The Fishing Guide, the Bartender, and Me

It was the second week of May 1945. I lived in Vallejo, California, and I was hung over and sick when I ran into an acquaintance, also a drunk, who asked me how I was. I told her I'd been on a drunk and she informed me that she didn't drink anymore. My ears perked up. "How did you stop?" I asked. She told me that she had joined AA. Thinking that she was talking about the automobile association, I said, "But I don't even drive." "I mean Alcoholics Anonymous," she said. "How does it work?" I asked. "There's a meeting on Monday night; if you want I'll take you." Right away my guard went up. "No, just give me the address and I'll get there myself."