Don't Drink The Baby's Milk!
My Dad is what I call a situational alcoholic. If there was alcohol in the house, he would drink it until it was gone, but he was too damn cheap to go to the liquor store for more. (This doesn't count the times when I was 10 or 11 and he would send me to the corner store for a quart of beer to drink while he watched wrestling.) I only saw him drunk once. Mom brought him home from a Christmas party. She came into the house to get me because she needed help getting him out of the truck. He was a pretty happy drunk, but I had a hell of a time getting him out of the Blazer because the poor bastard couldn't find the ground. His foot would come out of the door and just kind of wave around.
My Mom had to tell me about the other time he got drunk. I was around five or six. Dad was working two jobs to keep me and my sister in shoes and my baby brother in diapers. One night he didn't come home until really late. Mom had already gone to bed without worry because it was Friday night and he often put in overtime then because nobody else wanted it.
Dad stumbles into the bedroom and sits down heavily on the bed. The sound of his work boots hitting the hardwood floor wakes mom up and she asks him how his day went. He mumbles something unintelligible and since that's how they communicate, Mom just rolled over to go back to sleep. A short time later Mom is awakened by the sound of Dad running into walls. He is stumbling all over the place and she asks him what he is doing. He growls something about having to go to the bathroom and then she hears water hitting the floor. Mom jumps up and flips on the lights to see Pop peeing in the corner. She starts yelling and screaming, calling him a heathen and pulls the bed away from the stream of urine. He finishes and promptly passes back out on the bed. This is when Mom begins to suspect that perhaps her husband had been out having a little fun with the boys that night.
The next morning Mom gets up with my baby brother and is going through her Saturday morning routine. She looks out the window and there is a Volkswagen Beetle parked in the driveway. Since she drove a Bonneville and the other family vehicle was a pickup truck, she thought this was odd.
She carried my brother outside and found the Beetle open. Hoping to find out who owned the car, she sat my brother in the passenger seat and began to go through the glove box. She didn't find a registration, but she did find sixteen paychecks in a neat bundle, all with different men's names on them. While she was sitting there pondering the situation, the neighbor's seventeen year old son shows up.
"Mrs. King! Mrs. King! When did you get the new car? It's way bitchin'!! I wish I had a car like that! It's so cool! When did you get it Mrs. King? When? Huh?"
Mom took one look at Little Roland (who was actually six feet tall, a full five inches taller than his dad, Big Roland), one look at the keys in the ignition and formulated her plan.
"Would you like to drive it Roland?"
"Boy would I Mrs. King! Can I?"
"Sure Roland. Take a test drive around the neighborhood, but when you are done, park it around the corner for me, ok?"
"No problem Mrs. King!" And off Little Roland went.
Mom went back in the house and was giving baby brother his bottle. Soon, she heard a commotion down the hall and around the corner lumbers Dad. He is holding his head in his hands, but he has on his work clothes. He bangs around the kitchen not saying a word, pours himself a cup of coffee and goes to the fridge for a bit of milk. Bad luck, no milk. Stumped, he begins to eye the baby's bottle. He reaches for it and Mom tells him "If you touch the baby's milk, you will never be able to use that hand again!"
"What the hell are you doing up anyway? Do you work today?"
"Dammit," he slurs, "I work Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday. I work everyday of the week."
Mom knows she has him on this one. "It's Saturday numbnuts!! Carry your drunk ass back to bed!" So, being well trained, Dad went back to bed.
According to Mom, the phone started ringing about ten in the morning. One after another, wives began calling the house wanting to know where their husband's paychecks were. Mom would tell them that she didn't know anything about it and they would have to wait until Mr. woke up and ask him.
The details are a tad sketchy after this. Depending on who is telling the ending, either Dad woke up and quickly realized that he had somebody else's car and all of his co-worker's paychecks, or the poor bastard spent the rest of the day trying to figure out why everybody thought he had their money. Either way, I never heard of Dad coming home drunk again.
Oh yeah, did you know that urine will warp the shit out of hardwood floors?
My Mom had to tell me about the other time he got drunk. I was around five or six. Dad was working two jobs to keep me and my sister in shoes and my baby brother in diapers. One night he didn't come home until really late. Mom had already gone to bed without worry because it was Friday night and he often put in overtime then because nobody else wanted it.
Dad stumbles into the bedroom and sits down heavily on the bed. The sound of his work boots hitting the hardwood floor wakes mom up and she asks him how his day went. He mumbles something unintelligible and since that's how they communicate, Mom just rolled over to go back to sleep. A short time later Mom is awakened by the sound of Dad running into walls. He is stumbling all over the place and she asks him what he is doing. He growls something about having to go to the bathroom and then she hears water hitting the floor. Mom jumps up and flips on the lights to see Pop peeing in the corner. She starts yelling and screaming, calling him a heathen and pulls the bed away from the stream of urine. He finishes and promptly passes back out on the bed. This is when Mom begins to suspect that perhaps her husband had been out having a little fun with the boys that night.
The next morning Mom gets up with my baby brother and is going through her Saturday morning routine. She looks out the window and there is a Volkswagen Beetle parked in the driveway. Since she drove a Bonneville and the other family vehicle was a pickup truck, she thought this was odd.
She carried my brother outside and found the Beetle open. Hoping to find out who owned the car, she sat my brother in the passenger seat and began to go through the glove box. She didn't find a registration, but she did find sixteen paychecks in a neat bundle, all with different men's names on them. While she was sitting there pondering the situation, the neighbor's seventeen year old son shows up.
"Mrs. King! Mrs. King! When did you get the new car? It's way bitchin'!! I wish I had a car like that! It's so cool! When did you get it Mrs. King? When? Huh?"
Mom took one look at Little Roland (who was actually six feet tall, a full five inches taller than his dad, Big Roland), one look at the keys in the ignition and formulated her plan.
"Would you like to drive it Roland?"
"Boy would I Mrs. King! Can I?"
"Sure Roland. Take a test drive around the neighborhood, but when you are done, park it around the corner for me, ok?"
"No problem Mrs. King!" And off Little Roland went.
Mom went back in the house and was giving baby brother his bottle. Soon, she heard a commotion down the hall and around the corner lumbers Dad. He is holding his head in his hands, but he has on his work clothes. He bangs around the kitchen not saying a word, pours himself a cup of coffee and goes to the fridge for a bit of milk. Bad luck, no milk. Stumped, he begins to eye the baby's bottle. He reaches for it and Mom tells him "If you touch the baby's milk, you will never be able to use that hand again!"
"What the hell are you doing up anyway? Do you work today?"
"Dammit," he slurs, "I work Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday. I work everyday of the week."
Mom knows she has him on this one. "It's Saturday numbnuts!! Carry your drunk ass back to bed!" So, being well trained, Dad went back to bed.
According to Mom, the phone started ringing about ten in the morning. One after another, wives began calling the house wanting to know where their husband's paychecks were. Mom would tell them that she didn't know anything about it and they would have to wait until Mr. woke up and ask him.
The details are a tad sketchy after this. Depending on who is telling the ending, either Dad woke up and quickly realized that he had somebody else's car and all of his co-worker's paychecks, or the poor bastard spent the rest of the day trying to figure out why everybody thought he had their money. Either way, I never heard of Dad coming home drunk again.
Oh yeah, did you know that urine will warp the shit out of hardwood floors?
posted by Bat at 11:16 PM
8 Comments:
LMAO! Great story.
Wow. Yeah my Dad did the peeing in the bedroom thing too, except he used Mom's closet. Bad. Very bad.
so....did you father win those checks in a poker game??? interesting !
Yeah, I've seen my dad pee in the corner too. There's just something about those corners...
good story.
much funnier than any drunk dad story i can recall... but ... i got to start driving when I was 13 because of it.
someone had to go get him and it turned out to be me. The rest of that summer was a blast.
I worry about you sometimes.
I love it!
Other people's family stories are the best :)
My Dad peed in the sink. He was a very quiet drunk. My mother was loud and dramatically drunk.
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