The Mayflower Hotel

There's a story in The Book about an early slippery experience of one of our co-founders.  He was in the lobby of a hotel, struggling with the consequences of a bad day, standing between the crowded hotel bar and a glass covered directory of local churches.  He contemplated the bar, wondering if he could enter and drink glasses of ginger ale, a hopeful look on his face.  Yeah, as we say: "If you keep going to a barbershop you're eventually going to get a haircut."  Instead, he started calling churches, eventually finding a minister who directed him to his first meeting with our the man who would be his co-founder.

I was reminded of a similar experience early on in my sobriety.  I was visiting the Johnsonville Sausage factory in Johnsonville, WI, in some godawful winter month.  Making the experience especially trying was the fact that my appointment was with a second shift supervisor.  I navigated miles of pitch black country roads, snow piled car-high on each side of the road, trying to read road signs in the dark, before locating Johnsonville.

I descended a gentle grade into the downtown area.  On my left was the massive sausage plant, huge clouds of steam billowing out into the frigid air, giving the scene an apocalyptic look; on my right was a small bar.  There were a few pickup trucks out front.  The windows glowed with neon beer signs: Bud, Pabst, Schlitz.  Neon is a very compelling light source.  It made the bar look inviting, warm.  And this was not a nice bar - this was a crappy small town bar that undoubtedly catered to line workers making hot dogs.

I pulled into the sausage lot, never seriously considering going to the bar.  But it called to me.  It looked so familiar.  I had been in dozens of bars just like it; I had never been in a bratwurst plant, talking to a process engineer,  trying to sell a 3 foot tall stainless steel steam filter, the purpose of which I could only guess at.  Removing some of the hog snout and pig feet bits from the sausage flowing into the casings holding your liverwurst, probably.

That's the thing about victories in sobriety.  They lead to more victories.  That call stiffened by spine a bit.  I was tougher, more prepared.  I had did it once and I could do it again.