Pass the Corona! 30 Days in Rehab in 2020

By Monte Bennett

After travelling to South America and getting dumped by the woman of his dreams, an alcoholic refuses to drown his sorrows at home and instead decides to go to El Salvador to teach English - only to have the coronavirus pandemic thwart his plans.

The book chronicles his experiences in rehab, while explaining the events that led him there in the first place.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Monte Bennett
• Release date: Jun 7, 2021
• ISBN: 9781005691011

Monte Bennett

Monte was teaching in El Salvador at a time when coronavirus was just starting to cause a massive global panic. After bitterly escaping home to his native Canada, he became increasingly dissatisfied with life and nurtured a growing drinking problem until he wound up in a rehab.Today, he still lives in Canada and is looking forward to travelling again soon.

Book preview

Pass the CORONA!

30 Days in Rehab in 2020

A short chronicle by Monte Bennett

Published by Monte Bennett at Smashwords

Copyright 2021 Monte Bennett

This story is dedicated to anyone struggling with an addiction problem.

"I just wanted to get away. Though the person I needed to escape most was always with me – myself!"

I was more than a little skittish when I pulled up to the red brick house. I wanted to run to the liquor store up the road for one last binge before I was locked away. I had been sober for the last 72 hours as per the house’s entry requirements, but actually taking the step of entering the house had a feeling of permanence to it. Once I entered those doors, I would be finally admitting to myself and everyone who knew that I had a problem.

Even if I had been able to run, I would not have gotten far. Where was there to go? I could order a taxi and pay an exorbitant amount to get back to my hometown, but then what? I was in the midst of finalizing the sale of my condo, and the necessary documents to complete the sale were locked away in my parents’ house. My passport was also there, though that would have been more useful in different times. Funny how a novel coronavirus can shut down global travel.

With no viable option for escape, I resignedly entered the red brick house at 11 AM, right on time. I was greeted by a tall woman named Michelle with long dark hair and very expressive eyes. Her mouth was hidden by a blue mask, similar to what only surgeons seemed to wear in years previous. She introduced herself as my case manager and spent the next hour having me fill out various forms detailing the nature of my addiction, taking my temperature, and asking me to provide a urine sample. Much to my surprise, I was allowed to keep my phone with me while my intake was processed, and they never asked to search my bags.

I was offered lunch but was in no mood to take it. The intake process was complete and I reluctantly handed over my phone, after signing an agreement to use it for only 15 minutes per day at a set time. Michelle then took me upstairs to the third floor, where I was introduced to a small room featuring a desk and two sets of the cheapest looking cabinets and nightstands money could buy. Obviously, the thousands I paid out of pocket for entry to this place was going to good use.

To my horror, I also noticed two beds…I hoped to God that I wouldn’t get stuck with a roommate. I was less worried about coronavirus than I was about sharing a small space with another man snoring and farting all night.

With nothing to do and no schedule handed to me, all kinds of thoughts swirled around my head. Why did I decide to come here? I wished I was in downtown Las Vegas, sitting at the Triple 7 Brewery with a pint of beer, a pack of cigarettes, and enough money to play video poker all night. I wished I had found and held onto the right woman years earlier. I wished I didn’t derail my career and toxify almost every friendship that was ever important to me. But more than anything, in that moment…I really just wished I had accepted lunch.

After more than an hour of twiddling my thumbs and plotting an escape if necessary, I met with another counselor, Brock, who I figured must have doubled as the fitness instructor. He was tall, confident, and had what seemed like a million tattoos covering his neck, arms and hands. As we spoke, I took a liking to Brock as he shared his own stories. He had an affable and unpretentious manner that I found much easier to connect with than that of Michelle’s businesslike approach.

Nevertheless, I was still having a hard time settling in and accepting my surroundings. The house required everyone to stay on the property for their first five days, and I quickly started to feel like a rat in a cage.

I did a brief workout in a grimy old gym in the house’s basement, then sat outside for a bit in the sun away from the other residents, of which there were about a dozen in total. They were spending their spare time smoking cigarettes outside, sitting on the couch in the living room, or otherwise milling about the house.

I was in no mood for any small talk, but I was worried about looking too standoffish given I would be stuck in the house for 30 days. So, at the very least I tried to say hi to people I ran into…sadly, a big step for me on this day. Stripped of my favourite social lubricant, my gregarious alter ego was replaced by a shy man who preferred to spend his time alone.

I wasn’t provided with any additional direction, so I had plenty of time to kill before dinner. I went back to my room where my anger at my situation simmered. Why am I here? I could have stayed in a room alone at home. This was clearly a complete waste of time and money. The angry thoughts swirled and I made no effort to stop them. Eventually, I heard someone walking up the stairs.

I was looking for Michael, said Maggie, a rather morose-looking counsellor in her mid-twenties.

Yeah? Well that’s not me, I grumbled, closing the door to my room.

Finally, it was time for dinner. I couldn’t wait to start shoveling food in my face and ignore whoever was at the table.

A man who looked about my age, in his mid-thirties, passed me on the stairs as I was walking down to the dining room. How’s it going? he said. I just made eye contact and grunted something unintelligible. I was still deciding on whether to do a runner.

All the meals were set on the tables when I arrived. I started tucking in when all of a sudden I heard Hey Purple! from a strong and authoritative voice. I looked over, alarmed. ‘Purple’ was in reference to the colour of my golf shirt.

As it turned out, it was a man I’ll call the veteran. He had been at the house for at least 20 days, giving him the most time amongst the current crop of residents.

I noticed almost immediately that he carried a certain level of influence. Although he was short and overweight, he nonetheless seemed imposing. I learned later that his drug of choice was cocaine,