So I Have to Move On

So I Have to Move On

“So I have to move to keep my job.” I spoke these words after the boss had assigned me to a new and at least equal paying job for the company I had worked for during the last five years, but it required a move. The branch of the company where I would be working was in another town. I hadn’t been given a genuine choice in the matter, other than ‘take it or quit’. I thought that my wife might be unhappy with both these options, but I learned later that my boss had talked to her about it for some time on the phone. I didn’t know at the time whether he was being considerate of her feelings concerning the move, or had some other reason that I knew nothing about. My wife Ethel told me that she appreciated what he was doing, but provided no further information about the nature of their conversation.

We drove the long way from our home town to our destination of Canontown, our car pulling a trailer with pretty much all of our possessions. The boss had arranged an apartment rental for us, which was very much appreciated. As we entered town, I noticed that as we crossed the bridge over a fast flowing river, there was a sign saying ‘Remember: How can we ever forget them?’ I guessed that they were referring to their dead in the World Wars. I would later find out that I was quite wrong in this guess, as logical as it was.

I really enjoyed the first day of work. My co-workers were very friendly. I had worried whether I could replace my drinking buddies at my former place of work. As it turned out, I needn’t have been concerned in that matter. By the afternoon of that first day I had been invited to the local bar where my new colleagues regularly went to drink, talk and laugh on a Friday night. There would be no significant change in my lifestyle then

That First Friday Night

           It was the first Friday night. With the boys, and a few girls, I walked about a block and a half to the bar they had been talking about. I liked that it bore a certain elegance, and did not look like some of the sleezy dives I was familiar with back home. We were greeted by the bartender and a few of what I was sure were some of the regulars when we entered. This bode well for the evening’s good time.

           I am a beer drinker, and I was quite surprised to see none of the regularly found brews available, just local ones that I had never seen or even heard of before. Well, when in Rome, drink what the Romans drink.

           I ordered what was called the Blotto Beer. I liked the name. That’s why I chose it. It made me thankful that I could walk, with a little bit of stumbling, only a few blocks to our apartment building.

           I fit in well with my new colleagues in their drinking . They kept up with me beer by beer, and no one was stumbling or mumbling, although there was a race to the urinals a few times. I had to move fast.

Walking Home

A couple of my workmates, Bill and Phil, lived in the same apartment building as my wife and I, so we walked home together after closing time. I had to comment on one thing that kind of surprised me. I had downed as many beers as usual, which usually led to some serious staggering, but this time I had no problems walking. As I watched my two companions, I noticed that they, both of which had matched me beer for beer, were also walking as if they hadn’t downed a single drink all night. I felt that I had to comment on this. When I did, they stopped walking, and said that I should sit down on a bench nearby while they told me something of importance.

           Bill was the one to speak, and he greatly surprised me with what he said:

           “John, I want you to take a book with the title “Drunken Driving” from the library, or better yet, buy it in the bookstore not far from where the three of us live. It tells this town’s single saddest story – the death of 20 people all at one go. They had been drinking until one o’clock in the morning in the very same place as where we have just been drinking. One of them was a school bus driver, and he had picked up his buddies in his bus on the way to the bar – he even put the flashing lights on when he picked up each one of them to go to the bar. That wasn’t so bad, but when he went to drive them home, he was quite plastered and crashed the bus on the bridge over the river,  the vehicle diving fast into the flowing waters. All aboard drowned. That made the town change the liquor laws, enabling bars to have nothing but alcohol free drinks. The bar where we were just in was the place where those who died in the crash had been drinking. It was the first to change its drinks to non-alcoholic, although as you now know well they taste like the real thing. The management gained the respect of people in town for making such a move.

If they had told me that beforehand, I feel that I would not have had the same experience that I had that night.  I might even have gone on my own to a ‘real bar’.  But it would not affect future Friday visits to what had quickly become my favourite bar. I do not think that I will tell my friends back home, as I don’t think they would understand. I am going to buy the book, and I am going to tell Ethel the story. The thought just struck me that she might already have known all along, as it probably was the subject that she and my former boss had discussed on the phone. Both had been concerned about my drinking problem, probably the main reason for my forced job switch, and my wife’s approval of the move.