I was usually drunk all night and nauseous all day. Navigating between the two, I made frequent mistakes. While dressing for work one day I realized I was out of deodorant, so I stopped at a small mom-and-pop drugstore on my way in. But when I got there I couldn't think of the word "deodorant." I just stared at the druggist and mumbled. Exasperated, I said, "Don't you carry, you know, regular stuff?"
He asked if I needed a laxative.
I told him no.
I shook my head. Finally, I made an apish gesture toward my armpit.
"Aisle six," he said.
I brought the deodorant to work in a little white bag, and went straight to the men's room. Fortunately it was empty.I took off my shirt, slung it over a stall, and applied the deodorant. Then I had a sudden urge to vomit. I charged into the stall and let loose. When I came out, my supervisor was at the urinal. I was shirtless and still gagging a bit. "Morning," he said. "Morning," I said. He washed up and left. I splashed my face with cold water, put on my clean white shirt, and walked to my desk. Ready as I would ever be.