Read Online High Sobriety by Jill Stark - Free Book Online

from the people he expected. His teenage friends had no problem when he quit drinking. Neither do the working-class men for whom he now performs, in tough pubs in Melbourne’s western suburbs. It’s people in suits who give him the hardest time. ‘I feel like I could do a lot better in business if I drank. I have corporate functions where everyone goes for a beer, and people want to chat to me afterwards and buy me a drink. I can say, “I never drink when I’m working,” but after the gig’s finished, I don’t have an excuse. Not drinking makes me slightly removed from the event in a professional sense. I often say, “I might just have a Coke.” It creates this weird tension.’
    I’m becoming very familiar with that tension. Sometimes it’s so uncomfortable I almost feel like apologising to the drinkers in my company. I ask Nick why he thinks people are so disarmed by non-drinkers. ‘It’s like they think, you’ve made a life decision that I don’t understand, and I worry about what’s behind that. It’s kind of like if someone has a very different political opinion from me — if, say, they’re pro-life — I’m always a bit like, “What’s behind that culturally, because in my head I’m seeing you bomb abortion clinics,” which is entirely unfair and untrue, but I think it’s the same with alcohol.
    â€˜It’s the thing that if two people go through a terrible experience together, they’ve shown a soft side; they’ve been through a war, and now they’ve bonded. It’s the same with alcohol: “Well, we’ve been drunk together, we’ve lowered our inhibitions.” It’s that thing about the reason you shake hands is to show that you don’t have a knife in your hand. Alcohol’s a social lubricant. You say things you might regret later on, so if you’re prepared to drink with someone, you’re saying, “I’m prepared to let the real me out.”’
    I can relate to this. By choosing not to drink, it feels as if I have unwittingly broken a contract to be disinhibited. I have welched on that tacit agreement between drinkers to be candid, open, and in some ways vulnerable. When this contract is broken, it can turn ugly.
    Nick says that celebrations, as I discovered with the beer-peddling birthday-party host, are particularly fraught. ‘Weddings are tough. They bring out the worst in people when it comes to alcohol. People would give me champagne, and I’d say, “Sorry, I don’t drink.” “But it’s for the toast. You have to have a drink.” They want everyone to drink: “We are here to celebrate, you will celebrate, and we’ll force this celebration down your throat in the way we want you to celebrate it.” Everyone has to have a glass to drink, and it gets quite nasty.’
    How will I cope with that sort of pressure? How will I get through my own birthday with a non-alcoholic toast? If I’m to survive three months of this, I’ll have to start stockpiling excuses. I ask Nick for advice. He tells me that it’s important to always have a glass in your hand. That way, if someone asks if you want a drink, you can simply say, ‘No, I’m good, thanks.’
    Also, I’m warned never to say, ‘I’m not drinking’ or ‘I don’t drink’, as this only invites discussion as to why not, and immediately there’s a barrier where there needn’t be one. ‘Just say, “No, thank you,” and stare them down. “Go on, have a drink.” “No, thank you.” “Are you sure?” “No, thank you.” And just ride out the five-second awkward pause,’ Nick explains. ‘I used to tell people early on that I was an alcoholic. I don’t think I actually was because I did just say, “I’m going to stop drinking,” and then stop. But