My friend and I were on vacation. We'd just
arrived after midnight and pulled into a bowling alley in Hayward,
Wisconsin. We'd just barely sat down at the bar
when an older guy came down and sat next to us. I figured he was
going to hit us up for a drink -- but instead, he ordered up a shot of
whiskey for himself and determinedly slapped his money down on the
counter. He ruefully looked at us and told us that he'd just got out of
the hospital for a bleeding ulcer / and that the doctors told him that
if he had even just a single drink that it'd kill him. When the
bartender sat the drink down in front of him, he carefully picked it up
and carefully studied it for a moment. Then he suddenly tipped his head
back and quickly downed it.
We didn't know what to
think. Then, about thirty seconds later, the fellow tugged on my friend's
sleeve and said, "Can you give me a ride to the hospital?" He did.
That morning, the alcoholic was soon dead.