Too Bad It Wasn’t The Sobriety Society

I’m nearly forty years old and have always had a somewhat notorious reputation for being a teetotaler (exclusively non-drinker). I never drank in high school, on my twenty-first birthday, or even at my wedding. Never.

This story happened when I was about twenty-eight years old and had just moved back to my home state. I can play the piano quite well and used to play for various churches, so I was trying to see if I could find another gig playing at a local church. I went to a block in a town where I knew there were several churches and figured I would just pop in and ask someone if they needed my services. (This kind of approach works pretty well in small towns.)

The first church I visited was open, so I went inside, hoping to find a secretary or even the pastor. I did find a man inside, hovering around the pews and looking at the Bibles. He obviously wasn’t the pastor, but I thought he might know where I could find someone to talk to.

Me: “Hi there! Do you know where I could find the staff office or the pastor?”

The man glanced around the room in a friendly and helpful way.

Man: “Oh, um, I’m not sure. Why? What do you need?”

Me: “I’m here to speak to someone about possibly playing piano for Sunday services.”

Man: “Well, there’s about to be a meeting downstairs, if you want to go and talk to someone.”

Me: “Oh, thanks! That would be great.”

I followed him outside where he showed me the entrance to the recreation area of the church, located in the basement. We casually chatted a little bit more about where I’d moved from and how I used to live here, and he said he’d been coming to this church for a while now. It was a pleasant interaction.

A few more people started showing up and filtering into the church basement, so I followed them inside to find someone to speak to at this church meeting.

In the rec area, there was a table with snacks and coffee set up, with a circle of chairs, and I wasn’t sure who to approach about my query. I’ve always had really bad social anxiety, so I just sort of followed my new “friend” over to a couple of chairs and took a seat, waiting for some sort of prompt or indication of what to do, but I figured I could be comfortable and get the read of the room in the meantime.

In no time, everyone had grabbed a snack and some coffee and taken their seats in the circle. Then, the meeting started. And my heart sank to my stomach.

It was not a church meeting with church members and staff like I had thought. I was sitting in an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting.

By that time, everyone, including me, was already situated, the room was quiet aside from the speaker, and I had already mingled a bit with a few of the people in the group beforehand. My anxiety spiked and I figured my best bet was to fake it and ride it out. 

Once the speaker finished his opening talk, they began the bit about going around the room, letting each person speak. And, being the new person in the room, of course, they wanted to start with me. I was mortified, but thankfully, my “friend” leaned over and whispered that I didn’t have to talk if I wasn’t comfortable. So, I stuttered some sort of polite-as-I-could-manage decline, and they continued their meeting.

I sat there for the entire thing, guiltily listening to everyone’s stories about their struggles with alcohol, and then I mingled some more at the end when people came up to talk to me nicely, congratulating me for coming and encouraging me to come back. Everyone was very nice… which made me feel even more guilty for accidentally being the biggest fraud in the room.

I left shaking with nerves and never went back to that church, and I made a mental note to try to be more mindful of future giant misunderstandings. But I’ve often thought of that group of people and always hoped they’ve been doing well.