The first time I heard the phrase “very special workers,” I was sitting in a regular Tuesday night meeting, half-listening as someone read Tradition Eight. I’d probably heard it a dozen times before, but that night the words landed differently. “Alcoholics Anonymous should remain forever nonprofessional, but our service centers may employ VERY special workers.”
Someone added, almost offhandedly, “That’s the central office staff—our VERY special workers.” I remember thinking, Wait, we have staff?
I was still new as a GSR—green enough that I was still getting the acronyms straight—but curious enough to ask questions. A few weeks later, with a free afternoon and a little nudge from another member, I made the trip to our central office.
I expected something small and quiet. What I found was a hum of quiet purpose. Phones rang, envelopes were stuffed, someone was unpacking a shipment of Big Books. A man near the front counter was asking about literature for a newcomer. The staff knew him by name.
One of the workers saw me looking a little lost and came right over. I explained I was a new GSR and just wanted to see how it all worked. Without missing a beat, she smiled and said, “Welcome. Let me show you around.”
Over the next thirty minutes, I saw everything: how literature orders are handled, how volunteer schedules are coordinated, how the hotline is answered around the clock. She explained how the office connects with groups, districts, even the Area. And yes—these were very special workers. Professional? Sure. But also kind, welcoming, and quietly passionate about AA.
What struck me most was that none of this was about credit or attention. It was all service. Real service. I walked in feeling unsure about my role as GSR. I walked out knowing I was part of something much bigger than my group or even my district.
That visit changed the way I think about AA. The fellowship isn’t just something we talk about—it’s something we do. It’s people helping people, in person and behind the scenes. The central office staff shows up every day to make sure the message reaches the next suffering alcoholic. And now I get to be part of that, too.
If you’re a GSR—or even just service-curious—go see it for yourself. Say hello. Ask questions. And say thank you. You’ll walk out a little more connected than when you walked in. I know I did.
