Thursday September 25, 2008I began talking about my addiction mo re than a year ago but have been unable to continue the story until now. Since my last post on this blog I have been in and out of rehab no less than 50 times. I have been a patient at treatment centers in 21 states, Guam, and Puerto Rico. Getting this monkey off of my back has proven to be the most difficult thing I have ever done.
I actually thought I had this licked at least a dozen times dozen but like a pit bull hepped up on Mountain Dew, it keeps coming back. I tried hypnosis, conscious sedation, the patch, shock therapy, aggressive counseling, and even The Mike Tyson Method (for those of you who haven't heard of it, the Mike Tyson Method is where you pay a guy to beat the crap out of you every time you fall off the wagon) Each program was successful but for only short periods of time. Ultimately I was right back on the sleeping pills.
As with any addiction, there is usually a pivotal event or series of events which push the unwilling addict to finally make a change in his life, or die at his own hand. My story is no different.
About seven months ago, I had hit rock bottom (again). Homeless, jobless, in debt, wanted by Homeland Security and the FBI (that’s another story) and desperate for a fix, I decided to rob my sister Daphne's house. She had gone to work, just as she does every morning. I hid in some shrubbery in her neighbor's yard and waited very patiently for her to leave.
When I was sure she had gone, I stealthily crept through her back yard and onto the back porch. Being extra careful and certain that I had not been spotted by a neighbor, I jimmied her back door open using the tire tool form my 67 Karmann Ghia. I was greeted by Klaus, an 80 lb. German Sheppard, which she had rescued from a puppy mill almost 15 years earlier. He was a great watch dog and would certainly have torn any other intruder limb from limb but he allowed me to enter the house with a slobbery smile and a wag of the tail.
I gave Klaus a doggie treat and played a couple rounds of fetch with him. I found a Hot Pocket in the refrigerator, tossed it in the microwave, and began ransacking the house. I rummaged through my sister’s closets and drawers, while Klaus silently watched and waited. “Good boy " I said. When I had filled a garbage bag with cash, jewelry, home electronics and her prize coin collection, I gave Klaus another treat and a round of fetch then headed out the back door and down the alley to my car.
I wasn’t more than a few blocks down the street when feelings of remorse and guilt started to set in. It had only been 2 months since I was caught burgling Daphne’s house; caught in the act. That was embarrassing. I was lucky that she didn’t have me arrested. I whipped the Karmann Ghia Around and headed back to the scene of the crime with the intent of putting everything back as I had found it. Of course I would have to rob someone else to get my fix but in the moment it seemed like the lesser of evils.
I arrived back at the house to find it completely engulfed in flames. Smoke billowed out of the windows and flame tips danced along the guttering. I could see and hear poor Klaus barking and whining through the dining room window, scratching with all his might on the closed sash. Regrettably, I was unable to do anything to help. So I lit a cigarette and stared into the fire.
I had started smoking 6 months earlier while under going treatment at the New Horizons Center in Phoenix Arizona. They suggested that smoking might help curb my appetite for sleeping pills but my addiction was much too strong to be influenced by Tobacco. In fact, once I left the New Horizons Center, not only was I still addicted to the sleeping pills but I was addicted to cigarettes, pornography, and coffee too.
It seemed like an hour had passed watching the conflagration. In reality it was only slightly more than a half hour until I could no longer hear Klaus whimpering from within the burning house. I lit another cigarette, took a good long puff, and inhaled it deep into my lungs as a last tribute to Klaus. Good Boy I thought to myself.
It was about that time my cell phone rang. I knew it was Daphne because of the ringtone (White Wedding by Billy Idol). What was I to do? I could not tell her that I was standing outside her house watching it burn to the ground because it would have destroyed my alibi. I let the call roll to my voice mail.
I had told Daphne the evening before that I had an interview with a producer from the Dr. Phil Show. She was very excited that I was finally taking my problem seriously. In her opinion, if Dr. Phil couldn't heal me, no one could. In all honesty, I can't stand Dr. Phil. I think he's a know nothing blowhard gasbag with no real talent other than a knack for stating the obvious. Nevertheless it was a great alibi and I didn't want to waste it.
After I anonymously called the fire department, I stood a few more minutes in silent wonderment, admiring the magnificent beauty of the fire as I pondered what may have caused it. Suddenly it occurred to me that I had put a Hot Pocket into the microwave but I had not gotten it out. "Oh shit" I said to myself then aloud. "Shit shit shit - shit - shit!"I lit another cigarette as I dialed up my voice mail. "Hey Quaid it's me. I did the stupidest thing this morning." she continued "I left my iron on I think. I was hoping you could swing by my house and check on things. There’s a key under the front door mat. I appreciate it. Good luck with the interview. I Love You. Bye."
I grabbed the bag of loot intending to put it all back in the house and remove the uneaten Hot Pocket from the microwave. I threw my coat over my head and took a long deep breath. I burst into the house through the back door. Surprisingly, I was soon overtaken by the intense heat of the fire. There was a butt load of smoke too. I was eventually brought to my knees. I had only crawled about 8 feet into the kitchen when I was completely overcome by the ferocity of the inferno and collapsed into unconsciousness, face down on the floor.
When I awoke I was face up on the lawn in the front yard, surrounded by firefighters, police and paramedics. It was a few more moments before my hearing returned. I tried to sit up but I could not muster the strength and because I was in handcuffs. I turned my head to the left and I saw the bag of loot just out of my reach; to the right Klaus, also out of my reach, with my tire tool in his mouth.
"What the hell?" I said as I tried once again to sit up. It took another minute or two for me to put it all together. Klaus had dragged me and the booty out of and apparently gone back in for the tire tool.
A police woman then appeared directly over me. "You are one lucky, lucky man." She proclaimed. "This little fellow pulled you out of that burning house." She pointed to Klaus. "It is not everyday that we see a burglar and arsonist saved by the homeowners pet."
"It's my sister’s house." I said.
"We've already spoken to your sister." She said. "Ms. Davis intends to press charges against you." She informed me. "Ms. Davis claims that this is the second time you have tried to rob her home. This time you're going to be prosecuted for burglary and arson. I hope they put you in jail for a good long time."
I coughed up a black loogie then I cleared my throat and spoke. "I did the burglary but I don't think I caused the fire. I think she left the iron on."
She shook her head as she replied "No sir, it looks like the fire started in the microwave"
I would later learn that there had been several cases of sabotaged Hot Pockets in the weeks leading up to the fire. Someone had been putting needles into them. So there had been a rash of microwave fires as well as some emergency room visits by unsuspecting consumers with needles stuck in their esophogas'. I don't think they ever caught the person either so as an aside, be sure to check your Hot Pockets for embedded needles.
There was no point in arguing with the officer or trying to talk my way out of this mess. I was as guilty as hell and it was obvious. I felt particularly bad about the fire. “Do you think I could get a cigarette?” I asked the officer. She told me my cigarettes had burned up in. But she offered me one of hers; a Virginia Slim Menthol. I hate menthol cigarettes but I took it and smoked it anyway. I suspected that I would soon become somebody’s bitch in prison to keep my self in smokes so I savored it. I looked over to Klaus who was being interviewed on the local news. "Good Boy" I said.
To be continued...
Copyright © 2008 Quaid Davis. All rights reserved.
