"You've got a lot of damn nerve doing this to me."

Took this woman to Catholic Charities today. She had no more insurance. The treatment center couldn't afford to keep her. No one from her family wanted her. Her husband continues to carry her on his insurance but he refuses to live with her anymore. Her friends have all kicked her out. Apparently her husband and family have placed her in any number of situations, treatment centers, group homes, private apartments, hospitals etc. She walks out and starts drinking.

She wanted to stay in the center because she knew her next stop was the homeless shelter.

She was in her early 40's, tall, good looking, very well dressed, jewelry, manicure, yoga pants and an iPhone. The psychic effect of sitting next to her was that she seemed to be covered in long sharp spikes. She wanted to drag me into her problems. She did not feel she deserved any of this. She did not complain. She made demands. I told her. "I'm just a driver. I only go where I'm told. I'm not a cab driver. I don't drive people around at their whim. I'm not the person you need to address your complaints to".

She wanted me to stop so she could have a cigarette. She wanted me to take her somewhere to eat. She wanted me to get her into a different treatment program. She did not want to answer the questions on the Catholic Charities forms.

The people at Catholic Charities were very nice but they had seen it all. The client tried to bully them by acting "desperate". They ignored her. I told her, "These people are pretty used to desperate people. You're not going to get a rise out of them that way. I had to sit next to her. I felt as though I was going to be impaled on the spikes. I stopped talking to her and closed my eyes. I tried to relax and watch my breathing. I thought, "As awful as she is, she is really suffering. You're never closer to God than you are at moments like this". I made it a point to note that it was an almost perfect day. I noticed the garden at the Catholic Charities house. I noticed humming birds at the flowers in the garden. I got up and walked into the garden. An old cat walked over and lay down on the gravel path. She was friendly but did not want to get petted. I talked to her a little bit. The cat that is. I figured the client was not in any state that would allow her to notice flowers, or humming birds, or old cats. I thanked God that I could still notice those things. After that I felt a little safer.

There was a whole group of people waiting for an interview to be admitted to this six month program that would supposedly lead to employment and housing. I started talking about baseball to a guy who was waiting with us. He was sober 5 months. He had the heart of a lion. He talked about his sponsor. He said he was grateful for any help and willing take whatever help was offered to him. He was not happy about having to live in a shelter but he figured he'd be alright if he stayed on his current path. I liked him fine.

The client interrupted several times to announce that she was hungry and that she wanted me to get her something to eat. I got her a glass of water because she refused to ask the Catholic Charity people for water. Someone else should figure out that she needed water. She did not have the heart of any known mammal.

Partly out of curiosity and partly because she refused to answer any questions she didn't like, I went with her into the interview with the worker. When asked why she was homeless she started to talk about all of the people who had let her down. The worker asked, "Have you been recently released from jail or prison? Were you in a hospital? Were you evicted from your home? Did you leave your home because of domestic violence?". The client said she was homeless because her husband's insurance was no good.

Finally I looked at the worker and said, "She drinks." The worker thanked me and checked off the appropriate square. The worker told her she was accepted into the program and could go there right away. The client said, "I think I'll come by around 7:00 maybe 7:30". I explained that I had to go home and that she would be going to the shelter by 4:30 or 5:00. She didn't like that either.

I had to take her back to the center to pick up her things. She announced that she was going to get something to eat and take a nap and that we could discuss the time she was leaving afterwards. I went and got one of my bosses. I told him I was in way over my head with her. I reminded him that I'm only a driver too. He was going to have to convince her that she was going to be leaving shortly.

A few minutes later she came out with the first of two enormous suitcases. She also had a couple of shoulder bags and a a make up case. Remember, this is a women with jewelry, a manicure, an iPhone, etc. Someone from the center came out with the other enormous suitcase and we were on our way. She wanted me to stop at a shopping center. She wanted to know how many miles it would be to someplace where she could use a computer. She wanted me to take her somewhere she could use a computer. I took her to the shelter.

It was pretty goddam bleak. A former National Guard armory in the middle of a field. It was clean. It was quiet. She picked up one of the shoulder bags and said "Help bring my luggage in". She finally agreed to maybe take care of one of the enormous suitcases. Some of the clients looked troubled. Some of them just looked like anybody else. Almost everyone I saw seemed friendly enough. Several people said hello to us. I noticed that I felt perfectly comfortable around the homeless people in the shelter but the client made me want to jump out of my skin.

When we got her luggage inside, she threw herself down on a couch and said to me, "You've got a lot of goddam nerve doing this to me". I wished her luck and got out of there. I can't imagine what it will look like when she hits bottom.

Not cynical

Sometimes I want to voice my darkest thoughts about the people I drive. They're not my only thoughts. I love the people I deal with. I couldn't do this if I didn't love them. That's something I love about the people I work with. They really care about the people who come to them. They use the word "we" a lot. I can't separate myself from the people I drive and do what I do. I don't have to act like them but I have to know that I am still them.

Let me tell you something. When I was growing up the entire point of life in my family was figuring out who was to blame. It was absolutely crucial that someone be made wrong so that everyone else could feel right. More than once I was told, "You're not one of us." because I had committed some minor infraction. The book of rules was infinite and infinitely mysterious. You never knew you'd crossed a line until you got hit in the head. Anything you did wrong marked you as separated out and despised.

It is such a fucking relief to be with people and say things to them like, "I know how that feels".

Another family

I called the number I was given for the client. It turned out to be her parent's house. The call went to voicemail. I left a message that I was on my way and gave an estimated time of arrival. A few minutes later my phone rang. I answered and said hello.

A man's voice on the other end said, "You called a couple minutes ago."

Oh, is this (the client's) father? What's going on?

"Listen if you're trying to start something I'm not gonna put up with it."

I don't understand. I just wanted (the client) to know I was on my way.

"Listen here. I'm a pretty nice guy but I don't like it when someone comes on that way to me."

His daughter turned out to be a very shy, quiet, congenital liar and heroin addict.

Families

Sometimes the client has no family. Sometimes the family is all about boundaries. They make the client open the door. They make the client carry her own luggage. They stand in the doorway and say goodbye.

Two weeks ago I picked up a pleasant, quiet young alcoholic man. I couldn't find a place to park because there were cars all down his block. It turns out his entire family was there to send him off. I met his wife, his parents, his in laws, his nieces and nephews. They all wanted to shake my hand and ask me about myself. Was I a counselor? Would we be talking about recovery on the ride to the facility? Did I like my job?

I'm going to tell you the truth. I couldn't help but wonder how this guy turned out to be such a terrible drunk with all of those people fussing over him. Did they have a part in it? He comes from a working class family but he lives like a little prince. He's always sick and needs dozens of pills to get through the day. He's barely thirty and he uses oxygen from a machine. He is on disability but his wife buys him designer clothes. He spent his time sitting around, being nursed and drinking vodka.

He's an awfully nice fellow; very friendly and helpful to other people in treatment. I wonder what's going on even though it's none of my business. His family is really different from mine. I wonder how his family works.

Who is to blame?

By the way, I do have a social understanding of addiction. Addiction is not caused by drugs. Addiction is a response to pain. Drugs are of no interest to people who are not in pain. I think our society is failing and the shake out from that is doing a lot of damage to real people. People are hurting. A huge chunk of America is frightened and in pain.

Yeah, I know, just like when Duke dies in Repo Man. "It still hurts".

Your record collection is making me depressed.

Picked up this fairly young woman at her home. She did not have any family around. She was quite drunk but coherent. Man did she look sick. She was basically nothing but little skinny arms and legs and a huge swollen liver.

Let me explain something. My record collection is badass. It's all about that "three chords and the truth" thing. Lotta different kinds of music. All of them puro punk as far as I'm concerned.

My client has thoughtfully brought along a plastic bag so she can vomit as needed. She has many opinions. She doesn't like the route I've chosen. She doesn't like people in the other cars. She really doesn't like the music I'm playing.

"Don't you have any headbanging music?" she asks me.

"Like what", I reply.

"The Clash or Green Day". Those are the only two bands she can name.

I love The Clash and I don't mind Green Day but we won't be listening to either one of them today.

The client starts throwing up in her bag. I ask if she needs me to pull over. She says she's fine. She keeps telling me about things that she hates. I had forgotten about being a wildly opinionated drunk who can continue to complain even while vomiting into a plastic bag. This is fucking great! I mean it!

We listen to Charlie Feathers. She hates him. We listen to The Flaming Groovies. She hates them. We listen to Curtis Mayfield. I warn her. Do not diss Curtis Mayfield in my presence. She quiets down.

Finally she admits that she can see why I like Curtis Mayfield  but the other bands don't have enough "Tude".  I ask her who has enough "Tude".

"The Clash and Green Day".

Then she tells me she used to live in a particularly bad part of town. I ask her where and she names a bad intersection. I name the intersection I lived at in that neighborhood. It was much worse. She tells me she loved the neighborhood. I hated it. I explain. I've lived in plenty of poor neighborhoods but I hated that neighborhood because the people there weren't poor. They were fucked up. Hoodlums, dope fiends and people who just couldn't get their shit together.

I tell her, "I minded my own business when I lived there. I kept my head down and I kept a gun in my waistband."

She doesn't like that. "You carried a gun in that neighborhood? You're a fuckin' punk ass". She is about 4'10".

I explain to her that I wasn't a punk ass. I was a fucking fool.

She doesn't like that. "You were a coward. If you weren't a coward you would have been willing to get hit from whatever direction the next punch was coming from."

I don't really follow her logic. Mind you, she was vomiting into a plastic bag the whole time.

By now we are out of the city. She says, "You're really dragging me into the middle of nowhere." We are in fact passing by some very small ranches on the edge of suburban towns. She hates the middle of nowhere. She grew up in Texas. She hated Texas.

I like it here. I like the city too. She thinks it's got to be one or the other. Then she starts telling me that I don't know much about farm life but she does.

Finally I get her to the facility. She says, "I didn't throw up on the interior of your car." I thank her and she hands me the bag of vomit to throw out.

What I really liked about her is that she is just like me 20 years ago.

An explanation.

I'm going to write about the people I drive around. I'm not out to make fun of them. I don't intend to give anyone's private information away. I am not planning on revealing where I live or who I work for. Sometimes things happen at my job that are hilarious. Sometimes only I could possibly find them amusing. I love the people I drive around. Most of them are going to die drunk and addicted. The people I work for try very hard, care very much and know so very much about the problem. I don't know how they let off steam when no one is around. This is how I do it.