Why Would Anyone Drink One Drink?
I’d considered, once or twice, that I might have a problem with drinking. The dean had called me a “problem drinker” and my mom had called me an “alcoholic” and I was just having a good time, but it occurred to me that I should prove, once and for all, that I was not an alcoholic.
I’d heard that alcoholics couldn’t drink just one drink. Like those potato chips, only with alcohol.
So one evening, when Donna and I both needed to study, we went out to prove that we were not “real” alcoholics. We put down our books and went to the bar for a study break, with every intention of having only one drink.
We took two quarters each – enough money for exactly one draft beer at the Naborhood Inn. We didn’t want to tempt fate by taking a full dollar.
We walked in and sat down at the bar, usually jammed with people but rather empty, and we ordered our beers. I made sure there wasn’t too much foam on top. I was only having one beer; I wanted to make sure that the glass was full.
We sipped our beers slowly, trying to relax in a room choking us with smoke and scratchy jukebox records. We chatted a little.
Some guy offered to buy us another round, but Donna politely declined. “We have to study!” she said, earnestly smiling. I hoped he’d ask again when my beer was gone.
We tried to drink slowly – although for me, “slow” was relative. It took me 10 minutes instead of two.
Then Donna hopped off the bar stool.
I was genuinely surprised. “Really? We’re really leaving?”
“Of course!” Donna said. She was smart and had a good head on her shoulders. She was getting straight A’s and she never got into trouble. Of course she was going back to the dorm.
But did I really have to go? It took every ounce of willpower I had to follow her out that door.
For me, it was a bit like sitting on a roller coaster – just sitting there – without anyone pushing the “go” button. I was ready! But I was stuck.
Why would anyone drink one drink? I thought. What’s the point?
Donna was excited to get back to our room, but I was distressed. My brain was sloshy. I felt tired but not drunk. I felt an emptiness – an ache that screamed from deep inside me, a scream that started with the first sip of that one beer.
I didn’t want to study! I wanted to go back to that bar!
“We did it, though,” Donna said. “We proved we could just have one drink!”
Oh riiiiiight, I thought. We proved that we’re not alcoholics!
That was an important thing. I needed to prove that I wasn’t an alcoholic, and this had been my test. And look! I had done it! I’d had one beer, and then I’d gone home!
I ignored all of my distress and decided that I had no trouble at all drinking only one beer.
Even though I had a tremendous amount of trouble drinking only one beer.
And I clung to the results of this experiment like it was the Holy Grail of Alcoholism. I didn’t think about how that one beer made me insane on the walk home – about how physically, mentally and emotionally agonizing it was for me to stop. I pretended there was no screaming emptiness.
The next night, I went back to that bar and drank 42,000 beers to make up for the ones I didn’t drink the night before.
I can’t imagine going through that. On a positive note, you have a great memory! I have no recollection of what a draft beer cost at the “Hood” back in the ‘80s
Glen, this was important stuff. Knowing the cost of one beer was substantially more important than knowing, say, the cost of the Communications scholarship I’d earned from MUC. I thought I was getting $2,500/year – but my parents have assured me that no, it was $250. Per year. I remembered it wrong for a good 30 years. On the other hand, that $250 would have bought 500 beers – so I guess it was a good scholarship after all!