A Bunch of Phonies
He found hope and learned willingness
The first thoughts that come into my mind go like this . . . . Are these people for real? Do they actually do what they say they do? They're probably a bunch of phonies, most of them. They talk a good
show, but I can't believe anybody here is actually sober. Nobody's that strong. People aren't made that way. You'd need some kind of a stimulant just to go to one of these affairs.
They make me awful nervous, the way they sit there and the way they say hello to each other. One of them asks me, "Is this your first meeting?"
I almost jump out of my chair, and say, "Yeah."
Then he asks, "Did you come by yourself?"
"Yeah."
He says, "The people in this room are alcoholics."
I say to myself, "You ain't scaring me, buddy, I've been around, and I've seen bigger nuts than you." I decide not to talk to him any more, because he's trying to upset me. I just sit there and
pretend I'm not nervous.
A few minutes later, a big, tall guy walks in. He starts to talk to the other guy, and it doesn't take long before I figure out the second guy must be a preacher. I've already figured the first for the
bouncer, because he's short and stocky and looks like he could fight. They start talking about some poor slob who went back to drinking. I think, "They talk about you wherever you go! They ain't going to give
me no snow job, though."
Another guy, with a mustache, walks in. He has "copper" written all over his face. I've seen enough of them to know one, even if he is in plain clothes. The three of these guys start talking and leave me
out of it. They wouldn't do that to me in a gin mill, but I figure it's their show, so I let them mouth off between themselves. I'm getting shaky, because I haven't had a drink all day. The clown who told
me about this place said they'd be happier if I didn't. It's the first day in ten years that I haven't had a drink (not counting fourteen days in the hospital), but I figured I'd go along with them just for
this day, because I wanted a clear head so I could hear what they said.
I feel all puffed up and sweaty and uncomfortable. When is this thing going to start? I feel kind of boxed in. If it don't start pretty soon, I'm going to cut out.
Some woman walks in. This ain't no place for women. The language must be rough. They must be soft if they let women come here.
I sort of figured they'd have something to drink besides coffee. I don't think a little beer would hurt anybody, but I guess they got their rules. I'm not coming back anyway, so what's the difference?
The shakes are getting worse, and my gut is killing me. My blood pressure is going up. I feel like I'm gonna explode. I wish they'd start this thing so it would get over with and I could go home and tell
the old lady that they're full of it, too. I always drank and I know I always will, so let's get this show on the road.
Finally, they're calling this thing to order. Just as well. They aren't talking to me. Nobody seems to give a damn how uncomfortable I am. In a tavern, at least the bartender's friendly. Pretty soon, I'll go
see him anyway; he's got what I really want, something to kill these nerves.
They start the thing by being quiet. I guess that's the way they get their marbles together. What's coming next? Some guy reads something, but I don't hear a word of it. If I could only get out of this
place for five minutes to get a drink, I'd be okay.
The husky guy starts to talk. I let him talk for a while, then I ask him how long it's been since he had a drink. "Almost two years," he says.
"I don't believe that," I say to myself, "but I'll listen anyway." . . .
Wonder what I said. Now they're telling me I'll get my chance to talk if I wait my turn. Guess I must have been mouthing off too much, so I'll give' em a break and shut up for a while.
Some woman says she's a nurse. I figure she really knows something, so I ask her how long it takes to get the alcohol out of your system. "Ninety days," she says. Man, that's a long time! Somebody else
asks me to be quiet.
Every time anybody says, "My name is so-and-so and I'm an alcoholic," I feel like choking or croaking. No way am I ever going to say anything like that!
About time! They've gotten around to me. But now I'm so confused I don't know what to say. These people have really thrown me off the track. So I just stand up and say, "If you people can do it, so can I."
But I don't think I can.
When I get home, I'm a wreck. I don't have to explain anything to anybody here, because nobody's talking to me anyway. I go down to the basement and bust out crying.
Those slobs were trying to help me! After eighteen years of solid drinking, can I possibly learn how to get sober and stay sober? Sobriety -- that's just a dream. Sure, I want it, but it'd be too much work
to get it. But those people are doing it. If they can, why can't I? They weren't shooting any angles. I know that now. They were giving it to me straight. They're better people than I can ever hope to be.
I can't make a turnaround now. It's too late for me. I couldn't cut that kind of torture every night to get what they have.
Wait a minute. . . . Maybe I can! They said I only have to do it for twenty-four hours at a time. They said any clown could do that. Maybe if I just went to see them every night, it might work. I don't have
anything to lose, because I'm gonna die anyway. I'm drinking cream to coat my stomach. My nerves are shot. So what have I got to lose? It beats having to "go away" again. Maybe I can use them to get what I
want. Seems like they're there to be used anyway.
Yeah, I'll give it a try. I've got to try to learn how to be honest, though. I can tell that from what I heard. Man, that's going to be hard! I wonder if my stomach could ever be right again? I can't eat
hardly nothing. It don't stay down.
This whole thing scares the hell out of me. Maybe I can do it myself. Go to one of those meetings every night to get well? It'd be a whole lot easier to go to the gin mill and forget about the whole thing.
I think I'll let them lead me around by the nose for a while. I'll act dumb and see what happens. It'd be nice not to have this exploding head any more. How do they do it? Not even one drink! If they do what
they say they do, they're the toughest people I ever met. I'd like to be like that. I wonder if I got enough guts left to do this one last thing. I got to give it a try. I might get good at it, then I could
help some other poor jerk who got hooked like I did.
It'd sure be nice to not have to drink any more. Maybe I don't have to die before my time. This thing looks like it could work. I'm tired of not having any friends. I'm sick and tired of being called a
drunk. I'm sick and tired of the whole mess I'm in. If I blow this chance, I'm a dead man.
Okay, I'll do what they say. I'll follow their rules. It's gonna be tough. I never took orders from nobody before. Man, I don't even know how to go about this thing. I'll just go to the meetings and I
won't drink and I'll see if I can do it.
What am I saying? Here I am getting enthused about something I don't know anything about. They said keep coming and keep the cork in the bottle. I'll crack up. No, I won't! They'll help me! They said
they would. They're there. All I got to do is go see them.
R. R., Chicago Ridge, Illinois
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