AML, The Babysitter

A few nights ago I went out with a friend of mine. I was lured out of my busy schedule on a weeknight with the promise of free food and an open bar. It was a party being thrown by a guy who owns a mortgage company. He was throwing it for people who work for him and, I thought, Realtors. As it turned out, my friend and I were the only Realtors there. Apparently, my friend sends the guy a lot of business.

I had met this guy before; in fact he has taken me out to lunch. This may sound strange until you realize the dance that goes on. You see, Realtors prospect to the general public while loan officers prospect to Realtors. This prospecting often comes in the form of taking a Realtor out to lunch. It's not a bad deal, since for the price a meal they may be sent thousands of dollars worth of business. I am not bought this easily. Anyone I would recommend to a client has either come highly recommended from someone else who has done business with them, has done well for my clients, or both. However, if a loan officer would like to take me out to lunch while spewing their sales pitch to me, I am not going to stop them: I've made no promises. Who said there was no such thing as a free lunch?

So, my friend invites me to go with him to this dinner thing. He is all excited about it, partially for the free food, but mainly for the open bar. My buddy has what you might consider a slight drinking problem.

We're going streaking, up through the quad!

I'm not talking about the sit home alone and drink type of thing. He is more the go out at least twice a week and get hammered every time type of thing. And I do mean hammered, not a little tipsy. It has gotten him into trouble and some embarrassing situations to say the least. But, ever since his DUI, he is very conscious of how he gets home. This is where I come in. Now I'm not saying the only reason he invited me was to be his designated driver. I know he would be very offended if I thought that. His plan is always to take a cab home, which he does on the normal occasions that I'm not out with him. He even keeps the number of "his guy" (translation: regular cab driver) on speed dial in his cell phone. However, he does know that he can trust me, and that I vary rarely drink when I'm out with him. It's not that I don't drink, but on the scarce times that I plan on getting drunk I want to know there is going to be at least one responsible person around. And I know that this is never going to be him.

We arrive at the place and I scan the crowd. I know no one other than the host and my friend. This stands in stark contrast to my friend, as he is what I affectionately term as a "social slut." The man knows everyone, and not just at this function, I mean in general. He is the type of guy it takes forever to walk across the room with because he has to stop and talk with every third person.

"Our" first priority was to find the bar. Once we had our drinks in hand (he with his Jack and Coke, me with my Jack and Coke hold the Jack) we found our way to the free food. The night then progressed with meeting people and various mingling. I quickly learn not to mention that I'm a Realtor after being harassed for business by a few loan officers. As my buddy is getting more and more drunk, I amuse myself by watching him being pulled around the place by some unseen divining rod from female to female. He has gone from happy drunk to horny drunk. The trick is to get him out of there before we reach angry drunk. I talk with people while keeping a close eye on him. I know this role and I play it well. At this point his eyes are mere slits and then I see him do the standing stumble. That is my cue. There is no way I am carrying his ass to my car, so I have to make my move while I can. I suavely convince him to set his drink down, work him towards the door, say a quick thank you to the host, and make our way outside. A young couple is unfortunate enough to be going out the door the same time we are and my friend acts like he is going to pick a fight with them. Luckily they ignore us and we make our way to the car.

The next 30-minute car ride is filled with a constant barrage of "you 'k to drive?" "where we goin'?" "I love you man" "how're you not drunk?" I started out answering him, but then ended up just telling him to be quiet until we got home. The next day is followed by the inevitable phone call of thanks and me filling him in on the things he doesn't remember.

He is one of my dearest friends. I'd do anything for him, and he for me. I truly enjoy when we get together. So, he often wonders why I don't go out with him more to the bars. And while I have fun when I do, I'm just not always in the mood to be the babysitter.