I went to dinner with a hoard of co-workers – associates from across the country, most of whom I know only through phone and email but rarely see in person.
The venue: Lone Star Bar & Grill or something of that nature. Lone Star Texas Steakhouse perhaps. Or Lone Star Corral and Beefery. Or maybe it was Texas Lone Star Cow Tippery and Twinkle of Solitude. Okay, that’s highly unlikely and I’m really just padding my word-count at this point. I’ll spare you further speculation and get on to the meat of the story:
The employer picked up the tab and not having enjoyed a particularly good meal out in some time, I didn’t hesitate to indulge. I began by loudly ordering a diet Coke and then, having established a soberish reputation, I quietly purveyed a pair of ‘Texas-sized’ margueritas (doubles) and then a half litre of wine (presumably Michigan-sized?) to go with the 18oz Texas T-bone.
One observant co-worker gauged my intake to equal roughly six and a half drinks and expressed concern over my ability to safely drive home.
Now – I very much adore these good responsible people who so caringly monitor my behavior. They’re just so sweet when they do this that I just want to squeeze their cute little cheeks. You know - until blood pours out their eyes.
That I’m centred out and made to awkwardly discuss the physiology around fat people and excess blood and alcohol dilution etcetera is really no bother at all. I don’t mind a bit.
Upon leaving the Texas Long John Bull Horn and Briefery I happened immediately upon a RIDE program installation – a police spot-check that is (Reduce Impaired Driving Everywhere). I confessed my imbibage accurately (Hmm. Spellchecker poo-poos imbibage. Oh well. It was a good try. I’m leaving it) and was asked to provide my drivers license and a breath sample.
I nervously rifled through my wallet, spilling cash and receipts onto my lap. Not that I was nervous that I might be over the limit. Not for a second. I was nervous because my vehicle ownership document was missing and driving without it carries a fine of $150 or so.
I told the policewoman that I’d be happy to provide a sample but that I was not drunk, had not broken the law and was not inclined to willingly be imprisoned in the back of her cruiser.
Besides the public humiliation aspect, there’s approximately three inches of legroom in the backseat of the average police cruiser. The discomfort is significant. I’ve been there many times – and never blown over the limit, mind you.
I braced myself for conflict. I expected her to say that I must cooperate or else be arrested for failure to do so. Instead she requested that I sit on the back seat of the patrol car but with the door open and I could leave my legs outside the car. I had to confess that seemed reasonable and went along.
The terms were a tad misleading though. With the officer in the front seat and her door closed, we were forced to conduct business and conversation through the small portal in the centre of the front seat/back seat barrier. Thus I had to move well into the vehicle anyway.
She handed me my own special plastic mouthpiece, individually wrapped. I popped it open like a bag of chips and the device flew to the floor. I had to then climb out of the car in order to reach down and retrieve it. I’m sure the officer at this point had no doubt I was drunk.
We performed the test. I blew good and hard until she told me to stop. The limit is .08
“Point zero two nine,” she said, and showed me the display. “You’re free to go.” She gave back the license. Thank goodness she’d never asked for my ownership.
“Thank you,” I said. I held up the plastic mouthpiece. “May I keep this for a souvenir?”
“Yes, you may.”
“Okay. Thank you for all your hard work.” Now – these were somewhat awkwardly constructed words of praise which she did not reply to. It was supposed to sound sincere but I think she mistook it for sarcasm. Oh well. I should have just said, ‘Have a good evening officer.’
Or perhaps I should have said, ‘Have a guh vevening occifer!’ and then belched loudly. Perhaps we’d have shared a good laugh at that.
FWG
The venue: Lone Star Bar & Grill or something of that nature. Lone Star Texas Steakhouse perhaps. Or Lone Star Corral and Beefery. Or maybe it was Texas Lone Star Cow Tippery and Twinkle of Solitude. Okay, that’s highly unlikely and I’m really just padding my word-count at this point. I’ll spare you further speculation and get on to the meat of the story:
The employer picked up the tab and not having enjoyed a particularly good meal out in some time, I didn’t hesitate to indulge. I began by loudly ordering a diet Coke and then, having established a soberish reputation, I quietly purveyed a pair of ‘Texas-sized’ margueritas (doubles) and then a half litre of wine (presumably Michigan-sized?) to go with the 18oz Texas T-bone.
One observant co-worker gauged my intake to equal roughly six and a half drinks and expressed concern over my ability to safely drive home.
Now – I very much adore these good responsible people who so caringly monitor my behavior. They’re just so sweet when they do this that I just want to squeeze their cute little cheeks. You know - until blood pours out their eyes.
That I’m centred out and made to awkwardly discuss the physiology around fat people and excess blood and alcohol dilution etcetera is really no bother at all. I don’t mind a bit.
Upon leaving the Texas Long John Bull Horn and Briefery I happened immediately upon a RIDE program installation – a police spot-check that is (Reduce Impaired Driving Everywhere). I confessed my imbibage accurately (Hmm. Spellchecker poo-poos imbibage. Oh well. It was a good try. I’m leaving it) and was asked to provide my drivers license and a breath sample.
I nervously rifled through my wallet, spilling cash and receipts onto my lap. Not that I was nervous that I might be over the limit. Not for a second. I was nervous because my vehicle ownership document was missing and driving without it carries a fine of $150 or so.
I told the policewoman that I’d be happy to provide a sample but that I was not drunk, had not broken the law and was not inclined to willingly be imprisoned in the back of her cruiser.
Besides the public humiliation aspect, there’s approximately three inches of legroom in the backseat of the average police cruiser. The discomfort is significant. I’ve been there many times – and never blown over the limit, mind you.
I braced myself for conflict. I expected her to say that I must cooperate or else be arrested for failure to do so. Instead she requested that I sit on the back seat of the patrol car but with the door open and I could leave my legs outside the car. I had to confess that seemed reasonable and went along.
The terms were a tad misleading though. With the officer in the front seat and her door closed, we were forced to conduct business and conversation through the small portal in the centre of the front seat/back seat barrier. Thus I had to move well into the vehicle anyway.
She handed me my own special plastic mouthpiece, individually wrapped. I popped it open like a bag of chips and the device flew to the floor. I had to then climb out of the car in order to reach down and retrieve it. I’m sure the officer at this point had no doubt I was drunk.
We performed the test. I blew good and hard until she told me to stop. The limit is .08
“Point zero two nine,” she said, and showed me the display. “You’re free to go.” She gave back the license. Thank goodness she’d never asked for my ownership.
“Thank you,” I said. I held up the plastic mouthpiece. “May I keep this for a souvenir?”
“Yes, you may.”
“Okay. Thank you for all your hard work.” Now – these were somewhat awkwardly constructed words of praise which she did not reply to. It was supposed to sound sincere but I think she mistook it for sarcasm. Oh well. I should have just said, ‘Have a good evening officer.’
Or perhaps I should have said, ‘Have a guh vevening occifer!’ and then belched loudly. Perhaps we’d have shared a good laugh at that.
FWG
Me and my souvenir
(Editor's note: The above post is not intended to in any way endorse drunk driving or direspectfullness towards police officers or of Texas style restaurants.)
.jpg)
9 comments:
The mouthpiece is quite lovely, Fwig. I think you should have it framed.
And Texas Lone Star Cow Tippery and Twinkle of Solitude is absolutely brilliant.
And now I think I'll just shut the feecg up.
That sounds like the typical small-town cop harasment we have here in Fundie-ton-field-ville, Texas. Our new acting chief of po'leece is a middle-aged redheaded woman who shaves her eyebrows off then draws them back on in brown kohl pencil. Gaaah.
The souvenier is fun though.
Take me home, I'm ggdexvi...*hic*
Hey, that was good thinkin' to drop the real mouthpiece and fumble around the floor while you pulled your own personal mouthpiece out of your pocket. You know, the one with the holes in it so you blow more air and your reading is lower. Brilliant, brilliant fellow.
You seem to be a bit of a rebel with authority figures. And all along I thought it was the ex.
You give me the sweetest taboo, that's why I'm jgbod with you.
You are just a trouble maker when it comes to your motor vehicle, aren't you??? Congrats on the word imbibage, I wholeheartedly approve.
Michigan-sized?
What's up with the Hot Wheels?
And you will never ever do that again WILL YOU...
I think I just laughed so hard I wet my pants. lol
Well they claimed the margueritas were texas sized but didn't specify which state was used to guauge the wine. Michigan was just a guess. I mean no disrespect to Michiganeers (?). I have enjoyed vacations there!
As for Hot Wheels - Mattel is a client of ours. I decorate my cubical in free client material. It hides some of the omnipresent gray/green landscape so that I can tell I'm not in a mental hospital or military prison and thus remember to get up and go home after a hard day-and-a-half's work.
Ty - Sorry about your pants, man.
Okay, as along as you weren't dissing Michigan. (Michiganders, although some people presumably prefer Michiganian - which I hate).
I'm with you on hiding the industrial beige.
Post a Comment