Jerry Davich
The middle-aged man held up his alcoholic drink and looked me in the eyes. I grabbed my glass of ice water and waited for the customary “Cheers!”
It didn't happen.
“I don’t trust a man who doesn’t drink,” he told me in a serious tone.
He didn’t crack a smile as he took another swig of condescending judgment. This exchange took place at a mutual friend’s house for a recent dinner gathering. I politely smiled and mentioned something about having other vices, enjoyments and addictions.
He cut me off and said, “You should have a drink.”
I’ve been hearing this from people since my teenage years.
“What are you drinking?”
“Why aren’t you drinking?”
“Come on, have a drink.”
Ugh. OK, fine. Back then, I would have a drink and nurse it all night, just to shut them up.
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I did whatever I could to fit in with a crowd. Peer pressure is intoxicating in our younger days. At parties, I used to fill an empty beer can with soda pop to offer the illusion I was drinking alcohol. I also would lie to people, telling them I was drinking a rum and Coke, though it was just a Coke.
I’ve never enjoyed anything alcoholic, especially beer. Not since my first sip as a young teenager after sneaking into a drive-in movie with a group of my friends.
As I got older, I tried other alcoholic beverages such as mixed drinks. They tasted better than beer but they always contained too much booze. Never once did I actually “enjoy” drinking them. This pretty much explains my history as a drinker except for a few rare occasions when I tried something new in yet another attempt to enjoy everyone’s favorite social lubricant.
Trust me, I understand the importance of drinking alcohol at social gatherings, whether it’s craft beer, cheap booze, hard liquor, mixed drinks or shots of confidence. It bonds people one gulp at a time, especially during the holidays.
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I attended a company Christmas party where alcohol greased most every conversation. Someone brought a gag gift of Jeppson’s Malort Liqueur, with the “aroma and full-bodied flavor of an unusual botanical … and bitter taste savored by two-fisted drinkers,” its label proudly states.
“You should try it,” I was told.
So I did, just a sip. It tasted like regret.
A part of me wishes I enjoyed drinking for such social benefits. But this part of me is fading away more every year. In fact, every time I take a sip of these encounters, it tastes like high school.
I’ve never considered myself a teetotaler, but being the sober one at any gathering usually makes it easy to identity different kinds of drinkers -- either to be social, to conform, to enhance or to cope. For some people, all on the same night.
Being a nondrinker also comes with a steady flight of judgments, though usually it's from the drinking world. People make assumptions, as a former boss did years ago when I applied for a newspaper columnist position.
We met at a restaurant so he could size me up and ask some questions in a casual setting before hiring me. He ordered a beer and asked if I wanted one, too. Or any other kind of alcoholic drink on the bar menu.
“Order whatever you want, I’m picking up the bill,” he said.
I said no thanks, I don’t drink, not anymore.
“Not anymore?” he asked, giving me a double look.
Without saying it directly, he politely danced around the question if I had a drinking problem of some kind. Or if I had a drinking problem that I was recovering from. In other words, he wondered if I was an alcoholic.
“What? No, no, no,” I replied with a chuckle after I figured out his line of questioning.
I’ve never been asked that question directly since that night. But other people have hinted about it when I tell them I don’t drink. It raises eyebrows and prompts presumptions.
This is my “drinking problem,” and I often wonder if other nondrinkers have similar experiences. If so, “Cheers!”
