Irony . . .

Last week I got a call from a guy who shows up at church every now and then who had obviously been drinking too much.  He was out walking his cat and "just following wherever Fido wants to go" and didn't quite know where he was.

I managed to pinpoint his location, threw on my swim trunks (because they were handy) and a clerical shirt and collar and met him where he was.  I then spent from about Midnight to 1:15 listening to him ramble about everything from drinking to other . . . unhealthy topics.  He calmed down and I took him home.

The next morning a friend of his showed up in my office.  After a lengthy conversation, and a phone call to a counselor, we did a voluntary intervention and took him to the hospital.  The whole ordeal lasted until about 4 p.m.

Last night he called me saying that he had called the police because he was afraid he was going to "do something stupid."  I talked to him with the cops in the background just as the ambulance was pulling up to take him to the ER.  I told him I would meet him there, and did.

Oh . . . and this was AFTER I spent a couple of hours with him earlier in the day at a counselling appointment.

Long story short, I spent about an hour and a half with him and another of his friends at the ER last night.  While we were waiting for the hospital to do their thing, we talked a bunch of stuff out, he called a psychiatrist for an appointment, and it was decided that I could go home, leaving him and the other friend at the ER.

When I got into the car to go home, Margarittaville was playing on the radio.