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Something just occurred to me; my first relapse after rehab. It's a pretty big relapse really, it's been 29 months now! I left rehab absolutely sober, going to meetings and doing all that stuff. Then, one night, I was out of rehab. I met some friends and after a few hours of abstinence I raised a pint of cider to my lips and -BANG- all gone in one go!
We were in a pretty scruffy pub; fruit machines blinked in corners, paint-covered and heavy booted workers who'd finished their day's labours shouted to each other, a handful of old men and cripples sat separately, nursing their pints and trying hard to prolong their pleasure or perhaps, delay the inevitable further misery of going home.
I had a bit of dough, enough for a few beers and sat back to relax. As I did so, a very pissed, very offensive man came in. He shouted the odds at people and then finally, after insulting everyone, asked us to buy him a pint, with his money, as the bar wouldn't serve him. It was tempting to refuse, but we spotted a free beer. We accepted, and as he opened his wallet a glow seemed to emanate from it. Our faces bathed in light reflected from the glorious spectacle in front of us, Jay and I looked at each other and, as our eyes locked, a pact was made. A crisp twenty was handed to us, drinks were bought, he sat down outside and we followed, proclaiming fellowship and good health.
Jay and I worked hard to establish trust and rapport, a difficult task to complete with the inebriated and obnoxious, but we managed it. Conversation flowed, and we were asked to score him some weed. We sold him an Oxo cube for twenty quid.
Later, as he bought more drinks, we began to spike him with vodka, rendering him incapable of anything more than a general anger against the world. This anger would soon find new targets, as his new best friends were preparing to betray him.
The vodka affected our target badly, and he began to want to retire home for the night. Jay and I helped, taking the strain as he rose, staggered and toppled forwards, tumbling towards a face breaking impact, same as a statue of Saddam on Liberation Day. Saving him from impact allowed us to take hold of his arms and we walked him forward towards the taxi rank, propping him over our shoulders. He looked like a drunken Jesus being carried from the cross, but the Crucifixion was only beginning.
A taxi slowed and pulled into the side of the road. We pushed him into it, he got the address out, and we left him, waving him off at the kerb. If he'd have looked closely, or had the ability to see properly, he's have noticed that in my right hand, I held his wallet, and £290.
I walked back to the pub, bought a round, split the dough with Jay and then quietly slid out of the back door, made a call, and went to meet my man.
That was the last crime I committed. I'm not proud of it, and I've come a long way since. Still, it's a fair representation of what I was, and what makes it worse is that I didn't do it from need, I just did it for a laugh, because I could, and of course, for the money.
