Chapter 2: Life in a Bottle

How you see things from the inside of a bottle is altered by the curve of the glass and the potency of the inebriant, I’ve had a lifelong love of good bourbon so my memory of that time is hazy to say the least, that potent elixir is a joy and a curse. What I can tell you is that the extent of my achievements that first weekend was to burn through most of my remaining cash down at the pub while offending some ladies and bedding a couple of others. Monday morning was a hung-over but busy blur. I managed to politely evict my latest barroom conquest after a quick shower and a perfunctory shared cup of morning coffee, and then off to work I went.

I managed to make it to my desk before the start of the trading day, 6:30am on the west coast, the early morning proceeding as expected when hungover from a 48hour bottle binge.

The 9am meeting with my team leaders and managers was tense to say the least, several of them were close friends with my now-ex Trish and they and Trish loved social media. Escaping with my skin intact from that meeting was nothing short of miraculous. My next order of business was to drop in on one of my real friends in the office, David, who was our firms Chief Legal Officer. Again, he had already heard the score from social media via his wife however he was a bit more forgiving as he was my buddy and that I was owning up to my role in what had happened. I managed to secure rental of his guest/pool house for a month so my accommodations problem was temporarily solved. David was tense during our brief discussion but I wrote it off to my current situation, I couldn’t have been more wrong.

My hangover was really coming on full force by that point and I really wanted to get out of there quickly sadly I still had a standing 10am meeting with my actual boss, the new acting-COO, so off I went. I had hoped to make this a quick brief and explain that I was taking a few days off for personal reasons, instead my descent into my own private maelstrom continued as I was handed a package containing my separation agreement. Hell I should have seen that coming and perhaps I had, maybe my realization that my tenure here was finished after a decade of service and the retirement of two of my senior bosses had precipitated my actions over the past month. One hundred days after the new guy took charge he found an “old friend” to replace me and I was bidden farewell. I left politely but I honestly didn’t take it well.

Barely ninety minutes later I was once again in my favorite seat at Max’s pub and eliminating my hangover by jumping back into the bottle again.

Let me take a moment here to tell you about Max’s Pub or rather “Maximillian’s Public House at the Shore” as it was formally titled. Max, bless his crusty old soul loved to run a European style pub and beer garden, it was truly his calling in life. He also loved to brew beer, smoke meat and most importantly he made his own fine bourbon whiskey. I was addicted to the rich smoked meat and vegetables and the fine aged bourbon he distilled and sold by the shot, the bottle or even the cask. If you were wondering why I choose this as my residence for escape, well the food and the bourbon pretty much explains it all. When I stayed at Max’s Pub I was staying in my own personal private playground. It was a social hot spot with amazing amenities, everything I wanted was easily at hand.

Lucid moments were few and far between for the next few weeks, my “golden parachute” check hit my bank account relieving any immediate financial concerns so I indulged myself and my few favorite bar patrons in a multi-week display of wanton abandon. The women were mostly MILF’s who would show up looking for fun on the nights the kids were at their ex’s house, we offered each other something we both desired and the only expectations were emotional anonymity and condoms. They had needs and a night or two free every week and I had the ability to fill their wine glass and any other emptiness they may have wanted filled for a night. It was a wild and memorable time.

During those few lucid moments of that period I did manage to accomplish a few things of note, I used a portion of my separation funds to pay a full year’s lease on the house I had just abandoned. I also stopped by the house to pick up the few boxes of my personal belongings I had asked Trish to leave in the garage for me. In their place I left the garage door opener and an envelope with a cashier’s check made out in her name. I tried to organize my thoughts, but I couldn’t actually pull them together through the alcohol and emotional induced haze. Mostly I simply wallowed in a pit of despair of my own creation.