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.

2 Comments

  1. Glenn says:

    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

    • Kirsten says:

      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!

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