I’m actually sitting in the back of a police car. A couple of years ago I never would have thought I’d be sitting right here in this plastic bucket seat with no seatbelts. I didn’t fall into a bad crowd. I was born into one. I just never realized that my family was a group of thieves, drunks, and horny gays and bisexuals. Not that being gay is bad. I’m just a little pissed off right now and that was the third thing I thought of. Maybe I think it’s bad. It was the first set of…
“Sir, step out of the vehicle.” Said Richard
His name is actually Richard. I’m going to call him Dick.
“How much have you had to drink tonight?”
I had three long island ice teas and two Coronas; one had a lime in it.
“A beer about two hours ago.” I told him.
I don’t think he believes me. He should, I’m acting completely sober right now. Sober, soober, sumber, slumber, slumber parties are amazing.
“I smell alcohol on you. Would you blow into this?”
“I’d rather not.” That was smooth.
“Excuse me?”
“I don’t trust electronic things. You give me a perfectly good piece of standard technology and I will give it back broken.” I think I should have ended that sentence sooner.
“Breathalyzers are ninety-nine percent accurate.” Officer Richard informed me.
“I’m sure it’s a great beautiful machine and fun to blow, but I just don’t trust it. I don’t feel like going to jail on a DUI because that little bastard made a mistake.” Another cop just showed up. Does this situation really need to involve two of them?
Officer O’Mallie, “Blow in to the breathalyzer, sir.”
This must be the bad cop. “I was just telling Dick over here that I do not trust these things and I don’t want to do it.”
“These are calibrated every morning by our chief and are one-hundred percent at all times.” Said Officer O’Mallie.
“I don’t know your captain. He could be a drunk himself for all I know and is it ninety-nine percent or one-hundred, because Dick said it was ninety-nine and you say one-hundred.”
“Blow in it or go to jail.”
“Nope, I’ve seen COPS I can do those physical tests with the fingers and straight lines. I can do that.”
Officer Richard doesn’t look very thrilled about this. He just wants to go home and frisk his girlfriend. I don’t blame him. He probably gets a lot more action now that he has a uniform and a gun. Handcuffs help too I’m sure. I wonder how many cops fuck at gun point.
“You can do that, but we’ll be here for another forty five minutes”, Officer Richard said.
That sounds terrible, another forty-five minutes for my system to pump out alcohol. I bet I can push it to a full hour.
“Great, let’s do it. I’ve always wanted to do this.” I’m so excited. So all I have to do is follow his flashlight with my eyes. This doesn’t seem so difficult. My god, I see spots. I don’t think I can see anymore. If I have to do this any longer I could sue him for causing me to go blind. I could get more if I trip and crack my head open on the sidewalk while stumbling to find the back seat. Now I can see the veins in my eyes. There is no way this is a practical way to check my alcohol level. I want to meet the first guy to figure this out. Sir, you seem intoxicated let me shine this maglight into your eyeballs. Yup, according to my light you’re drunk.
“Now walk from where you are to me on that line. When you get to me you’re going to cross your foot over…”
I wonder what my dad is thinking. He'd better be thinking: I’m an asshole. We were all enjoying a wonderful evening out. My sister’s wedding is tomorrow, so we went out to have a few drinks and play some pool. Some male bonding, which included my dad’s new girlfriend. After a few hours of drinking my dad is singing to Def Leppard while his woman is reliving her cheerleader days. She’s continuously bobbing her head while giggling at my dad’s attempt to show what a man he is. Who was the least drunk? Well, I drove.
Rachel was always the golden child. She wasn’t beautiful, popular, or even interesting enough to hold a conversation. She was simply the smartest. Book smart though, she would lock her self in the car and unless there was a chapter in her biology book, she would cry until someone let her out. Golden child to my family is the child with the greatest potential of having a lot of money. That child would pay for the retirement home. She grew up and kept going to school only to end up marrying a man from the Internet, who is just as beautiful and fun. We call him Tim. Tim came over to my apartment once. He played my computer while my sister sat on the couch complaining about the pain in her lower back. She got fired from her job because of it. She was a pharmacist; apparently there is a lot of bending over and heavy lifting involved. Rich housewives buy their Perkaset by the cases.
“Please get back in the car,” Officer Richard told me.
“Did I pass?” He’s didn’t even answer me. O’ Malley’s just staring at me, leaning up against his car, licking at his mustache. He’s probably trying to find the lost crumbs from late night donut. Requirements to join the force must really be low. He weighs two hundred pounds and he’s five-two. I could take him, if he lost his pepper spray, maybe.
Richard is talking to my dad. I hope there exchanging parental advice. Greg calls him Rich and Rich calls him Buddy. They start having barbeques on the weekends, they swap wives, and then Rich has to arrest his buddy for domestic abuse. Tangled web of lies and deceit. He’s pulling my brothers out of the truck.
Richard is talking to O’Malley. “These two are underage and I smell alcohol on their breath. Give them the breathalyzer.”
Shane said, “No need, I know I’m drunk and you’re looking quite sexy today officer O.”
Shane is the oldest of my younger brothers. When we were younger I always assumed he was gay. Picture a chubby red head kid running around the backyard with a yellow t-shirt substituting as long flowing blonde hair. Now picture that same kid with his mother’s bra strapped to his chest saying, “I am princess Flamingo and you are all my male slaves. Now take your shirts off and follow me around.” It was quite a beautiful thing. My fat nine-year old brother is walking around the neighbor hood with a walking stick and a pair of breasts followed by several shirtless little boys. He also had quite the collection of Barbie’s and they weren’t naked. They were fully clothed with the trendy apparels of the Barbie collection. My dad had to ban the giving of dolls from the rest of the family. He figured they all knew he was gay and were just giving homosexual presents as a means to piss of my father. He took all the dolls and buried them in the backyard. When Shane got home from school his toy box was filled with water guns, rusty lawn darts, and various balls, footballs and such. Shane was caught the next day with the shirtless neighborhood boys. He stuffed two soccer balls in his shirt and was singing into the lawn dart while the boys were shooting the water guns at his chest. It was a bad garage karaoke gentlemen’s club.
He was then caught behind the storage shed with the neighbor girl. They were both naked and he was trying to stuff dead grass into her vagina. My dad was so happy he bought all of us ice cream and pellet guns. From that point on we really didn’t question his sexuality. Shane was clever. Openly leading a crew of half naked preteens for the whole neighborhood to see while he spelunks vaginas secretly behind a barn. He even had a great innocent excuse.
“I was a bird building a nest. What else is it good for besides stuffing things in it?” Shane was clever. He made me realize that stuffing things in girls’ vaginas is a never-ending obsession with most males. It doesn’t even have to be sexual. Once I tried to stuff a cell phone in my girlfriend’s vagina. I just wanted to see if it would fit. In case you’re wondering, it did. This was back when the phones weren’t the size of credit cards though.
Then when he hit high school he would bring home cheerleaders. He went from the gay red head to a vagina stuffing third grader right to Arizona’s player of the year. He even named his penis. J.D. Powers and associates. His pick up line was priceless. Why don’t you come down to my law offices and I’ll review your vagina. I had graduated and he was bringing home high school girls that made community college girls look like homeless men. I’m sorry but girls did not look like that when I was attending. Mini skirts and breasts the size of soccer balls is the standard now. Either milk is really doing females great or evolution is turning the male population into perverts. He did bring home a variety though. A well-groomed man followed him into his room once. He had a letter jacket so I’m assuming theatre. I heard, “you're such a cum slut!” I don’t know who said it and it really wouldn’t make the experience any less terrifying. They both came out several minutes later. Shane was really happy and energetic and the other guy looked real relaxed. He’s well rounded I suppose.
“Shane is it?” Shane nods to Officer O’Malley. “Blow into this.” Shane looks directly at his crotch.
“You’re direct, but you know what you want.” The officer doesn’t look very enthused. He hands him the Breathalyzer. Shane wraps his big lips around the nozzle and starts to blow. He looks up at O’Malley and winks. Uncomfortably he removes the Breathalyzer and inspects it. Shane smiles and looks at me with a funny little smirk of accomplishment.
“How old are you?”
“I’m eighteen, I’m legal”, another wink.
“Well, not for drinking.” O’Malley motions for Officer Richard. “Well the oldest one blew point one-two”
“Check the other one and I’ll talk to the father.” Officer Richard walks back the truck.
I wonder if I breathe in and out long enough I could get rid of some of the alcohol. Breath in…breath out…breath in…breath out… faster breath in breath out breath in breath out breath in breath out breath in I am light headed. I never noticed before but Christopher looks like Jim Morrison.