On the advice of Red Red Whine, I decided to sign up for Blog Share. Basically, you sign up, -R- of And You Know What Else assigns bloggers to each other to write for another blog and post another blogger's post (oh that's clear), and then it gets posted. My previous post has a list of all the participants. Today, this post is by Anonymous. Please enjoy.
By Anonymous
My boyfriend got arrested at a drunk driving checkpoint. I was with
him at the time, and it was a significant factor in our break-up. This
is how it happened:
On the night in question, we went to a party with my friends and
didn't have a discussion beforehand about who was going to be the
designated driver. We took his car, which was standard transmission,
meaning I wouldn't be able to drive it anywhere but in the parking lot
behind Stop & Shop. At the party, I noticed that he was drinking
beer, but it never seemed excessive. We weren't having a super-great
time, but we stayed for a while, and joined my friends at a diner
afterwards to grab a bite before heading home.
I could tell that my boyfriend was a little tipsy when we were at
the diner, but he's such a big guy that I figured a burger and some
fries would sober him right up. I was just sleepy, even though I had
drank my fair share of beer. There were other people in our group who
were completely tanked, even after the diner food, so we volunteered to
give them a lift so that they could get home safely.
After we dropped off two our friends we headed home and my boyfriend
was driving reasonably well. There was one instance where started to go
a little fast and swerved slightly over the yellow line, and I got
nervous because even if you feel fine, you never know what exactly your
blood alcohol content is exactly. I told him that, he agreed, slowed
down, and we continued home.
When driving to my house from downtown, there are two ways you can
go that both take the same amount of time. The one to the right has
lots of lights, but it's a three lane highway so you can go faster. The
one to the left is more direct, but if you get stuck behind a slow
person, there's no recourse. Usually, I go to the left because the
distance is shorter. On that night, my boyfriend chose right. I was
about to stop him because I prefer left, but I felt like I had already
used up the evening's nagging capital by bringing up the swerving.
I probably should have kept nagging. The road to the right goes up a
small hill, and as we crested it, we saw the unmistakable lights of a
roadside checkpoint. There was no chance to turn back. Our only hope
was to play it cool and not get busted. It went like this:
He pulls the car over at the instructions of the officer.
He tells the officer we have been at a diner and we are now on our way home.
He admits he's been drinking.
He steps out of the car when asked. I watch him through the windshield.
He touches his fingers to his nose.
He stands on one foot.
He stumbles.
He stands on the other foot.
He stumbles again.
He submits to a breathalyser. I look down. I look up.
He is being put into handcuffs.
He comes over to the side of the car, I open the door, and he tells
me I need to drive his car to pick him up at the police station. I've
never driven stick on the open road before.
He, extremely calmly, tells me to just keep it in second gear and drive slowly.
He tries to give me his glasses. I'm starting to panic, and I tell
him to keep them because they make him look smart. He can't put them on
because his hands are in handcuffs.
I tell the officer that I can't drive this car. I am told that if I
don't drive it, it will be impounded. I am asked if I'm OK to drive. I
say yes, but I don't know how to drive the car. I am given a
breathalyser. I pass for some reason. I get out of the car and into the
driver's seat. I try and catch my breath as my boyfriend is taken away
in the back of a police car. I call my friends to see if they can drive
stick. I realize that even if they could, they might not be sober
enough to make it through the check point. I freak out for many
minutes, try to gain my composure, try to start the car, but it won't
start.
Eventually, an officer working the checkpoint came over to me. He
asked if I knew how to drive a 5-speed. I'd never heard of that term
before, so like a frazzled idiot I said, "I think this car is
standard." He told me to put my foot on the clutch and turn the
ignition, and sure enough, that did the trick. I pointed the car in the
right direction and hit the gas, but it stalled. I started the car
again and tried to recall the memories of the driving lessons in
parking lots. Because I was driving on the route with all the traffic
lights, I was worried about stopping on red and not being able to start
again. But then I realized that I knew where all of the police officers
in town were. They were working the checkpoint, and no one was around
to bust me for running a red. So I ran two or three reds because I just
wanted to get home, pick up my automatic transmission car, and get my
boyfriend out of the pokey.
When I made my way to the scary county jail and sprung him, the
first thing he told me was, "this is not your fault." It was a nice
sentiment because it was indeed a party with my friends that he didn't
even want to go to, and I just let him drive without discussion, and I
could have exaggerated the stomach pains I was having to gain the
sympathy of the police officer and I could have insisted on driving our
other friend home (which would have taken us via a different route) or
made him take the road to the left. All these thoughts were consuming
me, so I'm glad he didn't blame me.
Then there were the other thoughts. The bad I-am-falling-out-of-love
thoughts like "couldn't you could have played the situation better?"
and "why don't you pay attention to how much you drink?" and "if it was
just money problems that are keeping you from committing to this
relationship, what is this going to do?" thoughts that I couldn't and
wouldn't utter out loud.
We made it back to my home sometime around four in the morning and
we made love. It may seem strange, but we also made love right after
his father died, and this was similar. It wasn't about the lust, but
needing to connect in the most intimate way possible after something
terrible happens. In the flood of emotions that ensued, we had a huge
"status of us" talk. It resolved with the two of us deciding to stay
together, but we both knew that there were some deep problems under the
surface.
The fallout from the arrest was a lot of money. Ninety day license
suspension. $900 for a lawyer. $300 for victims of drunk driving class.
$500 in tickets. $75 DMV fee. I think a hundred or two dollars of
various other fees. $300 for old traffic tickets which he swears he
paid, but there's no record at the DMV, so they have to be paid again
to get his license un-suspended.
All that for blowing .09, which is .01 above the legal limit.
For weeks afterwards my brain kept replaying that image of him in
handcuffs. It was like a bad song stuck in my head. With my every fiber
I wanted to turn back time, but to no avail. A few weeks later I got
into an accident and lost the ability to drive for two months. With no
way to see each other and money becoming an issue, the relationship
fell apart.
After reading this over, I don't want to make it sound like I'm
siding with drunk drivers. I recently found out that my
great-grandfather was killed by a drunk driver (during prohibition,
nonetheless.) His wife died a few years later, orphaning my grandfather
in his early 20's. And that's just one of the thousands or millions of
sad stories associated with drinking and driving. We hear a lot about
those extremely serious cases, and I want to let you know that even
small ones like this one rip apart people's lives. Maybe if he had the
legal funds of one of those celebrities who get busted and bounce back
it wouldn't be so bad. But he doesn't. Most people don't, and even if
you did, it pays to be hyper-vigilant, because you never know if there
is a checkpoint or a pedestrian around the next corner.
