Not a Drunk Driver

I got pulled over for drunk driving last night.

Before you freak out, let me assure you, I wasn't drunk.

After being boring for most of the night, I went for a late drink with Andrew and Mike. We split a pitcher, and not being a beer enthusiast, I had what probably amounted to a beer and a half at most. I didn't feel anything at all. Well, I didn't feel buzzed at any rate, I did feel something - mainly content to have nice company. Just wanted to clarify.

After dropping Andrew off at his bike, I chauffeured Mike to his apartment. It was 2 in the morning and the roads were empty. Apparently, I didn't come to a complete stop at the stoplight when I made a right on red, which I suppose is probably true considering it was not a busy intersection and no one was around, so I can imagine I was a bit liberal with the stop, but not to the point where I was being reckless.

Anyway, because of this incident, I was subject to being pulled over by the police. I recognized the cop from the parking lot of the bar, so I'm guessing he either followed me for quite some time or recognized my vehicle from the dump he was patrolling. I nervously handed him my new license. He was pretty aggressive, asked me whether I had had anything to drink, and then made me step out of the car.

Though I knew I was sober, I was still frightened. It was cold, so I put my hands in my pocket, a move for which I was yelled at, as I might have had a weapon. No, just a cell phone.

I was told I would undergo a series of tests. He told me not to worry, even though his attitude totally made me worry, and that if I followed all of his instructions, everything would be fine. His first instruction was to wait until he finished his instructions to perform the task, a rule which I immediately broke in order to demonstrate my sobriety. Crap, I thought, already points against me. Meanwhile, Mike, curious about the goings-on, opened the car door to get a better view. The cop's partner had a freak attack and ordered, "Stay in the car!" Afterwards I worried that, even though we had done nothing wrong, something could accidentally go wrong and turn into a big mess.

The first test required me to close my eyes, tip my head back fully, and count to thirty silently. When I felt thirty seconds had passed, I was to lift my head back up. I could see why this test would be used as it was fairly relaxing and disorienting, so an intoxicated person could easily pass out. Suddenly, I doubted my ability to count and I became paranoid that I would mess it up somehow. Being so nervous and cold, I shook the entire duration of the test, and I hoped that didn't make me look drunk. The officer timed me discreetly, but I never found out how closely I hit the thirty second mark.

Next, I had to lift one leg up and balance on the other foot, while counting to fifteen. I'm great at balancing, so I felt more confident with this task. I began counting to fifteen, but I did normal numbers not "one-one thousand, two-one thousand" as desired, so I was barked at, and I had to start over. Not too pleasant.

Finally, I was told to do "the thing where [I] put my feet in front of the other." I had to ask for clarification, as this is not something I've done before, but it was nice to think the officer thought I might already be versed in this activity. Apparently, I had to walk heel to toe eight steps forward and then six steps back. Flawlessly, I progressed eight forward, then proceeded to nearly effortlessly do the same thing backwards, before I was yelled at again. "No fancy stuff!" I was told. Evidently, after the eight steps, I was to do an about face and walk forward in the opposite direction, not attempt it backwards. 'Tever. I started again and proved my fine footwork. Though I knew I proved myself sufficiently sober, I feared that since I did some "element" wrong in each of the three tasks, they might try to give me trouble all the same.

At this point, I was told I was done with the tests, so he whipped out a breathalyzer. Now I was more terrified than ever. What if for some weird reason one beer did me in and I was legally drunk, but didn't even realize it? Besides, if they were going to have me use a breathalyzer from the start, why did I have to play all those games first? In a move that I'm sure made me look guilty, I asked whether I should consult a lawyer before using the breathalyzer. The officer explained that this was just a preliminary measure, and anything official would have to be done at the station. Since I had nothing to hide, I decided to trust him at that and blew into the contraption.

Would you believe it? I blew a blood alcohol level of .005. Remember, the legal limit in California is .08, so I was actually at 1/16 of the rate required to book me. One-sixteenth, for crying out loud. People are probably more intoxicated than that when they accidentally have beer splashed into their mouthes or use rubbing alcohol on a wound. Heck, I was a bit embarrassed to know it was that low, did I have nothing to show for my night out? The officer was clearly a bit embarrassed, too, because I obviously was not a menace to the road. At last, the hostile attitude on his part stopped, and he almost kind of apologized. He told me I would receive just a "warning" for the other violation. Then he justified that he had pulled me over because my "eyes were bloodshot and [I] looked dazed and wet." This explanation is of course bogus because how could he notice any of those supposed symptoms when I'm driving late at night? It's dark! Furthermore, I looked "wet"?! That kind of offended me because, firstly, I don't know what that's supposed to imply, and secondly, I was most definitely not wet in any capacity. For once, I didn't spill on myself! I decided to just accept his words rather than arguing, as it looked like I would be able to leave the scene without further trouble, so why start some then?

Oh well - yet another adventure in the life of Kevin. In retrospect, I kind of like the experience, because it was fairly fun to play the officer's games knowing I had the skills to win. I liken it to competing in a second grade spelling bee. It's really not fair for me to be participating in the first place, but if I'm legally obligated, I'm going to proudly spell c-a-t and then hoist the trophy above my head, flaunting my victory until the other kids cry.