Booze

One of the most major events of our time together occurred almost exactly one year after we had opened the restaurant. We had settled into a regular routine of getting up at about 04:30 to have the restaurant opened by 06:00. We each had our duties, and were quite efficient at them. 

On October 20th 1979, the bedside alarm went off—but Mel was not in bed with me! He had not been home at all. I dressed, and went out to check if the car was there. It was! It was in the driveway, with Mel passed out in the driver's seat! Thank-you Lord for getting him home, and I pray he didn't cause anyone else an accident! I roused him only as far as his getting to the bed—but he wouldn't be opening the restaurant this morning. 

I drove to the restaurant, and began doing double duty. We had a waitress opening with us, and she came in shortly after I did, and was a huge help in getting three jobs done by the two of us. Neither of us was experienced at cooking, but we got the place opened, and muddled through getting the orders taken, prepared, and delivered. Most of the customers were regulars, and knew us well. They were understanding of our inferior (to Mel) speed and perfection. 

We had a very busy lunch every day, and had a lot to do to prepare for it, while doing our other jobs.  We were a bit frantic as to how we were going to manage lunch with out "superman", when he came through the door. But instead of offering an apology, or any appreciation of what we'd accomplished, he was angry and critical. He did a lot of yelling, cursing, and wound up calling me a filthy, vile name. That was my final straw, and I went to the office, took $250 from the cash-on-hand, and left a note saying "This (repeating his vile name) took $250—you'll find the car at the bus station."

I went home, called the bus station to find out when the next bus left for Hutchinson — that was where Arno was now living and working. I figured he'd put me up until Mel and I got the separation settled. I packed a bag, and was just about gone when Mel caught up with me. (He'd shut down the restaurant, and left the clean-up to the employees) 

We calmly sat down to discuss our options. My demands were very limited, and I was calling the shots. I told him that he was two persons. He was my loving, wonderful husband; and he was a drunken bastard! I love my Mel to pieces, but I can't stand the drunk. Up until today, it had been worth putting up with the drunk in order to have my great guy; but that was no longer true—I'd attended Al-anon meetings off and on for years, and knew that alcoholism was a continuing and growing problem, and would never get any better—I hated the drunk, and would not live with him any longer. His surprising-to-me response? "You know what? I don't like him either!"

Hugs!