When I lived in Hollywood I enjoyed eating pupusas. They’re pancakes made of corn or rice flour filled with beans. For some reason on this one day the Salvadorian restaurant was closed, and so I decided to eat at the neighboring dingy coffee shop. I had never step foot in this establishment before. When I ordered the place was empty, but it slowly filled up with an odd assortment of people. They seemed rather social as though they all knew each other.
Then one woman rose while holding a book. She asked everyone to stand, join hands and meditate about the higher power that gives them strength.
I stayed seated unsure of what kind of cult I walked into. But when they opened their eyes the leader made clear with her words that this was an Alcoholics Anonymous meeting.
Since I am a voyeur and Fight Club is one of my favorite movies I thought this might be a fascinating experience. But I also have a cowardly reflex when it comes to religion. A church service, a synagogue, hell even a yoga class, gives me the heebie jeebies. Anything with a hint of people mindlessly following others touches me right in my soul and causes what I imagine some describe as a panic attack (of course maybe it is a religious experience I am fighting against).
So I fled the premises before the meeting went any further missing the opportunity to hear of the evils of liquor.