The Road Less Traveled By

I never understood why drinking was so hep. Is it just a szn we go through?

Don’t get me wrong. After a long day of work I could use a cold one with the Bros. But, I don’t need drinks every day after work to be at peace. People often associate drinking with escape, as for me, when that buzz is gone I return to the same life I’ve always lived.

That Sunday night, I should have drank to escape my state of consciousness because the biggest mistake I made was being remotely sober to drive.

You ever been stripped of everything you have trapped in a jail cell trying to find something to do? Perhaps not, and don’t take your chances (It’s so lonely in there and the food is not enjoyable!).

Back to the moment I was pulled over…

Before exiting the freeway, I remember hitting up to 95 miles an hour. The streets were bare, but at 3 am theres always a cop nearby. This moment is still a mystery: was I spotted from a mile away, or did someone call to tip off a drunk driver?

Either way, I’m at least happy it happened sooner than later with a more daunting outcome. So, my time had come.

I have flash backs to the moment I heard the sirens behind thinking: “oh fuck!”

I pull over and the police officers approach.

(A short convo between me and the officer)

Officer: Hello, is there a reason why you’re going so fast?

Me: Yes. Sorry. I’m trying to get home.

O: Have you been drinking tonight?… Where are you coming from? How many drinks have you had? (Not all at once, but you get the interrogation.)

M: A couple, yes. I’m coming from a bar with a friend. Maybe 2 Beers (A white lie.).

I’m eventually asked to step out of the car and take a series of field sobriety tests.

I remember the officer asking me to do the Gaze Nystagmus, one-leg stand, and the walk-and-turn test. I also remember passing them all, but obviously I knew I was still buzzed.

Me assuming I passed the sobriety test.

He continues to press me on things I had been doing moments before. Lots of conversation was exchanged before he tells me I’m being arrested.

Before he arrest me he tells me I’m going to take the breathalyzer test for him… he also says “you can refuse to take this test if you want.” For some reason I was feeling exonerated after I thought i passed the FST, but boy was I wrong. As he approaches my mouth I tilt my head back and say “wait, i can refuse to blow?” And he says yes, so I do.

Next thing I know I’m being handcuffed being put in the back of a police car. While they search my car, I tell the officer, “you’re not going to find anything, im a good guy.”

Its later towed.

Just casually dropping money i could’ve used for an Uber instead of drinking and driving

This is the first of many fines I will be forced to pay, so my total is still ‘small.’

I get to jail at about 3 in the morning, and then he tells me I have two options. The first is to take the breathalyzer test, or the second was to get blood drawn to get my BAC results. Thank god the fear of needles led me to the breathalyzer test because refusing to take that again would have gone so much worse for me.

BAC results: .12

I proceed to fill out lots of paperwork, give some autographs, take some fingerprints, and then take the famous mugshot (I kind of wish i had that picture), before getting a blanket and getting some rest.

This week was the start of a new job I had acquired at the The Beverly Hills Hotel, so I was beginning to panic because I would have hated missing my shift that day at 2pm.

A race against time had just brewed, like cold brew, because it was a bitter moment I felt.

When you’re in jail for a DUI you are not allowed out unless the bond is paid (which still means you have to come back that day, and then pay 10% of the bond which was borrowed), or you blow .00 on some other breathalyzer shit.

I learned this all while in the cell, so lonely and feeling regretful. I begged my body to hurry the fuck up and sober up so I could get to work on time. That morning the cops who were in charge of my release had to come 3 times to check my alcohol level before ok-ing my exit.

Fortunate for me, I had a clock in my head and by 12:30, the last time they came in to check my breath, I was able to pull off a miracle and make it to work just 1 minute late (I’ve since left that job).

No ropes of any type allowed
The bag given back with only my hood lace, shoe lace, debit card, temp license, and ticket

That day at work, although I was officially out of jail, I still felt trapped. Through my body a whirlwind of emotions flooding it all. I held off telling anyone the first week. My brother was the first to know, then a random co-worker who I had just begun working with. It felt relieving to tell people. It was really killing me inside.

Hours of research were not helping because it only made stress worse. I then called another friend who had been trough the same thing, and she was able to clam me down and reassure that everything would be okay.

For the next few days I questioned everything. I began organizing how I would get to work if I didn’t have my license, and felt extremely depressed.

Weeks 2 was among me… filled with depression, Ads, but a sense of relief. (next blog)

2 thoughts on “The Road Less Traveled By

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