Bottle redemption?

So, I went to the DMV today. Sat down, waited, waited, waited, waited, waited, then after several other people had come and gone around me a man in his 20s sat right next to me even though there were other seats open that did not have people next to the empty seat. This guy reeked of alcohol. Something sweet, but something with a strong proof. It's the smell of my college French professor who attempted to teach Medieval French Literature, but just ended up teaching me that I don't want to be in my 50s with an alcohol potbelly that made everyone wonder if I am pregnant at my ripe old age, attempting to teach students while I sweat profusely and down water to cover up the smell of my addiction.

Back to man in his 20s... I thought, "is this meant to be? Should I turn to him and tell him he needs help? Should I be interfering in this man's life because he chose to sit next to me?" Hmm, ponder ponder, ... ...

Then I heard the ding ding and looked up and B20 was called. Bingo! Okay, not quite, my number was B22, but I forgot all about the guy with the drinking problem next to me and instead started obsessing about how close I was to my number being called, how close I was to getting out of this room full of strangers that was going to trigger a panic attack if I didn't get out of there very soon. And, then, B22. I got up, went to my window, got my license renewed, and left.

Sorry guy with the drinking problem, you'll have to sit next to another guardian angel. I was too caught up in my own life to help you.