In the eighties dave worked for CTI Records.
One of the people he worked with there turned out to have a serious drinking problem. Let’s say his name was Lance Quintet. dave and I were friends with him and his girlfriend who by the way gave me the tools to tell one of my all time funniest jokes.
She was a nurse and she gave me about 10 rectal thermometers. I don’t really remember why she gave them to me but you know the old “gift horse” adage. We Jews live by that.
Years later dave had the flu and he wanted to know what his fever was. Men love to know their temperature.
The only thermometers I had were the ones that this girl had given me that time so I popped one in dave’s mouth.
“I hope this works. It’s a rectal thermometer”
With it still in his mouth, dave mumbled “Where’d you get a rectal thermometer?”
“I found it on the street when I was walking the dog. Don’t worry I wiped it off”.
The look on his face still gives me a chuckle.
Where was I? Oh yeah, Lance and his drinking problem in the eighties.
One day he called dave up and said he had fallen and he thought he broke his shoulder. I could tell he was drunk and somewhat disoriented. I offered to go over to his house and take him to the doctor. He sounded relieved.
When I got to his house he was in his pj’s and drinking a glass of vodka. He appeared uninjured and chatty but I wasn’t sure he wasn’t hurt.
“Get dressed and let’s go” I sat down on the couch and waited.
He came out of the bedroom still holding the vodka, stark naked with a towel in front of his wiener.
“Cut the comedy Lance. Get dressed or I’m leaving”
He just stood there chatting away as if he were in a 3 piece suit.
“You seem greatly improved, Lance, I’ll be on my way.” and I left.
If that wasn’t the last time I saw him it was very near the last time.
So here it is about 30 years later and I’m admiring my dog’s handsomeness and playing solitaire on my iPad and the phone rings.
I look at caller id and it’s Quintet, Lance.
I pick up the phone. “Hey Lance how ya doing?”
“Mattie! Great to talk to you mumble mumble” he was clearly loaded.
“You’re calling for dave?”
“Sure but I can talk to you awhile” I think that’s what he said. It had some words with an ish at the end.
“Well dave and I are divorced and he moved to Japan. Let me give you his email address.”
“Oh no, oh no. When did this happen? I can’t believe it.” Imagine him saying this in a slur.
“About 3 years ago, let me give you his email address”
“I can’t believe it. That’s terrible. Was it friendly? ”
“Very friendly, we talk every night. Got a pencil?
“I wanna come up and see you. Still on the 18th floor? I’ve thought about you a lot throughout these years”
Then I got the creeps. How could he remember that I live on the 18th floor. He’s a drunk. How could a drunk remember what floor we lived on. I only hope that that’s all of my address that he remembers.
“If you can’t find a pencil give me your email address and I’ll send you dave’s address”
It took an eternity for him to spit out his email address then he said “I have a pencil. Wasn’t I supposed to write something too?”
“No, Gotta go” I hung up.
The last thing I want is some naked 70 year old drunk coming to my door with a towel on his dick.
I got too much class for that.