The department of dead brain cells

Will crack have the last laugh?

I don’t know much about the workings of the human brain except for the fact that it can be damaged.

And there are all kinds of ways to do that, from bumping your head a few too many times to spending too much time on social media.

But I’m sure, by far, the most efficient means to break a brain is heavy drug use. I know this from first-hand experience. As an addict, I couldn’t remember anything. I was forever forgetting. Even speaking — putting one word behind another —could easily veer into disaster if I was feeling ambitious and made an overly long sentence. I’d simply forget the first part and have to abort the whole thing. Embarrassing.

It reached the point where my partner, desperate to understand what I was becoming — and unaware of my habit — considered buying me a helmet to wear around the house.

She thought I was bumping my head too often in the low-ceilinged basement.

The mystery, of course, was finally solved with two simple words: crack cocaine.

So you can imagine my relief when I went back to university recently and found myself speaking clearly and retaining information. Did I really emerge from a serious drug habit with a brain unscathed? Forgive me if I’m a little suspicious. That’s why, when I get out of a lecture, one of the first things I do is spout off everything I learned to the first person within earshot. Usually, my mother or a friend.

It’s like an integrity check on a computer hard drive — to see if any data didn’t get stored properly. So far, everything seems to be sticking. My brain is working as originally intended.

I did have a scare the other day though. An old colleague listed me as a reference for a job. When the hiring director called, I sat back, sipped my smoothie and extolled her virtues.

Easypeasy.

“And you worked with her at both companies?” the director asked.

“Yes. We were both at Narrative and… and…”

The fuck?

I couldn’t remember the name of the second company. A massive company with no less than nine famous brands. The biggest publisher in the U.S.

“The… other.. company.”

I was really fucking this up.

And in that moment, I realized I had finally located the crack damage. I could almost see the switchboard in my brain, sending a messenger to the department that had the company’s name on file. But no one answered the knock at the door.

“Hello?” the messenger might ask. “Brain Central just needs to know the name of the company De Quincy used to work for. Hello?”

Then the messenger would smell something. He’d sniff around the door, and finally murmur, “Someone’s smoking crack in there.”

I knew it! No way I could have gotten so high for so long and not broken something. Nothing is for free. In recovery, I’ve never been happier. Relations with my family — once a total bust — are the best ever. Nobody gets away with that.

And just when the hiring manager was wrapping things up and thanking me for my time, it hit me.

“I got it!” I hollered over the phone.

“Sorry?”

“The company name!”

“Oh, okay. Thank you. “

Whew.

It was just a momentary lapse. Let’s call it aging. Brain still functioning fine.

And yet, I’m still waiting for the damage to show up. It’ll probably happen in the most embarrassing way possible. Like when I’m delivering the eulogy at someone’s funeral and forget his name — and then have to substitute with “that guy” for the rest of the speech. Crack’s revenge!

Until then, I’ll just have to be vigilant. And not take anything for granted. Especially the fact that I almost died several times and lost everything in the world to addiction — only to end up the kind of guy who can give you a decent job reference.

I mean, for now.