To Phone or Not to Phone. . .?

I don't know how many times my life has been saved by the telephone since I first struggled, or crawled, through the doors of Alcoholics Anonymous in January 1970. I remember my first meeting in mid-Manhattan and how shaky and frightened I was. I remember, too, the beautiful people at that meeting who literally forced me to take their phone numbers and made me promise to use them, if only to say hello. They told me I could call at any time of the day or night as long as I hadn't yet picked up the first drink. It seemed rude to refuse and I could never be outwardly rude unless I was drunk. But I had no real intention of using them.