You might remember I mentioned a guy named Milt earlier. Well Milton Talley , or Milt as he is known to his acquaintances-acquaintances because far as I know he never had friends- is your basic alcoholic asshole. Circumstances might dictate any person becoming an alcoholic. But assholes are afflicted of their own accord. Milt is what you might call a revolving asshole-anyway you turn him, he's still an asshole.

Milt's job is not working. I mean they pay him not to work. His family landed some big government contract several years ago and it truly has made the whole group exceptionally well off. Well off enough to pay Milt to stay away. The business got into trouble with Uncle Sam a few years ago and Milt took the fall. He pleaded guilty to whatever the government was accusing the company and he spent nearly two years in one of those minimum security federal country clubs.

Milt has two pet phrases he loves to use. One is "I apologize." He has a way of saying it so you know he means just the opposite. He most often "apologizes" when he thinks he is right and has nothing to apologize for. It normally is a precursor to his other favorite-"little people." The "little people" are generally everyone except Milt. Especially if they either work for a living, will not drink with him, or refuse to put up with his shit.

The most ridiculous come back I have ever heard in a barroom tit I credit to Milt. After a particularly obnoxious episode and following Duncan's announcement he would "knock you on your ass", Milt's comment, intended to put Duncan in his place, was "how much did you make last year?" It evidently worked though because Duncan got so flustered he forgot to be mad and Milt was heard mumbling "I apologize" as he stumbled out the door.

Of course that was not as bad as the time he poured a drink on Leonard and showed up the next day to apologize to Duncan and insisted that Duncan pour a drink on him to even the score. Duncan didn't want to play, but did enjoy watching Milt buy the drink and pour it over his own head. None of this made Leonard feel better though.

Another time he came into the club about 9 PM and of course the few barstools were full. He approached two young women who were sitting at his favorite position and informed them they were sitting in his place. At first the women ignored him. When he repeated himself, one of them looked at Milt and said, "Don’t you know about the local rule?"

"What local rule?" says Milt. " I know all the rules, but they don’t all apply to me! What are you talking about?"

Over her shoulder the woman said, "The ass up-time up rule. Get out of here and quit bothering us."

Milt stood there for a few minutes with a dumb look on his face. Then he said, "I’ll give you fifty dollars for that stool." He had the money in his hand. The woman quickly took the money and vacated the stool. Milt ordered a drink, downed it quickly, got up and left. He mumbled to Duncan about having to put up with the little people as he hit both sides of the door on his way out. The two women returned to their previous spots at the bar.

On this night Milt has decided that he and his next door neighbor Martha will go from Orange Park up to Fernandina Beach for the weekend. It was nearly 9PM and Milt was well into the bag. The planned trip is about 40 miles. Most people would hop in their car and go. Milt, however, doesn't have that option. After somewhere between 5 and 10 DUI's, he not only lost his driver's license forever, a fact that did not bother him for the last several DUI's, but he was bared from even sitting under the wheel of a parked car on pain of life in the state correction facility. Whatever the real threat the judge had made a believer out of Milt. That's when he started using the limo. He calls for the limo when he wants to leave home. Rumor says the business spends almost $5000 a month on the service.

This night Milt decides to really go first class and impress all the little people. He calls the limo service and asks to be picked up immediately. His plan is to have the limo drive him to Craig Field, a small airport on the north side of Jacksonville toward the beaches. At Craig Field Milt intends to charter a small plane for the ride to Amelia Island Resort at Fernandina Beach. After dropping Milt and Martha at the airport the driver is to take the limo on to Amelia Island to meet the plane and provide transportation to the resort.

Someone asks if he has reserved a room at the resort. A minor detail he says and tells Martha to call in the reservation. After a short conversation Martha lays down the phone and turns to Milt. "The only thing available is the Chrisy Evert Suite. It rents for a minimum of three days and the total cost will be $1600 for the weekend."

"Tell 'em I'll take it," mumbles Milt into his vodka and ice.

The rest of the story we heard from Martha and the limo driver.

The trip to Craig Field went without a hitch-the last thing that did. After being dropped at Craig Field and instructing the limo driver to "by god be on time at Amelia," Milt attempted to charter a small plane and pilot for the flight to Amelia-an arrangement previously overlooked. Finding a plane and pilot was not hard. However the fog would not allow take off.

The small plane finally made the twenty mile flight into Amelia about midnight after a wind shift pushed the fog out to sea. The limo had been waiting two hours.

On checking into the resort and finding out the Chrssy Evert Suite was privately and remotely located within the resort property, making it inaccessible by limo, Milt demanded a golf cart be provided for his personal transportation. The night clerk, already irritated from being aroused at 12:30 AM to check in this drunk, explained he had no authority to provide a golf cart and no access to one at this time of night.

Milt allowed as how this was a problem for the little people to work out and continued his demands. Finally a half asleep assistant manager agreed to let him have the golf cart provided he accept responsibility for full value of the cart. This being of little consequence to Milt, he quickly put a $3500 deposit on his American Express card, along with the $1600 minimum stay rate for the suite.

After taking the remaining vodka from the rear seat of the limo, Milt told the driver to "get a room somewhere for the night and be available in the morning." He then left driving his golf cart and following the assistant manager's cart carrying his overnight bag. The vodka was soon gone and sleep came in front of the large screen TV about 1:30AM.

For Milt the ideal breakfast requires some kind of juice liberally laced with vodka. This day a bloody mary seemed in order. There was, however, no vodka in the suite. Also no tomato juice nor other necessary ingredients. Nor were they available through room service at 5:30 AM, the hour Milt awoke with this terrible longing.

The kitchen help arrived at 6 AM , but there were no waiters expected before 7. A promise was made to deliver the vodka and fixings as soon as possible. Milt said "OK." He is much more contrite early in the morning when the hang over is still hanging.

While waiting for breakfast he decides Martha and he should take the golf cart to the lobby area for a morning paper. Except there was no golf cart parked in front of the building when they arrived down stairs.

Back to the phone Milt demanded to know who was the son of a bitch who had taken his golf cart. The front desk attendant explained he had no idea. Perhaps it had been stolen during the night. He did remind Milt of the full price deposit on the AMX card.

Following three more frantic calls Milt located the limo driver at a nearby motel and told him to "get your ass over here and help me find my golf cart before I have to pay for the son of a bitch."

For the next two hours Milt, Martha, and the driver scoured the grounds looking for the golf cart. They finally found it, unharmed, under some rather large azalea bushes where it had obviously rolled after Milt failed to set the foot brake the night before.

Relieved he had just saved $3500,Milt returned to the suite for a now excruciatingly needed bloody mary. Indeed the vodka and fixings were waiting for him just as he had ordered. The two quarts of vodka were billed at $100 per bottle. The fixings were complimentary.

"The hell with this place. Let's get out of here. I'm going home. Call and check us out."

Milt gathered up the two bottles of vodka and the "free" fixings and headed for the limo. By avoiding airports, they were back in Orange Park before noon. The trip averaged about $500 per hour for the fifteen hours he was gone. The vodka was so expensive he didn't want to drink it, but it was Sunday and the bars don't open until 2 PM.

I wonder if the little people are really missing anything.