We walk back into our apartment after a quick 36 hour romp to Massachusetts for Marlow's 1st Birthday! The place is dark and quiet as though it had sat in wait for our return. Baby Marlow breath and cupcakes and streamers still circle our heads. Lots of life decisions had been made on this trip and Matt and I are tickled over the adventurous plans we had only moments before shook on. We're eager to relax and reminisce and celebrate.
We drop our bags and breath deep. It smells like piss... and vomit.
Alarms go off in our heads. Our dogs! We open the door to their room to let them out. They run around wiggling with excitement, stomping on each other in attempt to get a hello kiss and cuddle first.
Phew, they're fine. But their room is definitely the source of all that stink. Someone had definitely peed the bed. Someone had also definitely thrown up all over the place. There was no water in the bowl. Our sitter had most certainly dropped the ball.
We step further into the apartment. A picture frame is off the wall. The cable boxes had been shifted. A candle was moved.
What had happened here?
We checked the liquor cabinet, as is part of our ritual after this particular sitter has stayed with our dogs. He, this sitter, is a big drinker. A HUGE one. Though he drinks us dry, we have come to really count on him because he loves our dogs and... well, is always available. Life has also taken a hard turn for him lately and we feel good being able to give this close friend some place comfy and clean to stay for a couple of days. In return, we like knowing that we have someone in our home we can *trust.*
He had finished half a decanter of vodka and half a decanter of tequila. We do the math. He had worked until very late on Friday night and had to be back at work at 4 on Saturday. With conservatively 6 hours of sleep in between, he realistically had 7 hours max to consume all this. What shocks us is not that he had managed to swallow down all this booze in this short period of it - but that we were not actually shocked at all. He's done this before. And has drank much much more.
We step even further into the apartment. The sliding french doors leading to our bedroom are off the track. Typical. He knocks them off all the time. But wait! What's this?? He busted out one of the windows?? Oh my god! WHAT HAPPENED HERE LAST NIGHT?!
I go immediately back to the dogs and check their feet. If he was this drunk, maybe he didn't realize... Nope, they're fine. I break out the vacuum. There's nothing to pick up. I can't find any glass anywhere. He's clearly done a good job cleaning up. There isn't even glass in the trash. He must have gotten rid of it outside. There are black finger prints on the door where he's obviously tried unsuccessfully to get the door back on track. There is blood on our sheets. On our pillow cases. On our door frames. In our bathroom.
I'm so sad. This is the sheet set that I've worked a lifetime to get. Its one of the super expensive ones that I couldn't afford by myself, so my family all came together for Christmas and each bought me one element. This set is the most adult thing I own. And someone else's blood is all over it.
And then Matt finds it. A gold wrapper. One that you rip with your teeth and toss. My blood boils and I pick up the phone. He answers cheerfully. Hey! Hi! How was your trip? <--- greets me with something like that.
I say: First of all, thank you for watching my dogs again.
Oh, you're welcome! he says. The sunny tone to his voice makes me lose it.
WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED LAST NIGHT?? I ask.
What are you talking about? he replies. Nothing happened.
I list our observations. He has no idea what I'm talking about. The door, according to him, was already off the track. He has no idea about the missing glass panel. The wrapper fell out of his backpack. He was there alone. No idea about the blood - he's not cut or anything, he says.
I hand the phone to Matt. Matt gets the same story which hurts him. This friend has been a friend of Matt's for nearly a decade. In his mind, he can forgive this guy lying to me. Matt has claimed many a time before that I'm scary when I'm mad. But why lie to him? To him, it was another slap to the face.
We hang up. Have dinner. And later, I find something else. Proof that a lady had been in the apartment. And that the stains around the place are not just one person's fault. *Ugh* I leave another voicemail - this time, one that does not mix words. This is all so bad. So very very bad.
The next day, after a couple more false admissions, the real story pieces together. He had gotten drunk at his favorite watering hole after work. Met a girl. Got into a fight with the bouncer and had gotten permanently kicked out by the GM... a long time friend of his. He left with the girl and came back here. They did what they did. He woke up on Saturday clearly hungover and left late for work. He might now not work there any longer.
His ex-girlfriend, the biggest ray of sunshine in his and anyone's life really, is stung badly over this story. He told her the details himself. I really wish he hadn't. She does not deserve any of this. Clearly, hope that he was pulling himself together for her sake and their relationship's sake still circled her heart.
We need a silver lining. We need something good to come out of all this. Matt reaches out to him. He says, in his own words: Friend, your drinking is ruining everything. You deserve a better life than the one you're creating for yourself. You need help - We can do this together! In one night, you burned every bridge that matters to you. But not all is lost! We love you. Let me help you fix this.
We haven't heard much from him since. He is feeling really down on himself. I hope that he doesn't fade away - as I've been told he's done in the past when confronted. I hope this is as close to rock bottom as he needs to get. We will continue to reach out. I hope that he reaches back.
We drop our bags and breath deep. It smells like piss... and vomit.
Alarms go off in our heads. Our dogs! We open the door to their room to let them out. They run around wiggling with excitement, stomping on each other in attempt to get a hello kiss and cuddle first.
Phew, they're fine. But their room is definitely the source of all that stink. Someone had definitely peed the bed. Someone had also definitely thrown up all over the place. There was no water in the bowl. Our sitter had most certainly dropped the ball.
We step further into the apartment. A picture frame is off the wall. The cable boxes had been shifted. A candle was moved.
What had happened here?
We checked the liquor cabinet, as is part of our ritual after this particular sitter has stayed with our dogs. He, this sitter, is a big drinker. A HUGE one. Though he drinks us dry, we have come to really count on him because he loves our dogs and... well, is always available. Life has also taken a hard turn for him lately and we feel good being able to give this close friend some place comfy and clean to stay for a couple of days. In return, we like knowing that we have someone in our home we can *trust.*
He had finished half a decanter of vodka and half a decanter of tequila. We do the math. He had worked until very late on Friday night and had to be back at work at 4 on Saturday. With conservatively 6 hours of sleep in between, he realistically had 7 hours max to consume all this. What shocks us is not that he had managed to swallow down all this booze in this short period of it - but that we were not actually shocked at all. He's done this before. And has drank much much more.
We step even further into the apartment. The sliding french doors leading to our bedroom are off the track. Typical. He knocks them off all the time. But wait! What's this?? He busted out one of the windows?? Oh my god! WHAT HAPPENED HERE LAST NIGHT?!
I go immediately back to the dogs and check their feet. If he was this drunk, maybe he didn't realize... Nope, they're fine. I break out the vacuum. There's nothing to pick up. I can't find any glass anywhere. He's clearly done a good job cleaning up. There isn't even glass in the trash. He must have gotten rid of it outside. There are black finger prints on the door where he's obviously tried unsuccessfully to get the door back on track. There is blood on our sheets. On our pillow cases. On our door frames. In our bathroom.
I'm so sad. This is the sheet set that I've worked a lifetime to get. Its one of the super expensive ones that I couldn't afford by myself, so my family all came together for Christmas and each bought me one element. This set is the most adult thing I own. And someone else's blood is all over it.
And then Matt finds it. A gold wrapper. One that you rip with your teeth and toss. My blood boils and I pick up the phone. He answers cheerfully. Hey! Hi! How was your trip? <--- greets me with something like that.
I say: First of all, thank you for watching my dogs again.
Oh, you're welcome! he says. The sunny tone to his voice makes me lose it.
WHAT THE HELL HAPPENED LAST NIGHT?? I ask.
What are you talking about? he replies. Nothing happened.
I list our observations. He has no idea what I'm talking about. The door, according to him, was already off the track. He has no idea about the missing glass panel. The wrapper fell out of his backpack. He was there alone. No idea about the blood - he's not cut or anything, he says.
I hand the phone to Matt. Matt gets the same story which hurts him. This friend has been a friend of Matt's for nearly a decade. In his mind, he can forgive this guy lying to me. Matt has claimed many a time before that I'm scary when I'm mad. But why lie to him? To him, it was another slap to the face.
We hang up. Have dinner. And later, I find something else. Proof that a lady had been in the apartment. And that the stains around the place are not just one person's fault. *Ugh* I leave another voicemail - this time, one that does not mix words. This is all so bad. So very very bad.
The next day, after a couple more false admissions, the real story pieces together. He had gotten drunk at his favorite watering hole after work. Met a girl. Got into a fight with the bouncer and had gotten permanently kicked out by the GM... a long time friend of his. He left with the girl and came back here. They did what they did. He woke up on Saturday clearly hungover and left late for work. He might now not work there any longer.
His ex-girlfriend, the biggest ray of sunshine in his and anyone's life really, is stung badly over this story. He told her the details himself. I really wish he hadn't. She does not deserve any of this. Clearly, hope that he was pulling himself together for her sake and their relationship's sake still circled her heart.
We need a silver lining. We need something good to come out of all this. Matt reaches out to him. He says, in his own words: Friend, your drinking is ruining everything. You deserve a better life than the one you're creating for yourself. You need help - We can do this together! In one night, you burned every bridge that matters to you. But not all is lost! We love you. Let me help you fix this.
We haven't heard much from him since. He is feeling really down on himself. I hope that he doesn't fade away - as I've been told he's done in the past when confronted. I hope this is as close to rock bottom as he needs to get. We will continue to reach out. I hope that he reaches back.
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