I live in a very small rural town, a ranching community, with just over 900 men, women and children. There are more cows than people. We watch out for each other here, most of us don't lock our doors at night, and everyone knows everyone. The entire "downtown" fills two whole blocks. The options for "going out on the town" are limited: go to one of the three area bars, a basketball game at the school, the bowling alley, church, or catch up on gossip while in line at the grocers.
I look down the bar and see Tina and John,* as usual. For more than four years, every day, she has driven him to the bar. She sits next to him for hours, drinking Coke, waiting for him to go home. She used to just leave him there at the bar, but five DUIs and a $70,000 drunk driving accident have bankrupted her: now she always drives him. If she didn't drive him, he'd drive drunk.
When I bartended at the Prairie Dog Saloon, we had a Rolodex next to the register filled with phone numbers of the wives, husbands, and significant others of our "regulars," people like John, like Tina. Nightly, we would make numerous calls asking them to come get their associated too-drunk-to-drive lush. Nightly, they would come and get them, resentful that we would let them get "that drunk" yet at the same time, grateful they were not driving home. Like I said, it's a very small community.
Why didn't we just cut them off or refuse to serve them? Simple: Cut off one of the "regulars" and you lose your tips - and maybe your job. Assuming the drunk doesn't punch you for cutting them off.
I see Tina yawning and throw a sympathetic smile her way. She's tired and ready to go home, but John's not done drinking. He won't be done for several more hours, hours that she will sit there, waiting, yawning, chatting occasionally, doing whatever she can to pass the time except push the issue. She knows she should just leave him there. But she won't: the thought of something that has not happened - the guilt - that one day he may kill someone overwhelms her.
It has become her responsibility to keep everyone else safe from her husband's irresponsibility. Ethically, morally, socially, and legally. He may be legally responsible for his actions while drunk, but Tina will pay the price: Tina and anyone he harms. She knows she is part of the problem, but she doesn't see a way out. I don't see a way out for her, either.
I used to drive my friends home when they had too much to drink. I used to answer my door to drunk friends at 2 or 3 in the morning, put on my shoes, grab my keys, and give them a ride home - one of the "benefits" of living barely two blocks from the bar. I used to answer the phone and say "Sure thing, be right there" when one of the local bartenders called me, asking if I could help them out and drive so-and-so home. I used to beg, plead, argue, and cry to get the car keys from a drunken friend. I used to be one of those socially responsible people who did everything I could to stop my friends from driving drunk, but I was rarely successfully.
I'm not one of those people anymore.
Tina is my friend. I care a great deal about her. I listen without criticism when she needs to vent her frustrations with life... the money problems, John's "little drinking problem," how tired she is all the time working four jobs... it goes on and on, sometimes for hours. I listen, nod my head and make sympathetic noises in all the right places, and then silently thank God I am not her.
I sit there and listen; I am a good friend. Sometimes, though, I lose my sympathy and shout at her: "Stop protecting him from his own actions! Just let go and let what happens, happen! Let him deal with the consequences of his actions. Stop saving him! Stop saving everyone else! Start saving yourself!"
"For better or for worse," she always says. "Besides, it would just make John angry."
Angry drunks are scary, and for many drunks, nothing makes them angrier than questioning their ability to drive. Five years ago, my well-intended attempts to get an angry, drunk friend to let me drive them home cost me a black eye and a double-concussion. I ended up with paramedics while he drove home drunk. Fortunately, he made it home safely. Actually, I should say unfortunately he made it home safe. The more often a drunk arrives home safely, the greater his confidence that he (or she) is "safe" to drive when drunk.
I used to be like Tina, sitting there at the bar waiting for one or another of my past boyfriends to finish drinking. I used to be one of those names and numbers on a Rolodex card. I was the card for Mark, a boyfriend of less than a year, over six years ago. One night, I got "the call," drove ten miles to the Prairie Dog, walked in, didn't see him... the bartender pointed at the Men's Room. As I walked down the hallway, I heard a crashing sound. Thinking Mark had fallen, I opened the door: he had fallen all right. Fallen to the floor naked, with my friend Patty on top of him, also naked. He immediately starts shouting at me "It's not what you think, she doesn't mean anything to me" and laughs at the same time - but it's obvious he is still inside of her.
I walk out, shouting "Tear up my number and NEVER CALL ME AGAIN for him."
I find many voice-mail messages when I get home, begging forgiveness, begging understanding, saying it was just a mistake, you name it. I had known for six months that this relationship would never work: Sober, he was one of the best people I'd ever known in my life. Drunk, he was the worst. The phone rang many times that night: I never answered it.
At 4:40am, a knock on my front door. Shouting "Go to hell leave me alone ..." as I swing open the door expecting Mark but finding Patty, with a county sheriff's card in her hand. Patty informs me that Mark, while driving over 90 mph down Highway 24, blew through a stoplight and rammed into the side of a minivan. He's OK, the person he hit is critical.
Silence.
Patty informs me that Mark told the police I "refused" to drive him home, and then, after she bitched me out for my heartlessness in leaving him free to drive drunk (along with various other foul comments on what a lousy girlfriend I was), she wanted me to know I needed to call the County Sheriff's office in the next day or two. To give them a statement. "I shouldn't be telling you this, Laura, but if I were you, I'd find a lawyer before you say anything to the sheriff."
I forget about going to sleep.
I made the call immediately - after calling the hospital to find out how Mark was. Apparently not only Mark, but a few others, gleefully related the details of my earlier outburst upon finding Mark in the throes of passion on the bathroom floor. It turns out that if you knowingly "permit" someone who is intoxicated to drive, the possibility exists you might be considered legally liable for his or her actions.
"Are you telling me the next time some idiot gets drunk, drives, and kills some poor innocent family of five all they have to do is say ‘So-and-so wouldn't drive me home, therefore it's not my fault, it's their fault!' You have got to be kidding me!"
Yes, sometimes it is true.
How absurd! How ridiculous! How insane! Some idiot who doesn't care to control their drinking, drives and hurts or kills someone, and I may end up arrested or sued? I may lose everything I have spent my life working for just because someone else screwed up? I'm not the one who got him drunk. Hey, I wasn't even there when he got in his truck! Yet, somehow, five hours after I last saw him, I may end up held responsible for his actions. How ludicrous! Have we completely forgotten that he is an adult responsible for his own choices?
Apparently so.
Four months later, the van driver has fully recovered. My lawyer did his lawyer magic and I not only was never held responsible for his accident, I managed to avoid being involved in the investigation completely. But how absurd is that? I'm not liable for something I should never have been liable for in the first place. At a cost of more than $2,000 in legal expenses, hours of lost work, and much stress and aggravation, I'm not liable! Gee, thank you!
But, there is some guilt: I didn't drive him home and someone got hurt. Mark got a public defender, $600 in fines and a one-year license suspension. Of course he drove - drunk - during that year.
Through the rumor mill, I have learned of several more "incidents" involving Mark over the last six years. I hear the news, and I find myself saying "Thank God I got out of his life and away from that drama." Thank God... yet I still feel a twinge of guilt. Guilt that I am not there to be the responsible one, the one to "save" him. I guess you could say I got lucky. I am not Tina.
I wonder what has happened to our society sometimes. Time was, when you screwed up, you took responsibility, paid the price, and called it a "learning experience." Now, when you screw up, you are far more likely to cry, "It's because of my parents, my school, my neighborhood, I lost my job ..." blah, blah, blah, you name it. It all comes down to the same mantra: "It's not my fault, I am the victim!" We spill hot coffee and sue the company because we got burned. We break a window to rob a house, and sue the owner because we got cut. We drive on bald tires and sue the automobile manufacturer because we totaled our car. We drive drunk and sue someone who did not - could not - stop us from driving because we killed someone.
I have stopped being the designated driver. The bartenders no longer call me when someone is too drunk to drive. My friends no longer take advantage of my sobriety or my friendship. I do not allow myself to be an excuse for someone else's refusal or inability to control their own drinking. I can not allow myself to be responsible for the actions of the irresponsible.
It's 3:05 am, and there is a knock on my door.
I sit here on my couch, watching my dogs go crazy barking at the door. I sit here quietly, hoping they will give up and go away. The dogs stop barking and start whining lightly, tails wagging. Obviously, it is someone they know.
I sit, quietly waiting.
Sigh. I get up.
I answer the door.
After all, friends don't let friends drive drunk.
* * *
Written for Professor Sutter's Creative Non-Fiction class at Pikes Peak Community College, 1st August 2005.
Epilogue, 2008:
While I wrote this in 2005, the incidents referenced took place in 1999-2001. All names have been changed to protect the not-innocent.
My small town's changed a lot since then. In 2006, Colorado instituted a smoking ban. This ban cost our three local entertainment businesses upwards of 45% in lost revenue, resulting in all of their closures. The Prairie Dog has changed owners twice (I can't keep track of what it's called now!), Makenna's Saloon is now closed, Curly's Place closed after 24 years, and the bowling alley closed, leaving our local teens and young people no place to hang out. Instead of simply walking home from the bar, our local venerable drunks now drive at least 10 miles away, or drink at home. This has resulted in an unbelievable increase in drunk driving incidents, and a small increase in domestic violence in the area. Five DUIs last week alone... in an area where one a month was the norm. Sure, I guess it's nice there is no bar in town anymore...
Needless to say, I never had anything to do with Mark again. While I tried to remain friends with him (it is a VERY small town, it's often vital to make nice) Mark ended up heavy into meth, and in 2002, I reluctantly pursued and was granted a permanent restraining order. It worked, he actually moved out of the area, and I've not laid eyes on him since.
Meanwhile... thanks to the local business closings, Tina lost both her jobs and John drinks only at home now, suffering from liver cirrhosis and a few other alcohol-related ailments. Much as he would like her to, she can't drive him anywhere, because she hasn't the money to pay for gas, much less beer at a bar! There are some upsides to our current economic situation after all...
***
In late 2005, I posted this essay on Writing.com and received the following comments/reviews on it, that unfortunately I was unable to properly import to this blog when I moved everything over. The comments received are below:Aonghas MacDubh: Going Grey painted realistic scenes about small-town life. I could picture being in North Dakota, or maybe somewhere in Saskatchewan. Excellent. Mechanically, I found little to complain about, and that which I did would be subject to some dispute. I'm from the old school of sentence structure, but not limited by it... so, the heck with starting an argument. As to the story, I do not understand the reason Tina would continue putting up with her husband; or why her husband would drown himself as a "regular".
However, I accepted everything quite easily. This story has the ring of truth. Another "reality" that made me think... Canada... was the law making someone responsible for another's actions; To wit: Refusing to give a drunk a ride home is to become responsible should he drive and kill someone.... How bloody Canadian that idea!
Lynne is building:
This story is a real eye-opener for me. I think it's outrageous that you could have been charged after what happened. Your argument against this is reasonable and true. How could you be held responsible for something you had no control over? You wrote this very well, I was with you from the beginning and thoroughly digested every word. I was shaken by the facts of this tale. That so many people drink and drive and get away with it.
Steven Oz:
Have you published this? If not then you should. I never knew designated drivers could be liable if they choose not to drive, although it makes a sick sort of sense in today's "sue everybody" society. The "somebody else is responsible" society. Well written and informative (bit of an eye-popper).
DawnKnight: I can not give you any critquing on this, it is perfect. Great job, in describing every aspect of this, I hope it gets published some day.
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