by S. G. Browne
Coming home late after drinking with your buddies? Sure.
Getting caught watching Internet porn? You bet.
Receiving drunk texts from an ex-girlfriend? Absolutely.
Men have been justifying and explaining themselves to women for centuries, and we’ve learned to talk our way out of a myriad of awkward situations, but there aren’t any guidelines on how to spin the fact that you cause others to experience spontaneous narcolepsy.
The clock on the wall says it’s almost time for Sophie to get home from work, and I still haven’t decided how to tell her. I suppose the truth would be the easiest way, but I keep thinking about how she’ll react. My guess is she won’t be happy about it, and that’s the problem. Because I am happy about it. I like what’s happening to me. It’s fun and exciting and it’s all I can manage to think about.
Vegan sits on the floor in the corner behind some golden pothos and English ivy, staring at me. Ever since The Incident in the Bathroom, Vegan has kept his distance, refusing to let me near him and only eating his meals once I’ve left the kitchen. Whenever I open my mouth to yawn, he disappears and hides under the bed.
I just hope he doesn’t rat me out to Sophie.
“Vegan,” I say in a soothing voice, trying to coax him over, but he’s not buying it. The fact that I have to stifle a yawn doesn’t help. The next moment he’s gone in a cloud of cat hair and dust bunnies.
On The Daily Show, there’s a commercial for a new drug called Bifixaprin.
Are you talking too fast? Flying off the handle? Spending out of control? You just might have bipolar disorder. We can help!
Drug companies are always trying to make you think that you’re sicker than you are by giving psychiatric labels to everyday personality problems. And ever since 1997, when the U.S. government legalized direct-to-consumer marketing of pharmaceutical drugs, you can’t watch a show anymore without thinking that you need the latest prescription medication to help you lead a better, more fulfilling life.
Half the time you’re watching a commercial with these people scuba diving or going on African safaris or catching a space shuttle and you think, Hey, that looks like fun. Then it turns out it’s an advertisement for some drug and you feel like your life sucks because you’ve never been scuba diving or on an African safari or to outer space, so maybe if you take the drug then your life will be as exciting as the lives of the people in the commercial.
The United States and New Zealand are the only industrialized countries on the planet that allow direct-to-consumer marketing of prescription drugs. All the other first-world countries have banned it. And while pharmaceutical companies are allowed to advertise drugs that may cause heart failure, memory loss, and increased risk of death, manufacturers of natural supplements can’t make any claims that their products help to prevent diseases or have any curative properties without facing substantial fines and possible incarceration.
The term double standard comes to mind.
This is a sore point for Sophie and one of the other reasons why she has a problem with how I make a living. She feels that by volunteering for clinical trials, I’m not only helping to empower the pharmaceutical companies, I’m also helping to perpetuate the culture of prescription drug use that encourages people to treat their problems with medications first and ask questions later.
A recent study found that seven in ten Americans are on at least one prescription drug and more than half take two or more—with antibiotics, antidepressants, antianxiety drugs, opioids, high blood pressure medications, and vaccines making up the bulk of the prescriptions. According to that same study, a third of all prescription drugs are toxic to humans, with the side effects of the medications often worse than the affliction being medicated.
Your average person will take their doctor-prescribed prescriptions without giving much thought to what long-term effects those drugs might have on them. At least we guinea pigs understand what we’re getting into, even if it’s not a smart career move. But for people who have normal jobs, taking a drug to cure one problem can lead to additional side effects that require more drugs until you wind up in a never-ending pharmaceutical loop, medicating your medications.
In a way, we’ve turned into human smartphones, only instead of apps, we’re downloading prescriptions.
You’ve got high blood pressure? There’s a pill for that.
You’re anxious and stressed out? There’s a pill for that.
You can’t get an erection? There’s a pill for that.
We’re gradually becoming more and more dependent on pharmaceutical drugs in order to survive. Whether we have problems with sleeping, depression, or gaining weight, there’s a prescription answer waiting for us at the drugstore. So it seems reasonable that it’s only a matter of time before evolution makes a leap forward and humans start being born with a dependency on pharmaceutical drugs. Or exhibiting permanent side effects.
Apparently, some of us have already made Darwin’s short list.
I’ve met up with Randy, Vic, Isaac, and Charlie several times to test out our newfound abilities on random people we catch littering or swearing in public or texting on their cell phones in movie theaters. I never realized how many people are failures when it comes to common courtesy, displaying a lack of social grace and exhibiting inappropriate behavior, existing in their own little cocoons of self-absorption with complete disregard for how their actions affect other human beings.
So we’ve taken it upon ourselves to give them a little payback.
Sometimes before we go out, we get together at Charlie’s or Randy’s, and Vic shows us some meditation and relaxation techniques to help us calm our minds and channel our triggers. While Charlie and Isaac don’t mind taking power naps and let me practice on them, we don’t do any pairing up or applications because no one wants to vomit or have a seizure or sport some wood in a room full of guys.
On Adult Swim is a commercial for erectile dysfunction.
Are you lacking that old spontaneity? Having trouble with your performance? Unable to be the man you’d like to be? You just might have ED. We can help!
In addition to improving my newly acquired skill, I’ve discovered that I’m not as tired as I used to be. It’s like I’ve cured my insomnia by making other people fall asleep. And I have a lot more energy and stamina.
“Are you sure this doesn’t have anything to do with the drugs you’re taking?” Sophie asked the other night after a ninety-minute sex marathon, which isn’t normal for me. When it comes to sex, I usually abide by the Andy Warhol Rule: I get my fifteen minutes and that’s about it.
I assured Sophie I’m not testing any form of sexual-performance-enhancement drugs, but I know she senses something different about me. Not just in bed, but in general. I notice it too. It’s not one specific thing, but I just feel good about myself, and that’s not a place I’ve spent a lot of time over the course of my adult life. Even when I was a kid, I never thought of myself as unique or special. And Mom and Dad didn’t exactly guide me in that direction. They were usually too busy with their own lives to worry about mine.
We all have our baggage. For some of us it’s a small carry-on, while for others, it’s a couple of oversize duffel bags held together with duct tape.
I switch over to one of the local news channels, where the news anchor is talking about the tragic death of two high school students from the Bronx who overdosed on their parents’ prescription drugs.
In the United States alone, nearly two million people are addicted to prescription painkillers, most of those opioids like oxycodone and hydrocodone, which have been shown to be just as addictive as their illegal cousin, heroin.
While recreational overdose from prescription drugs is a growing problem, it’s not the only one. Last year alone, more than a hundred thousand people died after taking properly prescribed and administered pharmaceuticals. When you throw in overdoses, improperly prescribed medications, and debacles like Vioxx and Baycol, prescription drug use is the
fifth leading cause of death in the United States, right behind heart disease, cancer, chronic lower respiratory disease, and strokes.
Considering that drugs like heroin, cocaine, and ecstasy account for fewer than twenty thousand annual deaths, it seems like the DEA’s war on drugs needs to shift its focus from MDMA to the FDA.
“I’m home!” Sophie says as she walks through the front door.
Vegan appears like a magic trick, running up to her and meowing up a storm. While he’s probably just happy to see his female human, I can’t help but think that he’s trying to tell Sophie that her boyfriend is some kind of asshole wizard.
Fortunately, I don’t think Sophie speaks fluent Cat.
While Sophie showers Vegan with love and hugs and affection, I run through all of the different ways in which I can break the news about my newfound ability, trying to pick the best one. But I was never good at multiple-choice problems. So instead I decide to see where the conversation goes and try to work my confession in organically.
After sprinkling some pixie dust on Vegan and blowing the rest into the air, Sophie sits down on the couch and curls up next to me like we used to be conjoined twins and she’s trying to reattach. I reciprocate by putting my arm around her and sinking into the couch to watch the news, where one of the anchors is talking about the ongoing investigation into reports that someone has been spiking food and drinks in Manhattan restaurants with acid or mushrooms. Over the past couple of weeks, more than two dozen people have experienced hallucinations ranging from mild to severe, but so far neither the authorities nor the Health Department have been able to isolate a single source of the outbreak.
“I don’t understand why you watch the news,” Sophie says.
“I like to stay informed,” I say. “I like to know about what’s going on in the world around me.”
“But it’s only about all of the bad stuff,” Sophie says. “Murders and kidnappings and spectacles of destruction. People taking advantage of other people. How does that help anyone feel better? How does that make the world a better place?”
“It’s the news,” I say. “It’s not supposed to make you feel better.”
Sophie purses her lips and gets this serious look on her face that she wears whenever she’s trying to save the world.
“Well, it should make you feel better,” she says. “The news should focus on inspirational stories and people who commit random acts of kindness rather than on horrific stories and people who steal from their neighbors. Then everyone would feel more positive about the world in which they live.”
Sophie believes that the reason so many people are unhappy and afraid and mistrustful is because that’s what the news shows them: acts of terror and tragedy and crime. That’s the culture the news has created. That’s the societal paradigm we’ve all been led to believe exists.
“I know bad news sells,” she says. “But only because that’s what we’ve been conditioned to buy.”
So far the conversation isn’t giving me much of an organic segue into telling Sophie about what’s going on with me, so I decide to tell her and get it over with before I lose my nerve.
“I have some news,” I say.
“Is it good news?” she asks, looking up at me.
I look down at her curled up next to me, her face inches from mine, her eyes big and blue—feminine Kryptonite to any sense of masculine resolve. “I think so.”
“Tell me something good,” she says, pressing tighter against me and talking into my chest. “Tell me something that will make me happy.”
Her body pressed against me like this—her face in my chest and her voice vibrating in my bones—isn’t helping matters. I’m pretty sure telling Sophie I’ve developed a genetic mutation that allows me to make people fall asleep isn’t going to make her happy. And as much as I want to tell her the truth, right now I’d rather give her some good news.
“I got an interview for a marketing job,” I say.
For some reason, this little white lie seemed like a good idea before I actually said it.
“Really?” Sophie sits up and looks at me with an expression of surprise and delight. “When?”
“Monday,” I say without thinking.
“With who?”
“Starbucks,” I say because it’s the first thing I can think of without hesitating. “It’s a corporate job.”
Never mind that Starbucks’ corporate headquarters is located in Seattle. At this point, I don’t know what I’m saying or why I’m saying it, but it just keeps coming out of my mouth like verbal vomit.
“Lollipop, that’s great!” Sophie gives me a kiss and a hug, followed by another kiss.
“I take it this makes you happy,” I say.
“Happy?” she says. “I’m thrilled!”
Apparently I overshot the target.
“I don’t have the job yet,” I say. “It’s just an interview. And I haven’t done any marketing in five years.”
“I know,” she says, curling up against me again. “But I’m sure they’ll love you. And even if they don’t, I appreciate that you’re looking. Just promise me we won’t have to move to Seattle.”
The two of us continue to sit and watch the news as I try to figure out how to get myself out of this one. While I know I can always tell Sophie that I didn’t get the job and she’ll believe me, the fact that I just told her a string of lies makes me feel like I cheated on her. Only in this case, the other woman is false hope.
On the television, a reporter is talking about a married couple from Michigan who discovered all of their money and valuables stolen with no memory of what happened. Before the reporter can continue, Sophie grabs the remote control and switches to Animal Planet to watch something more uplifting.
I’m hanging with Randy and Charlie at a Starbucks on Broadway outside Columbia University, where the three of us are in the middle of a one-week trial for an experimental treatment to combat ADHD—which is appropriate, considering that lately we’ve all been easily distracted. Though when it comes to controlling our behavior, we’re not the ones who seem to be having a problem.
A couple of tables away from us a cell phone rings, loud and obnoxious—Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony on steroids. A woman fishes the phone out of her purse and starts talking like she’s hearing impaired.
“Do you think we should be drinking coffee right now?” Charlie asks.
“Sure,” Randy says. “Why shouldn’t we?”
“Because of the ADHD trial,” Charlie says. “Won’t caffeine make it worse?”
“We don’t have ADHD,” I say. “We’re just taking the medication to test its side effects.”
“Oh,” Charlie says. “Right.”
While Charlie may not be the smartest monkey in the jungle, he’s got a heart the size of King Kong.
At the pickup counter, a monkey with an advanced case of male-pattern baldness flings his poo at the barista, who apparently put whipped cream on his mocha when he clearly asked for no whip and he doesn’t have the behavioral skills to explain this without belittling her.
“I went out with this barista once who loved using whipped cream,” Randy says.
“Did she make a lot of ice cream sundaes?” Charlie asks.
“More like banana splits,” Randy says.
“You know,” I say, “I could have gone without that visual for the rest of my life.”
A mother with a baby in a stroller in one hand and a venti in the other prepares to negotiate her way out the front door when a guy with short hair and sunglasses enters Starbucks and walks past without bothering to hold the door open for her.
“Does everything with you have to revolve around sex?” I ask.
“It doesn’t have to.” Randy gives a nod and an appreciative glance to a shapely redhead standing in line. “But that’s what life is about, man.”
“Life’s about sex?” Charlie says.
“Absolutely,” Randy says. “Sex is everywhere. It’s all around us. All you have to do is
look.”
Charlie looks around the coffee shop and appears disappointed with the results.
“Sex is the reason we go to bars and join online dating services,” Randy says. “It’s the reason we start up conversations with people we find attractive. It’s in the clothes we wear and the time we spend in front of the mirror and the perfume or cologne we dab behind our ears. It’s on billboards and in magazines and on TV, selling everything from beer to sports cars to fast food. You ever see a Carl’s Jr. commercial? You can’t even think about eating one of their burgers without wanting a hot woman with large breasts slathered in barbecue sauce.”
“Is that on the menu?” Charlie asks.
“Everything is on the menu,” Randy says. “You just have to know how to order.”
The poo-flinging monkey is now screeching at the barista for taking too long to get him his replacement mocha.
“Sex is why we were put on this planet,” Randy says. “Not to sit in front of a computer or watch TV or play video games, but to connect with each other physically and enjoy the carnal pleasures of life. To copulate and populate. It’s biology and evolution all rolled into one awesome package.”
“What about connecting with someone on more than just a physical level?” I say. “What about emotional intimacy and developing a meaningful relationship?”
“Not everyone wants a relationship,” Randy says. “Or even knows how to be in one. The fact is that there are two kinds of people: marionettes and hand puppets.”
“What does that mean?” Charlie asks.
“I think he means that some of us prefer not to have any strings attached,” I say.
Randy taps the end of his nose with his index finger and grins.
Two tables over, Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony starts up again, flexing its ringtone muscles.
“When it comes to sex and romance,” Randy says, “some of us are early Beatles and some of us are Rolling Stones.”
