Rehab 3

Checked in to rehab again. Five nights a week for the first five weeks, or something like that. Check in, get your sample cup, go pee, turn in the cup, sit down, wait for the others to trickle in, no pun intended.

Tonight our rehab leader was looking quite attractive, to me. I’m heterosexual. She wore a tan sleeveless A-line, with matching open toed pumps. She had polished wooden earrings with a matching wooden necklace which spelled out both the words ‘wood’ and ‘would,’ pun intended, I think. One of the men noticed a small tattoo sort of below and behind her left earlobe. It was a shot glass with a red circle and slash: No Shots.

“Hey! Cool tattoo! No Shots. Did you get that just because you work here? Is that real or a lick ‘n stick?”

“Actually, that is just a lick ‘n stick. They gave these out to the staff a few months ago at our quarterly seminar.”

“Do you have any extras? Do you have any real tattoos?”

“No extras, sorry. But yes, I do have a few tattoos. I have one here, on the back of my neck.” She pulled her pony tail aside and turned her head. The man she was speaking to got up to take a closer look, and so did half the others. I didn’t join in, it seemed a bit over the line, but maybe I’m just a prude.

“Wow! Beautiful! Nice! A fairy! Is that Tinkerbell? Got any others?” A chorus of comments and questions.

“Others? Yes, but none I can show you! Tinkerbell? Of course not! Tinkerbell is a trademarked property of The Disney Corporation!”

Laughs from the men, and the group leader seemed to be enjoying the attention. Soon enough she told everyone to take their seats.

We then went around the room giving a brief synopsis of how we were feeling, what substance we were having trouble with, and if we were having any cravings. The usual intro.

“Well,” she began, after everyone had reported, “I have some bad news tonight. Yesterday’s results came back, and one of you failed your urinalysis screening. Before I tell you who it was, would anyone like to come clean and admit their lapse? Anyone care to confess?”

We all looked at each other, or up at the ceiling, or down at our hands or feet. The room was quiet except for the foot shuffling and neck craning. Nobody said a word.

“Nobody?” she asked.

“Tom. Is there anything you’d like to tell us?” We all looked at Tom. He was a quiet guy, always spoke slowly and thoughtfully. Seemed like an honest man. I felt bad. If you fail the pee test, you have to go back and start over. He had been here when I got here, and I wondered how much time he’d have to repeat.

“Me? No, that can’t be. I haven’t used. Are you sure?”

“Well, it didn’t test for what you’re here for, but it did test positive for an illegal substance.”

“I’m here for cocaine. I haven’t touched it since before I’ve been here. I’ve been clean.”

“You tested positive for marijuana, Tom.”

“All I can think of is I was playing video games in my friend’s basement apartment, and some of the guys were smoking weed.”

“We don’t allow the secondhand smoke theory, Tom. I’m very sorry if that’s what you think happened. I’m going to have to ask you to go see my boss, Jim, in room 1310. If you can convince him, maybe we’ll see you back here tonight. I was told that it was a very low level, but positive. I wish I could help.”

“No, that’s ok. I get it” said Tom, as he stood up slowly and walked out of the room. “Take care, everybody. And be careful out there.”

“Bye, Tom. You got this, Tom. Tom, we will see you back tonight! Tom, man, we love you. Take care, Tom.” A chorus of good-byes, and perhaps a few sighs of relief.