1983, Stockton. A man in Swedish flannel pajamas runs down the street like a bat out of hell, screaming at his wife’s car because he’s too drunk to pass her Sunday morning inspection. John A. describes a life of high-functioning wreckage: owning a door factory while drinking twenty-two drinks in an hour, and the delusion that he was a "perfect gentleman" because he never raised his voice in the bar
. He recounts the grit of the bottom—stealing a pint of liquor from a Thriftymart, waking up to a twenty-three-foot white snake hissing in his bedroom, and the humiliation of wetting the bed. He views his recovery not as a success story, but as a collection of failures put into usefulness.
He credits his Higher Power for the panic that finally drove him to a flaky club in Anaheim with a brown paper bag over the lightbulb, where one drunk talking to another finally broke the obsession.
You've been listening for a while — would you take a second to rate it? It helps others find the good ones.
Thanks — your rating was saved!
Discussion
Be the first to share your thoughts on this tape.