Service in A Battered Suitcase

In 1993, when I was about 7 months sober, some man gave me a beat-up suitcase and told me that I was now the group secretary/treasurer for our Saturday morning group at the Carvel Club in Indianapolis, Ind. Each week, I collected money from the basket, put the money in the suitcase, and put the suitcase in the trunk of my car. Eventually, I was asked where that money was and why I did not turn it into the clubhouse manager. Immediately after that conversation, I emptied the contents of that suitcase in front of an amused trusted servant. After a year, I announced to the group that I had served my term. Then, that tattered suitcase was taken from me and given to someone else.