The 4th and Stenny

Fourth of July weekend, ah yes, I remember it quite fondly. The weekend that the weather gods smiled on Milwaukee and blessed us with 85 degree temps without a cloud in the sky. 18-pack on Wednesday, 18-pack on Thursday, 30-pack on Friday, and two 30-packs on Saturday. As of Monday night I had about a dozen cans left. The Milwaukee Brewers swept the Pittsburg Pirates and Ryan Braun and Ben Sheets were named to the All Star game. I sat on the deck, in the sun, and caught all the baseball action. Didn’t even hit the bar once all weekend. They probably think I’m dead.

Here’s one semi-interesting story from Friday.

It was the Fourth of July and I felt obligated to go and visit the family. Seriously, it had nothing to do with the four steaks I spotted in their fridge on Thursday (ok, the steaks played a minor role). I stayed there for a couple hours, watched the Nathan’s hot dog eating contest and headed out. My sister was home but she had her head stuck in a book so it was pretty boring there.

I made my way home after stopping to pick up a 30-pack of Milwaukee’s Best Light (which I found for $12.50!). Having pretty much nothing to do all day I think I cracked the first one open around 1:00ish. There I was, basking in the sun, cooler by my bare feet, watching Comedy Central while waiting for the Brewers game. It was just like sitting on the beach in Mexico. Well, kind of, sans sand and ocean and hotties walking around in skimpy bathing suits. But if I closed my eyes and concentrated really hard…

And then I saw him. It was 7:30, brighter than all hell outside and there’s my buddy Stenny stumbling home from the bar. Seriously stumbling, like taking up the whole sidewalk and looking like he was going to take a header with each step. I could hear his boots shuffling on the sidewalk from 50 feet away.

I’ve been helped home from the bar on numerous occasions. I couldn’t sit there with a clear conscience and let him stumble home like that (if he would have even made it home). I threw on my shoes and bolted off the deck. I figured I’d jog up to him and give him a shoulder to lean on.

I didn’t think I’d have to sprint.

Stenny was a fucking fast drunk shuffler! I started jogging but I wasn’t making up much ground. And then I spotted disaster: Stenny was coming up on a couple walking their dog. I put it in fifth gear and ran faster than I’ve ran in quite some time. Knee surgery tends to make you remember the last time you felt wind in your hair.

I didn’t catch him in time. As the couple approached Stenny seemed to be keeping to the right hand side of the sidewalk. “Buddy, are you ok?” The guy’s question seemed to catch Stenny by surprise and he staggered to the left right in front of the oncoming couple. Somehow he got it back together and drifted right out of their path. “I’ve got him, he’ll be ok.” I assured the couple.

Stenny looked surprised. “B, what are you doing?”

“I’m helping you get home, buddy. You’re pretty fucked up.”

Stenny, with that little drawl that we all know, “Yeeeah, I went down to Suuummerfest. Then I went up to the baaar.”

“Alrighty. How about you just grab my arm like this?”

There was Stenny and I, walking down the street arm in arm. We must have looked pretty cute.

One thing I learned about Stenny. While he’s usually quiet and funny at the bar, when he gets really loaded he likes to yell at people.

We stopped at a house that had just sold. “Thaaat’s the house that I wanted, you fuckers! You bought my house! Fucking Illinois bastards.”

“Ok, Stenny, let’s get you home.”

Stenny wasn’t done.

As we got up closer to his apartment he must have recognized some guy as the landlord or something. “Why don’t you cut the fucking grass?” The grass looked fine to me. I said hi to the guy and kept Stenny moving.

Wrong. The grass was too fucking high.

Ten steps later Stenny took a header. You know, one of the bad ones where you can’t quite seem to get your body weight off of your forehead. There was Stenny, sunglasses and bandana buried in the grass, unable to right himself in any other way than rolling on to his side. Even then it took a good minute to get him back on his feet.

I thought I was helping. Stenny went down again when he tripped on my foot. “Hey, yous tripped me!” “Yeah, Stenny, that one was my fault, let’s get you back up.”

I got him back up, this time wrapping my arm around his shoulders instead of just his arm.

Wouldn’t you know it, holiday weekend and all, and some of the other tenants were having a party in the back of Stenny’s apartment. “Is he giving you any trouble?” Obviously this guy saw Stenny and I rolling around in the grass like two prairie dogs in heat. “No, I think we’ve got it.”

It took Stenny another good minute getting his key in the door. He must have thought our close physical contact meant something because he just stood in the doorway and tried starting a conversation. I told him I had to get going, shook his hand and headed home. I wasn’t going to tuck him into bed.

On the way back my next door neighbor popped out of his front door. “Hey, that was pretty nice of you to help that guy out. I see him walk up to the corner every day.” I had to keep quiet; yeah, I’m up there every day, too. “Yeah, he’s a nice guy. I got him home ok.”

“Oh, I was meaning to tell you. My wife passed away in February. Just thought I’d let you know.”

“Um, uh, I’m sorry to hear that.” With that he went back into his house.

In two plus years I’ve never seen his wife. I thought he was living the bachelor life like myself, just humping the 80-year-old widows instead of the 35-year-old married women. Why he felt the need to tell me this four to five months after the fact I’ll never know. But it might explain all the cans I hear him crushing outside. I’m thinking they aren’t all soda cans.

I didn’t get back home till 8:00. It took half an hour to get Stenny home, some eight blocks, and walk back. 9:00 came and Stenny wasn’t the only one who was loaded. How, one hour earlier, I had sprinted down the sidewalk and helped my buddy out I’ll never know. But at least we were both safe at home – separate homes, separate beds. Just a little too much hand holding for me.