Face your Fears

Fear. Most of us are completely scared out of our minds of one thing or another. Some fear snakes, others fear death. Rational fears, clinical phobias, bumps in the night. Everyone is afraid of something. No matter who you are, how big you are, how much money you have in the bank, how much of a bad-ass you think you are: you are not without fear. Primal fears as old as time. Very few of us get to face that which we fear and through it become a better person through just knowing you conquered something you’ve been scared of for years. This is one such story.

For most of my 2006-2007 ‘teetotaler stage’ I was called on to be a designated driver /freelance drunk wrangler by a female friend of mine(hereby referred to as “Dee”) on a semi-regular basis. My cover charge, if there was one, would be paid. If a drive-thru run was requested, my food was paid for by the little lady next to me. As a very special bonus I would be able to drink all the Coke I could stomach that evening. All this for providing the peace of mind that is ‘Someone sober who won’t try to touch my vagina while I’m passing out is taking me back to my house tonight’.

From time to time Dee would call me for designated duties and to keep her from making an ass out of herself at the local bars and pubs. My nightly duties included picking her up, taking her to the ATM to get drinking cash, escorting her into the bars, keeping her tits in her shirt and other general drunk wrangling duties. On nights when she was hit on by the incredibly creepy, the sketchy and/or the married persons in various states of inebriation I would be forced to call upon my acting skills and pretend to be her boyfriend. “Holy shit, that drunk guy I went to High School with won’t leave me alone!” she’d whisper in my ear as I got a sloppy drunk arm wrapped around my arm. Other times I was just asked to keep her from going home with anyone. Such is the life of a hired gun, I suppose.

So one night I get a call asking me if I wanted to meet her at Floyd’s. Not having much else to do, and knowing I was going to be on midnights the next week, I agreed. So we go and have a good time, playing pool and talking to random bar-trash and she’s pretty much wasted by like 11 p.m. During our discussions with the randoms a guy named Bruce came up to us and introduced himself. He said he was new in town, and thought that going to the local watering hole was the best plan of action to meet new and exciting people. He kept buying our little group round after round, and was somewhat upset that I was not partaking in his generosity. “New guy Bruce - I don’t drink anymore. Thank you for the thought though.” was my often repeated response. And he kept buying and buying and offering me something. After about 2 hours I decided to take him up on his offer, and take a Coca-cola. Providing the bar didn’t have coke, I’d take a Dr. Pepper. So he comes back with a pair of pitchers and a glass of brown liquid for me. I sipped it and it tasted….off. “New guy Bruce got me a fucking Pepsi!” I thought to myself. It starts to get late and I’m drinking my bad tasting drink and talking to people and all of a sudden I start to get a rumble in my belly.

Not a “Oh man, I shouldn’t have had fifteen tacos” type of pain. Like a “something BAD is going to happen” kind of pain. I run into the restroom and find it unusable. It looks like the toilet in “Trainspotting”. All seeping of filth and disgusting. “Fuck this, I’m heading home. “ I thought to myself. So I said my goodbyes , got a sly grin from Bruce and went to my car. About halfway across the parking lot more discomfort and warning. I briefly considered shitting in the dumpster. No joke, I thought ‘Well, no one will see me in this back alley dumpster, I can poop in peace!” The voice of reason kicked in and said that was a horrible plan – just get somewhere with a toilet. Right fucking now.

I get in my car and take off towards the nearest public restroom. The other bar across the street was no better in the sanitation department. McDonald’s was closed. The supermarket was closed. BP had no public restroom. All the safe and clean public restrooms were closed for the evening. “It’s about 5 miles to my house. I think I can make it” was my last thought before gunning it north on 44. That and “I hope I don’t shit my pants in my car.”

A few minutes into my impossible voyage someone pulls out in front of me. And decided to go 35 miles per hour for the next few miles. My vision went red. The Boss music from Super Mario Bros. 2 started playing in my head. A small digital clock appeared in my lower left field of vision. It was a countdown. A countdown to my one of my greatest fears.

I hit the gas as the countdown approached 1:30 and passed the derelict grandmother. 3 miles to go. “I can do this” I thought as my teeth started to grind and the music got louder and faster. My car followed suit. Soon it was 70, 80, 90 miles per hour. My stomach was quivering and my leg muscles were starting to twitch. Tears started running down my face.

My street was a block ahead. I had made it. The timer clicked down to 0:03 when I slid into my side yard. I jumped out of my car without shutting anything off. I just jumped. Or teleported or flew. I’m not sure if I could have used my leg muscles at that point without ruining everything and staring my own personal demons in the face. I get about 2 steps through the yard to the house as the timer reaches 0:00. “I’m not going to make it” I said aloud as I ripped off my pants. Yep, took them off right over the Chuck’s. and threw them safely out of the blast zone.

I leaned my back against the mailbox post as I cried and made my shame in the yard. Traffic passed as I squatted in my side yard and vomited out my ass in the glare of my own headlights. “I haven’t eaten anything spicy or worthy of this….vile evil! This chocolate shotgun isn’t a thing of my own doing!” was my only thought. The sly grin. scenes from ‘Wedding Crashers” and “Dumb and Dumber” popped into my mind. “I got drugged” was the only thing that I could see as I waddled to see if the garden hose was still hooked up.

Since the night I faced the fear of shitting my pants as an adult I came to a conclusion: overcoming the thing you fear the most makes you a better person. The next meal you eat is the best meal on Earth. You sleep better. You feel more alive. The sun shines brighter and the air is cleaner. Nothing gets to you for you are aware of who and what you are. Complete and total Zen.

Thanks for reading. But that’s it for now, kids

Heart,

The Doctor