...get a stupid answer.
Saw a chronic alcoholic today. He's not a closet alcoholic, freely admits to it. I see him only for acute visits, he politely declines any attempt I make to talk about his blood pressure, health maintenance, or quitting drinking.
He's had a rough year. The church that used to employ him as a janitor burned down. So he tried to take up groundskeeping, but no one has had to mow anything for 6 weeks around here due to the lack of rain.
Still, no complaints. Nice guy. Just wants his refills.
Hi, Mr. Pabst. How've you been?
"I feel great."
Good, how much are you drinking?
"Pretty much all day long. But nothin' hard, just beer. I ain't no hog."
Through the entire conversation, he's been smacking his lips. Very rhythmic, not so subtle. Smack, smack, smack.
Mr. Pabst, whaccha doing with your lips there?
Smack, smack. "Eh? What do you mean?" Smack, smack, smack.
That thing you're doing with your lips?
Smack, smack. He points to his lips and looks at me like I'm 2 beers short of a six pack. "What, talkin'? You asked me a question, didn't you?"
Smack, smack, smack.
Got my answer, didn't I?