Every town should have a town drunk, although in these abstemious times, there just aren’t many takers.
“We’re looking for somebody colorful and reliable,” one mayor told a recent applicant.
“That’s me,” replied the inebriate.
“Are you drinking now?” asked the mayor.
“Well no, it’s my day off.”
“How’s your resume?”
“I was town drunk in Chapel Hill, N.C., for eight months. They fired me.”
“Why?”
“Being sober on the job. Gimme another chance. I can’t drink effectively under stress.”
“What’s your beverage of choice? Cheap wine out of a paper bag?”
“Martinis.”
“You can’t wander around town with a pitcher of martinis. Look at you, you’re not even seedy. Town drunks don’t wear a blue blazer.”
“It helps when I’m begging hors d’oeuvres.”
“You’re not credible as a public nuisance. You’re not pathetic.”
“I’m a drunkard, not some kind of degenerate. Do you have health insurance? Would I have to work weekends? I have family obligations.”
The interview was over. The job remains unfilled to this day.
So it is that America’s cultural heritage slips away. You’d think there’d be some civic-minded tippler who’d take the job.
On the other hand, given the responsibilities, I certainly wouldn’t do it.
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