My cousin Lucifer, whose visit with the Davidson County Corrections folks in Nashville last year was the subject of an earlier blog, turned up on my porch last night. This is after I told him repeatedly over the phone that I had to be at work early today and did not want him to stop by.
He has a little hearing problem, especially when he's less than sober, and he was considerably LESS than sober. He was deposited on my porch with the help of our intrepid police force, who threatened him with a DUI until he said he was just trying to get to my place to sleep it off on the couch. The only problem is that I know something that they didn't: he doesn't go to sleep right away when he's drunk. He wants to drink some more so he can pass out.
I would prefer it if he did his passing out elsewhere. He has a habit of letting himself out either late at night or in the wee, small hours of the morning, which has resulted in his letting my dogs out. Since the yard's not fenced, this is a problem. Due to his refusal to leave, my Airedales were crated overnight against the possibility of his drunkenly liberating them.
It wasn't a misplaced precaution. There's a trick to catching the lock on the side door, and he doesn't know it. As I was shoving him out this morning so I could get ready for work, I noticed that the latch wasn't caught. I'd already found evidence that he'd gotten up from the sofa and had a few drinks during the night, so I wasn't too shocked when I found that he'd rifled through the liquor cabinet and stolen both a fifth of vodka and a fifth of tequila. I think he probably went out overnight and stashed them in the car, hoping I wouldn't notice until after he'd left. At least he was too drunk to get all the way to the back for the bottle of boutique, small-distillery single-malt Scotch that I brought back from my last trip to Scotland. Just trust me on this- that would constitute a felony. Literally.
About forty dollars' worth of booze and a sleepless night were the price of getting rid of him for the time being. Years ago, I caught him trying to take my credit cards, so the first thing I do when he foists his presence off on me is hide my purse and any firearms that are immediately to hand.
When he was playing ball for Old Man Fulmer down at Tennessee, I'm sure these 'madcap drunken antics' were considered par for the course. Thing is, though, Lucifer is now 35. This routine is past stale, and I also noticed that he had his Nissan employee badge clipped to his waistband when he staggered through the door. When he's sober, he works for them as a design engineer, at which he's really quite talented- but the former qualifier sort of obviates the latter. Last night, he was in a local bar (he phoned me three times) trying to pick up a girl from Ohio who made the mistake of insulting Michigan football, which, God help U of M, is where he got his masters' in engineering. Ferris State is the guilty party on his bachelors', and we here at the community college were responsible for his automotive tech diploma and ASE certification...after he quit Tennessee eight weeks shy of finishing his English degree.
Encouraging him to go to detox is useless. While he was incarcerated the last time, he was put in the jail's detox program and forced to attend AA meetings, emphasis on "forced". You can guess how well that worked...his eyes were bright pink and swimming when I turned on my porch light.
I've really hit my limit. I can't drunk-sit him anymore. I wish the fuzz would get wise to his slick, fast-talking BS and lock him up again. That way he'd have somewhere to stay and I wouldn't have to worry about my liquor or my dogs disappearing.