 Just in time to ruin our hard-drinking holiday season, an excerpt from a New York Times podcast about why you shouldn’t drink alcohol has been popping up all over the internet as a foreboding warning about the dangers of overconsumption and that we will all die early unless we abide by the wisdom of “health reporters” and other dubious experts.
The quote in circulation comes from NY Times health reporter Dana G. Smith, who is known for her uplifting Dry January article, “Even a little alcohol can harm your health.” The podcast quotes her saying: “You can’t just not drink Monday through Friday and then have all seven or 14 drinks on the weekend and think that you’re still within the moderate limit.” We found this a little harsh until we began speaking with our own health experts* who told us that Smith’s caution was light when compared with their warnings. For example:
*We meant “perverts.” We regret the error.  You may know me. Not know me know me, but you’ve seen me. And heard me. Almost two or three times a week I’m in a United Airlines lounge, on my phone, talking to someone and it’s loud. Fucking loud. Because my conversations are important.
What I’m talking about on my phone leaves little to the imagination, because you hear every word. Every. Fucking. Word. I usually pace a little by the bar or dangerously close to your crappy little table where you toil to read something and eat from your tiny plate of food. This lounge is MY lounge. And you are my supplicant. When the government shutdown hit, and air traffic controllers and TSA people stopped showing up to work, it threatened a lot of things for me. For one, when flights were cancelled or delayed, I sometimes had no good reason to be in the airport, let alone the lounge. Even when I made it there, the delays were sometimes so long that I ran out of people to call and my voice became hoarse from hours of forcefully explaining my philosophy on taking care of customers so that you and everyone in the entire lounge could clearly hear my every word. One time I accidentally called someone twice and started in with my speech about believing in a personal connection with each of my clients and the person was like, “You just called me ten minutes ago and said the same thing,” to which I had to skillfully reply, “I know. I just wanted to make sure you really really heard me.” That was close, and if I wasn’t so adept, it may not have worked. But if running out of material was a big issue for me, it was nothing close to the danger I faced of having a diminished audience. There were days when I roamed the entire lounge, looking for a spot near other humans so that I could force them to eavesdrop on my very detailed plans for the weekend which always include super cool bars and restaurants and lots of laughter from me as I acknowledge that someone definitely owes me a drink and then I laugh again because clearly my saying that made the dude on the other end of the call say something funny like, “I sure do!” But the crowds weren’t there. And I was alone. At one point, I showed up and the lounge was closed. Closed. I went to the regular waiting area and talked loudly there. It just wasn’t the same. An overweight guy in a track suit stared at me as I got near him and said into my phone: “Jerry! What up bro! Naw, I’m just stuck at O’Hare. But I wanted to touch base real quick and let you know about the new numbers I’m sending your way. Yeah. They’re good! They’re super good.” But the track suit dude didn’t look away uncomfortably like you do when you see me in the lounge. I had no idea why. Was he not into it? Was he not impressed by the super good numbers I was about to shoot off to Jerry? It was weird. I tried the bathroom. At the urinal, I opened up to a client about how she better save me a piece of birthday cake. Then someone flushed and she asked me what the noise was. I had miscalculated. I was off my game. “Are you taking a dump or something?” she said. “NO!” I told her. “Another guy is.” As the shutdown went on, I ordered Ubers just so I could sit in the back seat and entertain the driver with my awesome phone calls. I’d give him directions to old bowling allies and empty office buildings and then when we got there, I’d say, “I just got a text that there’s a change of plans. You may as well take me back home.” Then I’d add, “I’m just going to make a couple calls.” I’m gonna be honest. I know you probably hate me. But I’m also a real person. I have pain and I suffer. I NEED you to be there when I talk on the phone. I NEED you to understand that I am an important man. A big man. Who takes care of his customers. And that I have a whole philosophy around that. A good philosophy. So next time you see me, don’t look away. At least not at first. Look up and acknowledge me. Maybe give me a thumbs up or finger guns. I NEED you. And I think you may need me too. Or not. It’s debatable. What’s important is that the lounges and the airports are open again and I’ll be making up for lost time. See you there.  All around the country children are counting their Halloween hauls and trading siblings and friends for their favorite trick-or-treats. Meanwhile, our own Ed Mountaineer measures his intake from last night. We share it below. (Don’t trade with him).
Ed Mountaineer’s Halloween Haul:
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