Dan Fante - Spitting Off Tall Buildings

IT TOOK TWELVE stitches to sew my head up. After the Emergency Room I was prescribed Fiorinal with codeine for pain, Valium to calm me down. I asked for refills so they gave me one each.

The hold-up changed me. I trembled involuntarily several times a day but I knew I’d get over that. The big change was that I had completely stopped giving a shit. I now drank without any moderation whatever.

The union rep from the Rodney garage came by my rooming house with medical forms. It was nine o’clock in the morning. I was blasted and stayed blasted. The next day someone else from the taxi company delivered a payroll check to my room. Two weeks of union-approved medical leave. $515.

Black sludge began seeping into every part of my brain. I stayed as drunk as possible and ate the Valium and Fiorinal.

The garage union guy came back with more forms. I knew he was there. Outside my door. Knocking. Calling my name. I didn’t answer. He left more envelopes and papers with Bert, the rooming-house manager.

I was filling a deep hole. Every day a fifth by lunchtime, from the bottle, like medicine. My goal was ‘numb.’ The whiskey worked good.

A week went by. Then two.

My shaking was gone but I knew there was no way I would ever drive a cab again. I was done.

On Seventh Avenue in Times Square there was an Oriental Massage that employed all Korean girls – thirty bucks for the hour. The secret to Korean masseuse hookers is the tip; the more you tip the girl the more she does. I always gave a twenty-dollar bill as soon as I got in.

I’d come in drunk but not too drunk. My girl called herself Sandy. A wonderful slut. Sandy’s American was lousy but she liked drinking with me, loved sweet wine. That and the twenty-dollar tip and she would do anything, lick me wherever I wanted. Anything. As much as I wanted.

Her shift began at one in the afternoon every day so that’s the time I would show up. Being first was important to me. I always wanted to be her first.

Even that stopped working.

THE UNION GUY told me that my first Temporary Disability check would come any day. But I was in trouble, overpowered by depression. It wouldn’t go away. Now it didn’t matter how much alcohol I drank, I could no longer get drunk. All it did was dull me, make me slow-witted, but not drunk.

At night until four or five o’clock or until I could doze off, I’d watch TV; re-reruns of day-time talk shows, mindless bunk. Fat people who had fucked other fat people’s sisters or aunts or best friends coming on TV to confess and scream. The best part was the commercials, the home gadgets and infomercials. Exercise gadgets and diet machines invented by guys who’d written books and knew everything.

SEA-MATION is a service I’d see advertised all the time. The gimmick is cremation plus burial at sea. All in one: SEA-MATION. A fellow with a grey toupee gives the pitch while they continue flashing the 800 phone number of the company on the bottom of the screen.

SEA-MATION had a sale going, a ‘pre-need special.’ Ordering now saved you ninety-nine ninety-five. One week only.

I called the flashing 800 telephone number. ‘Hello,’ the voice said. ‘SEA-MATION, Mike speaking. May I have your area code first, then your telephone number…’

I was using the rooming house’s hall pay phone but I gave him the number anyway.

‘Your name, sir?’

‘Bruno…Bruno Dante. D…A…N…T…E.’

‘Thank you for calling SEA-MATION, Mr. Dante. How may I assist you this morning?’

‘I saw your commercial on the TV, Mike.’

‘Our pre-need special, “Passage to Serenity.” Five hundred and ninety-nine dollars?’

‘Yeah…the one on TV. The sale.’

‘I’ll need to get some preliminary information, Mr. Dante. Do you have a few minutes to do that with me?’

‘That’s why I called. I’m an interested caller, Mike.’

‘Well, good, sir. Excellent…Now, would our services be for yourself or a family member?’

‘The services would be for me, Mike. Myself. Bruno.’

‘Thank you for considering SEA-MATION to sustain you in your final resting arrangements, Mr. Dante. Pre-need planning, of course, is the sensible and economical option to the high cost of a sudden-need situation. Most importantly, pre-need planning eliminates confusion for your survivors at what can be a very anxious time, as I’m sure you would agree.’

‘I agree, Mike…Let’s keep going.’

‘Now, about the specifics of your requirements, Mr. Dante?…’

‘Go ahead, Mike. Go ahead and ask.’

‘Is there a time factor involved in scheduling your pre-need, Mr. Dante?’

‘What time factor, Mike?’

‘I’m sorry…I wasn’t being clear…What I mean is, have you been advised as to how soon you’ll be needing services?’

‘When I’m going to die?’

‘Yes, sir. That’s correct.’

‘Okay. I see…Tomorrow, Mike. Tomorrow morning.’

‘…I’m very sorry, Mr. Dante…I’m sure that was difficult news. May I please have the name and telephone number of your attending physician? Full name. First name first, please…’

‘I don’t have an attending physician, Mike.’

‘…Name of hospital or facility and room number, please?’

‘I’m not in the hospital or in a facility.’

‘…I see…Mr. Dante, I’m sorry for asking this at such an uncomfortable time, but could you tell me the nature of your illness?’

‘Okay…sure…I refilled my prescription for Valium today. I took a handful before I called you, about twenty or so…’

‘Wait…You just took pills?’

‘About five minutes ago. I was on hold listening to the music. I’m drinking too…I’ll be taking the last thirty – they’re ten-milligram Valium – and twenty-five Fiorinal, after we hang up. I’m going to kill myself. So…I guess my illness is an overdose. To be safe, if I were you, I’d just put down heart failure. That’ll cover it.’

On the other end Mike had stopped reading from his telephone script.

‘C’mon sir,’ he said, ‘you’re not serious?…You’re kidding, right?’

‘No. I’m being serious. It’s checkout time.’

‘Look…Bruno. It’s Bruno, right?’

‘Right.’

‘Look Bruno. This’s like…absurd. You seem to be an intelligent person. I mean, you sound a little stoned and all but…did you really take twenty Valium?…Hey, wait; is this Robert? Godammit man, don’t screw around!…’

‘I took pills, Mike. Ten minutes ago. I’m about to take some more. I haven’t got much time here…’

‘Shit!…Okay, look…Bruno, Mr. Dante…let me get my supervisor. I don’t know what to say. This is an exceptional circumstance. I’m going to put you on hold a second, okay?’

‘No. Don’t do that. I need to know now.’

‘…Jesus…Look, I mean, you’re absolutely positive about this?’

‘Yes…Correct.’

‘Well, shit. Jesus…You’re really going through with it?’

‘It’s a done deal.’

‘…Okay…Mr. Dante…Okay. Well…I didn’t mention yet that there’s an additional bonus discount of ten percent off our TV special if you pay right now over the phone with your Visa or Mastercard? Did you want to take advantage of that discount?’

IN NEW YORK State there is a law that says that they are allowed to lock you down in the squirrel ward for ten days when you attempt to take your own life. It doesn’t matter if you ate pills and cut your wrists, drank drain cleaner or injected 200 ccs of nail polish remover into your carotid artery. If you live, they’ve got you. The rules are the same for everybody. Dylan, my high-strung faggot neighbor across the hall who always hears everything anyway, heard my end of the phone call to SEA-MATION at five o’clock in the morning. I found out later that he’s the one that called 911 after I’d gone back to my room and locked the door. I don’t remember any of it. Not the ambulance. Nothing.