Withdrawal Pains

Withdrawal Pains

“I can’t take it any more,” Mary exclaimed. “I’m going to call them.”

“But, you can’t do that,” Morris retorted, clearly exasperated. “If you give in, you’ll become one of them.”

Mary was clearly frazzled. She was at wit’s end. They had what she needed. They had her fix. She couldn’t last much longer without it.

She fumbled about in her purse and pulled out her compact. It took her trembling fingers a full minute to find the clasp and open it. When she finally did, she hesitantly looked into the mirror and then she wanted to cry.

Her grey eyes seemed sunken within their sockets. Her face seemed older and she felt even more lethargic than the day before. Her hair was a tussled mess, just pulled back into a ponytail by hands that could barely hold the rubber hand.

Disgusted, she closed the compact and dropped it back into the purse. It hit the lip and fell to the floor, but Mary was too tired to care. She only mumbled a “thank you” out of sincerity when Morris got up from his chair and retrieved it for her. As he went back to his seat, she gave him an envious look.

“Jeez, look at yourself, Mary,” Morris said, as he looked at her from across his desk. “They’ve got you still, but not totally. You can make it through this. Just a little bit longer. Think about all the things you can buy with the money you’ll save. Imagine not having to pay five or ten dollars a pop for your fix.”

“Oh, sure, you can talk bravely,” Mary finally blurted out, after dropping her head into her hands and lamenting about her woes. “You’re not hooked on this stuff. I mean there should be a law against purposefully making things so addictive.”

“Hate to point out the obvious, but this stuff has been around for decades, Mary,” Morris replied, grimly. “Everybody’s into it. Some people can’t get through an hour of the day without it. I swear if someone poured it into the gutter, you’d get a million guys face down in the gutter trying to lap it up.”

“I’m not that bad,” Mary shot back, looking hurt.

“I didn’t say you were that bad,” Morris answered, “but if you get back on the stuff, you’ll have a good chance. Why don’t you try to be like Greg? The guy can take it or leave it. Hell, maybe you can try something a little less addictive.”

Mary ignored her co-worker and tried to get her mind off the subject. She turned to face her computer and started typing. That lasted all of 30 seconds. Her fingers trembled so much that she’d made mistakes with all 30 of the words she had typed. She shook her head in disgust and turned away.

“They say it’s controlled now,” she blurted out. “It doesn’t have the stigma it had before.”

“Yeah, right,” Morris snorted, derisively. “Like that movement back in the late 90’s to legalize. Proponents said it would eliminate violent street crime and lessen addiction. Taxes on it would go to pay for treatment. First of all, did anyone trust the government enough to think that it would use the money for its intended purpose? Second, did you really want to share the road with a bunch of people who could use the stuff legally? I mean, automatically, they would have to ban pilots, truck drivers, heavy equipment operators, train engineers, teachers, day care workers, emergency services, fire fighters, cops, a kazillion guys. Guess who would step in to fill the void for those who would be prohibited? Yeah, the drug gangs. Back to square one.”

“Oh, come on, this is different,” Mary countered. “It’s purer and it’s business. Capitalism will make it work. That’s what they said on television.”

“And Lord knows that nothing can go wrong with capitalism,” Morris huffed, sarcastically.

“I swear you’re as bad as Greg,” Mary said, flustered. “He’s as cynical as they come. When he’s not being odd or strange, that is. I’m going to make the call and don’t try to talk me out of it. I’ve been without the stuff for three days and I can’t even function. I can’t work and I need to work. I’ve still got bills to pay.”

“Sorry to hear that, Mary,” Morris said, with some lament. “All right then. Go ahead. Call. Get your number and go get hooked again.”

Morris got up and left the office. Mary started to call after him, but decided against it. Instead, she picked up her phone with her trembling fingers and began dialing.
In the outer office, Morris took a seat an empty desk. Greg looked up from his computer and started to say something. But, then, he saw Morris’ demeanor and knew what had happened. He just sighed.

“Another one bites the dust,” Greg lamented.

“The rich get richer, the poor get more addicted,” Morris said, heavily. “What’s your secret?”

“I always got it for the flavor, not the you-know-what,” Greg said. “I should be okay, as long as our fellow Americans do their part and hold onto the rest of our...well, our dignity and self-respect.”

“What are the odds of that happening?”

“Oh, somewhere between hell no and eff no,” Greg replied, with his usual cynicism.

“Who’d have thought it?” Morris contemplated. “America, the world’s most powerful country. Best country there ever was. Best military. Envy of the free and not-so-free world. Brought to its knees by China. Who’d have thought the Chinese would throw in the towel in the lead market and corner the caffeine and beer markets instead?”

“Probably the same people who couldn’t conceive of them buying up all the fancy coffee places,” Greg muttered. “And if they get the sugar, beef and snack food markets, then we’re really screwed. Thank God for mad cow disease. Man, it would suck to think that the Vegans are the future, wouldn't it?”

“I wonder if this is how Rome bought it?” Morris wondered aloud.

“If they drank a big cup of coffee, a can of soda and a bottle of soda at the same time and washed it down with an energy drink, then, probably yes,” Greg replied in a raised voice.

“I heard that,” Mary’s voice echoed down the hallway.

“So, what’s left?” Morris asked. “Juice? Milk? Decaffeinated?”

“If it’s healthy, I don’t think there’s any danger of it running out,” Greg answered, with a grim smile. “Not in this country.”