Finishing a Box of Wine

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Jon Bondy, jon@jonbondy.com

I’ve never had much interest in alcohol or drugs. When I was a teenager, my parents were concerned that I might become an alcoholic if I didn’t learn how to handle my liquor, but I had no interest in such an education. At college, when friends (who have since become attorneys, district attorneys, and physicians) smoked dope (marijuana) or hash, I watched, but did not inhale (directly). It actually became a running joke. One of the football players on my freshman hall (since become a professor) claimed that, were he to be caught by the police smoking dope, he would say “All I know is Bondy!” He figured that I could come to no harm, since I actually had no connection with drugs of any sort. And I did look the part, with a full beard and hair down to my shoulders.

My lack of experience with alcohol caused some problems as I grew up, mostly when I became involved with women who drank too much. I was so naïve that I never knew the warning signs, and on occasion let situations go farther than a more experienced guy might have done.

I have some friends who like to drink box wine. You know, the kind you see in square boxes at the supermarket. I think the boxes contain two liters of wine. Some of my more sophisticated friends look down their nose at this, but, since I don’t drink, I just figure I’ll provide whatever they enjoy.

At one point, these friends agreed to come over, and I bought the box of wine for them. When they were forced to cancel, I kept the box of wine in the refrigerator. Waste not, want not.

When my then girlfriend moved in, there was the box of wine. As something of a wine connoisseur, she would have nothing to do with the box of wine, but she tolerated it for a while. After a while, however, she wanted the box out of there, because it was taking up way too much space. She wanted to throw it away. Waste not, want not. I said, “No”. I said that I would drink the box of wine if necessary, but we were not going to just throw it away.

So, for the next few weeks, I dutifully drank my two tumblers of wine, each night. I became buzzed more often than not, but I never enjoyed it nor looked forward to it. My girlfriend watched all of this with some amazement, as she enjoyed the buzz, and could not fathom how I could drink the swill and not even enjoy the buzz.

Just goes to show how different we all are. I have no idea why I am uninterested in drugs and alcohol, but, as Popeye would say, “I yam what I yam”…