“You’re drinking Cokes like you used to drink beer,” George told me this afternoon after stopping by for awhile. “You’re obsessed.”
I had called George asking for a favor. I wanted a 12 pack of regular Coca-Cola from Kroger. George was the only person I could turn to.
“You know? Normal people don’t drink 12 Cokes in a row,” George furthered, admonishing me. “Or in a day for that matter!”
I laughed nervously. “I’m not normal,” I said in my defense.
“Did you even realize yesterday was my fifth week of sobriety?” George asked.
“I certainly did,” I replied, proudly. “Your mother called me about it.”
George lit up a cigar and looked deep in thought. He grabbed the remote and turned it to channel 59, Cop TV. He didn’t stay long, wanting to eat supper and get a few more hours of sleep before work.
“Try not to drink all 12 tonight, okay?” George said as he was leaving. “You’re going to get sick!”
I smiled as I lit up a cigarette all the while looking innocent letting the irony soak in of a man who used to drink alcohol like a ghetto whino. I never thought George would get in on the anti-coke bandwagon everyone seems to be climbing on about me and my habit. I felt like I had just had one of the many lectures my father is known for giving to me. It kind of pissed me off after George had left. I realized then I have a problem. I guess it is better than drinking 24 beers a day like I did for years. It is all relative and the lesser of the many evils I have practiced during my life.