. Needless to say, it wasn't the most popular attitude about the subject.

Roy usually brought a twelve-pack of beer to work, which we kept cool in the ice machine outside. I'd supply the pot, which I still obtained from Willie. Roy's friends often came by to hang out, talking about whatever college classes they were taking. After weeks of sitting in on these conversations, I realized college might not be so bad. It certainly sounded more promising than high school. Students took their studies seriously. It wasn't about social cliques and other such meaningless drivel. My interest in writing and philosophy grew and, as the icing on the cake, I decided returning to school would be the perfect excuse to get away from Toad and his nonsensical drunken ramblings.

It wasn't long before Toad hired a day-shift side-kick, Aaron. Aaron was a high school dropout as well and had no interest in college. As a chronic pot smoker he fit Toad's criteria for an employee perfectly. When Aaron took over the day shift, I alternated working with Tony, Roy and Josh, who all were more than content to get less than forty hours. I ended up working 43 hours a week and signed up for 21 credit hours at a private college, concentrating on Mathematics, Philosophy and English.

Even though I had returned to my beloved night shift , I was still never less than thirty minutes late, as was Josh. For some reason, Toad ignored my tardiness, but constantly harassed Josh about it. One day, I arrived at work with Josh still nowhere to be found. I had Aaron's island that day, so I took over so he could finally go home. Toad seemed to be in good spirits until Josh arrived, nearly an hour late.

Josh and I hung around the desk while Toad stressed over the cut-off. The cut-off was a particularly tense time for Toad and tense times always put him in a bad mood. He had to perfectly coordinate counting the money and reading the sales numbers off the pumps, and do it in between cars. One truism of gas station life - any time you had to do anything, you would get a rush of cars. And so it was - the office was chaos. Toad was red and sweating, as usual, reminding me of a large Eckrich smoked sausage. Cars kept pulling in and the customers were getting impatient.

"Don't just fucking stand around, Josh, count your goddamn money!"

That would take at least ten minutes. Toad quickly counted his wad and rushed outside to read the pumps. Josh began fanning through the wad of cash. We exchanged glances, daring one another to laugh.

"Josh, you're on the fucking near island aren't you?" Toad's voice cracked.

"Uhhh, yeah!"

"Well start this goddamn car!"

Toad was cracking under the pressure. Josh stuffed his wad into his back pocket and went to deal with the customer.

Josh was funny. He would take any drug you put in front of him. He smoked pot the way other people smoked cigarettes and he had a chronic cough. He wanted to become a weather man. We all used to laugh at the thought of him on television giving a weather report, pausing in the middle of his forecast, "Hang on dude!" They would then have to cut to a commercial and when they returned, Josh would be red and coughing uncontrollably. He was a little on the short side, blonde and from an Italian family. His dad was some sort of official with a city restaurant association. Nobody was really sure what his job actually was, but he made a lot of money. Josh wasn't used to being told what to do and didn't take instruction well. Needless to say, he was a constant source of friction with the customers, though all of us on the night shift loved to party with him - he was a blast and always had the best acid in town.

Toad waddled back inside worn out from the arduous task of reading both sides of the four pumps. Josh had finished his count, but got distracted by Toads panting.

"Well?" Toad demanded.

"One twenty three seventy five..."

Toad started to write down the number.

"No wait. One twenty eight seventy five," Josh was still pulling money out of various pockets.

"Well, do you wanna lift up your skirt and show us the color of your panties?" Toad scowled.

Josh grew more and more nervous, "It's one thirty two seventy five."

Toad wrote down the number, sighing and shaking his head while Josh snuck out the door to start a customer.
I went over to the desk and quickly verified the amount of Aaron's wad. Josh walked back into the office in a huff,

"That dumb bitch called me 'kid'! 'Hey, check my radiator, kid!'"

Toad shook his head and sighed audibly, but Josh wouldn't leave it alone, "Dumb cunt. Fuck that lady!" Josh went behind Toad to get a jug of radiator fluid off the shelf. I realized the radiator was the cause of Josh's irritation, not so much being called "kid."

Toad reddened even more. Something I had thought impossible. "Josh. Do I have to pick you up by the neck and throw you out that fucking window?"

Josh was stunned, "Dude, what the fuck?"

Toad was irrationally drunk.

"You didn't even do her goddamn windshield, Josh! So... fuck that lady! Kid!!"

Josh's eyes were agape, "What?!" He half chuckled.

Toad jumped up from the desk as I lingered near the door. I had a customer I had to start, but there was no way in hell I was going to miss a minute of this. Toad ran to the side of the desk, where Aaron sat day after day like a faithful dog. Toad lifted one leg, bent at the knee and partially squatted on his other leg. He raised his arms to his side like wings, "How about doing your job, Josh!"

I was speechless. Josh looked at me with his mouth wide open, "Dude! You fucking alcoholic psycho!"

"I do my job Josh," Toad yelled, looking like he was on the verge of tears. He was shaking visibly.

I scurried outside, in shock. I could hear Josh's uncontrolled laughter dissolve into a deep hacking cough which faded away as I walked toward a shiny new black Ford Probe on the far island. The driver's side was facing away from me and I habitually walked around the back of the car. I had had too many close calls with elderly people who were more incoherent than Toad on a bad day.

When I reached the driver's window, I looked inside and felt like someone had dropped a ton of bricks from the canopy squarely onto my head. My shock at Toad's behavior transformed into a different kind of shock. I was certain, with no doubt at all, that this was unequivocally the most beautiful girl I had ever laid eyes on. I believe that's still true to this day. My withdrawal symptoms melted away never to be remembered. Her long dark hair was braided and looked as though it went down to her mid-back. Her eyes were dark brown. She was thin and untanned. Her skin was astonishingly smooth. She had to be an angel - I couldn't imagine anything that beautiful coming from the gooey slop of human procreation.

"I just need ten dollars," she smiled with straight, white teeth.

I couldn't respond other than to smile stupidly and nod. I started her gas and did her windshield, feeling like I was in a daze. I completely forgot about Toad and Josh. She watched as I moved the squeegee back and forth over the windshield, smiling cutely the whole time. She had Elton John playing on her cassette deck.

I finished the window and completed the gas and collected her money. I watched her pull away, my senses slowly returning as I rejoined Toad with his martial arts moves and Josh's horror at Toad's insanity.

Posted by DevilMonkey at 11:27 PM

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Comments

awwwwwww!!!!!

but what about samantha?? you must still run into her now and again, seeing as how you're still dealing with Willie and all.

Great story. MUST HAVE MORE!!!!

Posted by: nikita at September 28, 2006 10:12 AM

Damn. Pretty awesome shit. Nice to finally get a timetable on these stories, and nice to see you finally turn your life around. Too bad though. I was getting used to playing Pink Floyd when reading your stories.

Posted by: KMils at September 28, 2006 10:18 AM

Yeah, this was a good one. I really felt like I was in your place when it came to the Probe-Girl part of the story. I think it's something that a lot of people can relate to. I'm glad you were able to break yourself from the opiates.

Posted by: Wayland at September 28, 2006 02:41 PM

I see those angels all the time. :)

Posted by: Damion at September 28, 2006 05:55 PM

Good chapter. The only things I found wrong with it were 'I suffered the tortures of the damned for solid month' without past reference to it. Keep it up, it's always great to see an update on your page!

Posted by: NiteShok at September 28, 2006 08:32 PM

Yhe story is perfect.

Posted by: Jonny at September 28, 2006 08:54 PM

Great writing.

Posted by: Paul Wall at September 28, 2006 09:04 PM

I really enjoy your writing! Keep the stories coming.

Posted by: Tim at September 29, 2006 01:32 PM

Good descriptions of the withdrawl process, I thought. But there are serious continuity problems here. I have absolutely no idea why the main character decides to quit taking painkillers. None. All that's in the story is that he thinks they're GRRRRREAT!. (shrug). And where's Mom when he's doing nothing but lying in his bed for days shivering, throwing up and crapping on himself. Last we heard he was living with her. Is she dead? Moved away? What? Moms in general tend to have some sort of noteworthy reaction to things like this.

And the part about becoming entranced with being a student because "Roy's friends often came by to hang out, talking about whatever college classes they were taking." Really, I have to laugh at this. Pretty much the *last* thing you do in college when hanging out is sit around talking about classes. Actually, you spend most of your time talking about the "meaningless drivel" that the character supposedly doesn't like. This strikes me as a really clumsy plot device to explain how a character with no previous interest in academics as far as we can tell winds somehow, not just going to college, but taking overloads while working full time. Sorry, just doesn't pass the smell test.

Posted by: Tinsdale at September 29, 2006 10:23 PM

Tinsdale... you're an idiot.

Posted by: Ben at September 30, 2006 01:07 PM

wtf tinsdale? what you wrote theres one of the stupidest things ive ever read.

Posted by: Greg at September 30, 2006 09:27 PM

Why are you guys shitting on Tinsdale? If he is wrong, why is he wrong?

Posted by: Danny at September 30, 2006 11:47 PM

Plot devices? Continuity? Tinsdale, these stories are not fictional. They are real and happened a while ago (around the 1990's people figure). DM himself says this is the comments a few stories back.

Posted by: peers at October 1, 2006 05:45 AM

Tinsdale you're a moron.

Doesn't pass the smell test? You couldn't smell shit if it was rubbed in your face!

Seriously though, what a tool.

Posted by: nikita at October 1, 2006 09:36 AM

Why is Tinsdale wrong? Here's a synopsis:

1)Roy's friends often came by to hang out, talking about whatever college classes they were taking.

He never actualy mentions what light they painted their expirience in. It could (and probably very well was) in the negative, as students will most often complain about the "mindless drivel" and "moron profs."

2) blah blah..no previous interest in academics..blah..taking courses overtime..blah

What're you talking about? You'd realised that he clearly did have an interest in academics, had you bothered to read and remember the other stories. He went to college and dropped out, more for personal reasons than because he couldn't handle the program. He constantly spent his time programming and he was at the stage in life where he wanted to give life meaning. Naturally then, such thoughts would trigger a desire to continue education, as that is one of the few things that promises a long-term reward. How he arranges his schedule could be ascribed to his personality, which you should be getting at least a feel for by this point in the story.

3) Painkillers and the lack of Mom.

I don't understand why painkillers create such a big issue for you. They are a connection to his previous lifestyle, from which he obviously wanted to break appart. Since he wasn't doing any hard drugs durring his self-rehabilitation, why would he need them and if he did need them, wouldn't it be in a far lesser amount, because his body wasn't constantly jonesing for morphine now? Would it be worth to mention them at all in this case then?

The reason why his mommy is not mentioned here, is because there is no need for her to be. To the best of her knowledge, her son is probably just sick with a really terrible stomach flew. Besides, he's a big boy. She doesn't need to be there every minute to whipe his bum for him, now does she? I doubt that he even revealed to his mother that he was addicted and was coming off drugs. Because if you remember, in a previous story, he mentions that one of the things he regrets about being a morphine addict, is the pain it would ultimately cause his mother. How she would lose a son and how it pained him to think of this, because he knew how much his mother loved him.

And that is why Tinsdale is a wrong and because he couldn't deduce all of this information on his own, he is a dumbass.

Posted by: Nikita at October 1, 2006 10:08 AM

Tinsdale is obviously just a jealous and bitter person. He's been calling out this series since the beginning. He's also been spewing the same petty hate on phila lawyer, too. I knew the name sounded familiar.

http://www.philalawyer.net/archives/everything_went_pink.phtml
http://www.devilmonkey.net/archives/xiii_betrayal.phtml
http://www.devilmonkey.net/archives/xvi_gas_station_philosophy.phtml

Tinsdale, I know that as a talentless and average person, you would feel better if these guys were full of shit. Now, I don't know that they're not, but the stuff you're picking on only demonstrates your own limited imagination and pedantry. So congrats, you are exceptional now-- an exceptionally obtuse ass. You're not nearly as clever as you think you are.

Posted by: Observer at October 1, 2006 11:23 AM

Yeah, I'm pretty sure he said (or provided plenty of proof) that this happened to him around 1989-1990. One thing I'd like to know is how he paid for the classes.

Posted by: YixilTesiphon at October 1, 2006 01:04 PM

Your reasoning is really shitty, Nikita.

You conclude that DM has an interest in academics because he dropped out of college, enjoys programming, and wants meaning in his life. That's stupid.

Your explanation for why DM quit painkillers is seriously almost incoherent. Besides that, it is 100% speculation.

Tinsdale wondered where DM's mom was during DM's withdrawal. He didn't make any positive assertions. He can't be wrong about a question. So you have yet to prove why Tinsdale is wrong or a dumbass.

Christ, you people are lemmings. One guy offers some criticism and he gets SHIT upon by you fucking morons.

To peers:

Real life can't have continuity issues, but a story can. It doesn't matter whether or not the story is fiction or nonfiction.

Posted by: Danny at October 1, 2006 05:33 PM

I think that you are the best writer on Festering Ass (besides Tucker). If you ever write a book about your experiences, I will be the first to buy it.

Posted by: dtugg at October 1, 2006 05:44 PM

Of course he's going to get shit on. He's commenting on something thats obviously well written, and extremely interesting. Oh it doesnt matter if the storys fiction or non fiction? Are you implying that DM's life doesnt matter? Considering that is what this IS about.
And considering I'm in college and I do talk about mindless drivel, it isnt like I dont find my classes interesting or anything.
It is a way of being obtuse.
Fuck moot.

Posted by: Edds at October 2, 2006 01:48 PM