Alan’s Testimony – Hello, I’m Alan

Alan - The Motorcycle Viking

Alan – March 1, 2008

“Let’s give a warm round of applause for Bone!” the announcer crowed into the microphone, his hand waving toward Alan, aka ‘Bone’.

Alan Hamilton smiled and slid toward the mike, his hazel eyes moving around the barren room of “The Buck”, a meeting place for Alcoholics Anonymous.  A sea of faces peered back, some curious, others already amused.  The majority of the people held their breath in expectation.  They knew Alan and his unusual sense of humor. Hell, you couldn’t be a member of the Buck without being made aware of Alan’s effervescent presence within minutes of entering the building.  He was always the loudest person in the room.

Alan shrugged out of his leather Harley jacket and draped it on his chair.  His sunglasses were next, followed by his black leather gloves.  He then smoothed his AA shirt into place, and pasted on his most charming smile.

From one side, the host stepped forward to discreetly slide a can of soda on the table in front of him.  Not one to be discreet, Alan drawled “Thank you very much” in his best Elvis impersonation.

The other man grinned back and moved away.

As Alan adjusted the microphone for his shorter 5’9” height, it made a rustling noise that echoed through the room.  Alan grinned sheepishly, then brushed his brown-black curls from his face.  Leaning forward, he cleared his throat, then began his testimony.

“H.  I’m Alan and I’m an alcohoooooooooollll-lick…”

“Hey, Alan,” some of the crowd shouted back.

“…And an aaaaaaaaaaaaad-dick,” he finished, his face twisted comically.

The crowd tittered.

Alan paused as they laughed.  Casually, he picked up his soda and popped the top, the sound reverberating through the speakers.  Hefting the can to his lips, he threw his head back and chugged the entire contents in one long gulp, the tanned skin of his throat bobbing madly as he did.  When he was finished, he smashed the can against his forehead, flattening it in one fell swoop before letting it clatter to the floor.  Then, he sucked in a loud lungful of air and released a boisterous belch, his expression oddly proud.

Many laughed again while some shook their head in disbelief at his ridiculous display of crudity.  Others shook their head because that was Alan… “always the jokester.”

“Excuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuse me,” he crooned loudly into the mike.

Again the audience laughed.

Again heads shook in disbelief.

“Well, I established how I drink,” Alan drawled with a wide grin.  “I don’t know about the rest of y’all.”  He struggled to keep another burp down, a swallowing sound vibrating through the mike.  “Anyone got another?” he joked.

Of course people laughed at that.  They always laughed at Alan.

“Annnnnnnyway…  I want to welcome all the newcomers; we got a lot of ‘em tonight.  I was new once… just once.  And when I do these little sharings – that’s all it is; I’m just sharing my life with you guys – I like to make it a two-way participation.  That means I’m gonna ask you a bunch of questions.  If the answer is yes, raise your hand.  If the answer is no, leave your hand down.  For example… are there any other alcoholics in this room?”

Everyone in the room raised their hand.

“You know –” he glanced around looking for the meeting’s host, “—is it hot in here, or is it just me?”  He returned his attention to the crowd.  “Okay, all those who say it’s just me, raise your hand.”

People laughed and hands shot up.

“Alright!” he cheered.  “It’s established gentleman.  I’m hot!”  He laughed loudly and turned back to the meeting’s host.  “Did you get that one on tape?  I want a copy of that.”

He waited for the laughter to die down, then flashed another roughish grin.  With long tanned fingers, he readjusted the mike, then let his twinkling eyes roam the room.

“Anyway,” he hummed into the mike.  “Are there any newcomers in their first 30 days in the room?  Raise your hand…”  He waited as people complied.  “Great; we have a few.”

The room thundered with applause for the newcomers.

“Okay now.  So there’s something been bothering me for a long time and I need an honest answer.”  He paused and looked intently about.  When it appeared everyone was hanging on his next question, he continued with a very serious expression.  “Do these chaps make my girlfriend look fat?” He gestured to his motorcycle chaps.

Again, the crowd laughed.

“Come on now,” he encouraged, his voice loud enough to be heard above the din.

“Yes,” someone yelled.

Brazen, Alan leered at his girlfriend in the front row, her face red as she rolled her eyes at him.  “Hey, Baby.  What can I say?  They’re not supposed to.”

He snickered again, then fumbled with the mike, the sound echoing loudly in the crowded room.  His apparent nervous clumsiness and his lame jokes instantly put the newcomers at ease.  It was something they could all relate to, and it caused instant sympathy for what would surely be a train-wreck testimony.

Little did they know that everything Alan said and did was intentional.  He was a pro… a master AA speaker.  After 23 and a half years of sobriety, this show of ungainliness was nothing more than a ruse intended to garner compassion…
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