“The right to swing my fist ends where the other man's nose begins." Oliver Wendell Holmes

I heard the commotion and walked to Ms. Rella’s office to investigate.  A pasty middle-aged man wearing jeans, loafers, and a button down shirt, was pointing a bony finger at the office manager, Ms. Rella.  The half glasses hanging from his neck bounced as he gestured.

“I demand a meeting with your CEO. This is bullshit. I have rights!  I completed treatment.  You just want my insurance money.  You have beds to fill.”  I introduced myself and asked him to have a seat in the waiting room, promising to see what I could do.

I read his chart.  Following his third DUI, he had been sentenced to a year in jail, but the judge had told him he could avoid jail by completing treatment.  Terry had decided he was done when he completed inpatient.  His therapist had thought he needed outpatient, and said if Terry failed that he should go to a halfway house.

I told him filling beds was not an issue, the opiate epidemic was swamping rehabs. “No offense, but you’re lucky to be here. The jail is overcrowded with drug dealers and people who committed crimes to feed their addictions,” I said. “Otherwise you’d be behind bars.”

“Those people belong in jail, not me!  This is just a jail without the bars.  I have rights!”

He was starting to sound like a broken record. “OK,” I said as calmly as I could. “I will arrange a meeting with the CEO, your therapist, and your probation officer.”

The color drained from his face, but he still managed to say, “I have rights!”

“You don’t have the right to drive around drunk endangering other people.”

Today I will remember my rights are not limitless.

Life on Life’s Terms II © 2015 by Ken Montrose

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