Picture the scene, dear reader - You and I are in the pub, when I ask you a question -
"Would you like a drink?"
Now I'm guessing two things would happen. The second one being you would get back up off the floor.
And there's a fair chance that you would be quite pleased, and accept graciously. But -
"Do you like a drink?"
might result in two slightly different things happening. The second one being that I would be getting back up off the floor.
The difference is subtle, yet potentially violent. One word different seems to imply that you may have a problem. It's a strange insinuation, that I've never really understood. Practically everyone I know has been known to partake of a tasty ethanol-based beverage, with no sense of shame. In fact most people I know, including myself (quite possibly more myself than others, to be honest) could be said to show a certain sense of pride in having partaken of said beverages to excess.
But as soon as that pride is questioned, or the insinuation made that you have a need for it, things get uncomfortable. There seems to be a control level, a cut off point beyond which the social exclusion zone kicks in.
You like having a drink, you're good at it, but you don't need it obviously...
One minute you're sitting on your favourite hard wooden chair with the mystery sticky bit beneath your feet, slap bang in the middle of a gang of best friends, with a warm glow in the cheeks, a grin on the face and the buzz of multiconversation in your ears.
Next thing you know you're sitting in the same chair, same sticky bit, but the realisation slowly hits that there is no strand of the multiconversation that is any of your business. And instead of being in the middle of a gang, you seem to be on the periphery of a different group. It seems your gang are now at home, whispering about how you just didn't know when to stop...
This line in the sand interests me. Where is it? How are we supposed to know? As far as I can tell, I managed to pass the test and came out safely on the other side. But I really have no idea how I managed it. Maybe some people are just not so lucky.
My current line of work brings me into close contact with these unfortunates every day. I spoke to one a few days ago who was in the Navy for most of his life with an exemplary record. He travelled around the world, had a massive social circle and had a drink with all of them wherever he went. He retired with a full pension, and a raging alcohol dependency. He now lives alone in a bedsit drinking two full bottles of cheap whisky a day waiting for his next seizure.
Another one I met yesterday is 29, his doctor doesn't think he'll see 30, and he recently woke up on a riverbank with a broken jaw and internal injuries, and no explanation.
Totally different people, with one thing in common. They just didn't hear the bell for last orders.
