The Decision

Gerry stared at the bottle of Climber’s Gin. He thought about the listless people he had met who spent all their money on booze and the hours he had toiled shoveling snow for a similar fate. He could still feel the burn from spilled mash and the pressure to drink when he hadn’t behaved just like everyone else. He thought about Jonah hanging on his arm, about Walter being a drunken moron and putting his balls on things. He thought about what a waste his life would be in this cave doing nothing but drink. And as he thought these things, he reached out and took the bottle. He thought about how he was sick of being drunk as he unscrewed the cap. As he raised it to his lips, he thought about how he didn’t really want to do this. And as the warm Gin poured down his throat, he finally realized what it was that had been bothering him about this factory. What it was that had been bothering him about drinking all his life. But it was too late, he was drunk again. The gin, as promised, began to destroy brain cells and nerve endings merrily started to bounc off receptors. He fell back against the railing and gave out a brief gasping laugh and then went straight back to chugging. Ole Grandpa gave a smile and a bow, then began walking down the catwalk. He pointed this way and that and talked about the mechanics of mixing such infernal ingredients, but Gerry wasn’t listening. He downed the entire bottle and threw it over the railing without a second thought. Truly, he was finally and utterly wasted. But as he took one step forward, his balance seemed to give way and his foot caught on something. For a brief second, it looked like someone’s leg tripping him. He slid and was over the banister but managed to wrap his arm around it just before falling over. Standing there, watching him struggle, was little Chatpers. “Youse, you gotter help me! C’mon kid!” He called out. But the Chatpers only blankly looked at him, before walking forward to where only Gerry could hear. “Jesus, it took you long enough. I’ve been waiting for you to get wasted and do something stupid this whole fucking tour. Oh, what, Little Chatpers not being cute enough for you? Fuck you asshole. If you think I’m going back to my alcoholic dad and getting the shit beaten out of me all day, you can think again. Ole Grandpa is off his fucking rocker and I aim to collect. He’s sitting on a goddamn gold mine! For Christ’s sake, he only pays the employees with alcohol and shitty food! It’s nothing but pure profit and that’s not even including the money we’ll make patenting all this crazy crap he invented. Sorry Buddy, but the only person who is winning this contest is going to be me. God, I fucking hate drunks…” With that, Chatpers pried Gerry’s arm loose and he fell off the catwalk.