Drunks

[SamIam]

It was a slow day at the Bates today, so I wrote out the following which I have been thinking about for a while. Its pretty long, but for what its worth, here it is:

The Bates Motel is conveniently located on Main Street, kitty corner to the City Park and only a few blocks from downtown. In addition, there is a liquor store right across the street from the motel, plus another liquor store about one block west on Main. This makes the Bates the first stop on many a drunkard’s progress through Cortez - especially on cold nights.

The town of Cortez and, thus the Bates Motel, is located within only a few miles from two major Native American reservations - that of the Ute and that of the Navajo. The Ute reservation is perhaps 20 miles from Cortez, making this town the closest place for Utes to come to get liquored up (no alcohol is sold on the rez). The Navajo Reservation (which the Navajo firmly call the “Navajo Nation”) is vast and encompasses land in Utah, Arizona, and New Mexico. Navajos have the choice of going to several near-by towns for their peach brandy fix, but Cortez is always a favorite destination.

It saddens me deeply that such once proud people have been so ravaged by alcohol. In my mind, alcohol is one of the worst things that the Europeans have spread among the Native Americans. Alcohol comes in a close second to small pox contaminated blankets in my book. And alcohol takes a far worse toll on Indians than it does on white people. Native Americans seem to become addicted more quickly, the alcohol impacts them more deeply, and few ever seem to recover. They are often doomed to die an alcoholic death at a comparatively early age.

Therefore, our drunks are not just any old partiers - to the drunks who show up here, alcoholism is a profession, and they work hard at perfecting their skills for the job. This means that we often get would-be guests stumbling into the office so drunk that they can barely stand or even speak. It may take some repeating, but once the word “no” finally makes it through the ethanol barrier in their brains, they will generally lurch back out into the night without too much protest - they have many motels left to try, after all. If everything else fails, they can always pass out under a park bench and die of exposure. It happens often here.

The worst drunks that we end up dealing with are the ones who show up at the desk sober. Or they have a friend who is sober at the moment come in and sign for a room for the two of them. After signing in - as meek as lambs and as charming as they can be (sober Navajos can be extremely charming and I fall for their act every time) - it takes them approximately 5 minutes to go across the street and procure several bottle of apricot brandy. They sneak their stash into their room and drink the first bottle in a single gulp. After about two minutes, the first wave of alcohol hits them. They then spend maybe 6 to 7 minutes passing the second bottle back and forth among each other until they finish that. It takes precisely 14 minutes from checking in to achieve a state of total snockerdom.

At this point our now very drunk guest(s) realize that they out of alcohol and its still only 5:15 pm. In a state of panic, they stumble out of their room for another trip to the liquor store or else a stint of panhandling if they’ve run low on cash. Invariably, they leave their room key laying under the bed in the room. The door locks automatically, and they can’t get back in. Some have enough brain cells left to do the obvious and ask at the desk for a spare key upon their return.

Then you have the ones who go berserk when they discover they can’t get back into their room. They try to break down the door. They get crafty and try to crawl in through the bathroom windows which are located on the wall in the back of the motel where we can’t see them. Invariably they break the window plus the screen in the process. One guy tried to break in through a very small window in the laundry with his bare hands(the laundry was 12 doors down from this individual’s room). He was mean and crazy and strong. I now carry mace after my encounter with him.

Traditionally, the Ute and the Navajo were implacable enemies and some things never change. Therefore, if a Ute who has lost his room key spies a Navajo in the parking lot, this is an excuse for a brawl which only ends when the police finally arrive and one or both combatants are hauled off to the county jail to sober up and meditate upon their sins.

Some drunks actually remember their keys, go back to their room for the night, strip off all their clothing, and pass out. They are still passed out when housekeeping knocks on the door in the morning. Getting no response, housekeeping thinks the room is empty and unlocks the door. Surprise! Many drunks are still so inebriated that they can’t even walk. When this happens, we are forced to give them a free room for half a day or so before rolling them out into the street and watching them stagger off.

I have never had to deal with so many drunks in my life as I have this past year. Its depressing beyond belief. Its like watching untreated cancer patients wander around suffering the symptoms of their disease with no treatment available.

I respect the Native Americans - especially the Navajo. It breaks my heart to deal with the carnage I encounter with almost daily. I loathe my job for more reasons than one.