Ted’s Cautionary Tale, Part 1
Fiction, based on the experiences of someone who got a DUI and wanted this shared.
When I got out of bed, I ached more than usual.
“Ted, old fella, you’re still gettin’ on alright. At least you don’t have dementia yet.”
I talk to myself, since I live alone. Sometimes I pretend that I’m talking to my brother Sam’s ghost. He understands it all.
I also had a scratchy throat that day, so I ambled into the bathroom, got out the cough syrup, and took a glug. I never use the measuring cup.
Later, I made an iced tea and splashed in a tiny bit of my friend John’s grapefruit vodka.
I put on my robe and slippers, and puttered around the apartment, tidying up. I like things to be orderly. But when I bent to pick up cat toys from the floor, my back really ached. I drank more cough syrup and took some acetaminophen.
I read the news for a few hours, and realized I was out of Dayquil, while the aches and scratchy throat remained.
“Hey, I bought an herbal wellness tonic!” I said to my brother. “Let’s try that.”
I mixed the little bottle into an iced tea. I tasted it and thought, eww. “What is in this? Sour and bitter, maybe a bit of camphor or menthol.”
Looking back, this is the point where things started to go very much downhill.
I remembered that I wanted a few things from the store. I put on clothing, grabbed my keys, and headed out the door. Huge mistake there!
It’s only a five-minute drive to the store, and I felt less achy than I had when I woke up that morning. I figured I was doing fine, although my head was feeling odd. Looking back, I should’ve walked. Or delayed shopping until the next day. How different things would be in my life now had I just been as sensible as I liked to think I was.
After arriving and shopping, I was driving out of the store parking lot when I heard a “bonk” coming from the vehicle in front of me while we were moving from being stopped at the light and proceeding forward. It didn’t look like I’d hit his SUV. But we pulled over into the gas station parking lot at the intersection and examined for damage. I’d hit a metal bike rack which I hadn’t even seen being attached to the back of his vehicle. I’d figured I had four feet of clearance between his SUV and my sportscar, but from the driver’s seat, I had no view of the two-foot-wide bike rack, which was set below the license plate.
He was livid about the (minor) damage. Neither of our cars had collided, both were fine, it was just the rack. He called me a rude name and started shouting. He came at me angrily, and I, as a small non-confrontational guy, wondered if he was going to punch me or grab my arms or something. I backed up.
“Please stay calm,” I said. I took a picture of the damage and the license plate, in case insurance or police would care about such things. I hadn’t been in a collision like this except when I first got my license 50 years ago, and I didn’t know what to do, really.
Then the police showed up. I didn’t know at the time if they’d been nearby and heard him yelling, but later I found out from the report that he’d called them because I was acting odd and might be drunk.
An officer said he needed me to take a “field sobriety test.” Stand on one leg? Are you kidding? I have poor balance. I know better than to attempt this sober, but I tried at that moment. Came close to falling over, as I knew I would. Oh, hell.
If only he’d asked me to spell conscientious driving, or sing the national anthem, or take good photos of the vehicles. I am above average at all these things.
Then a breathalyzer test. I was in the middle of explaining the circumstances of the minor collision, but he cut me off. I’d never done this before. He instructed on how the device worked, and I blew. And wow, did I blow it. Over the legal limit. I was very scared now. Trembling a bit.
You are arrested for driving under the influence,” he said.
Arrested?!? Me? Why not just give me a citation and drive me home?
I was handcuffed (which had never before happened to me). I have bony wrists. The cuffs were painful. I think it looked like I was trying to get them off, but I was just trying to ease them up a little.
“Theodore, stop that,” said the lady officer.
I was shoved none too gently into their SUV. I’d never been in a police car before. We arrived at the jail. I’d never been inside one before. Have I mentioned that I’m a law-abiding citizen? Not even so much as a speeding ticket since 1992.
Medical professionals took my blood pressure, asked a few medication and general health questions, and gave me the breathalyzer again. The number was lower.
Then I was shown into the main jail cell area. They took my wallet, my phone, my book, my keys, my jacket, and my sandals.
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“What? I can’t even have my wallet? It’s just credit cards and pictures. And three dollars.”
“No.”
“My phone? My book? What am I supposed to do here?”
No answer.
Then I was patted down by a lady officer. In many other circumstances this would have been nice.
“Here are some socks.”
“I’ll be fine without them, thanks.” (Why was I saying thanks for anything at this point?)
“Believe me, you’ll want the socks. The floors are not well-maintained.” She grimaced.
“Why aren’t they?” I thought, but didn’t really want to start a conversation, so I put them on.
I was allowed a phone call, so I chose my best friend John. “I’m in the clink.” I said. “DUI.”
He groaned. “I wondered if this would happen eventually, but you’d mostly stopped going to the bar, right? Even though you missed staring at the pretty girls. You’d cut back to only drinking wine in the evenings, maybe two nights a week, when I stopped by. No day drinking for months, yes?”
“I don’t know. I put a touch of vodka in my morning iced tea, but that was over eight hours before I was driving. Maybe the cough syrup and weird herbal tonic thought it was a good idea to drive.”
“Don’t be facetious, Ted. This is very serious.”
“Yes. I’m just trying to not fall apart and cry. I never cry, I’m strong, but this has been the worst day of my life, other than when my brother died. I’m so ashamed, and worried about getting sent to jail for the rest of my life. I don’t know how these things work.”
Eh, well. They said I’d be set free in a few hours. Who knew what happens next. I was trying to hope for the best.
I’d never been locked in anything before. Well, I did get shoved into lockers in Junior High, but this was something out of a nightmare.
It looked like a poorly maintained convenience store restroom. Blank gray walls with drips on them, a sticky floor that was stained and slightly peeling up, a toilet (no toilet paper), a sink, and a steel door with a window through which I could see other cells. Some had inhabitants that were shouting or pounding on the windows or twitching. I didn’t even get a chair. Nothing like on Barney Miller, where the cells had bars in an open room, with the opportunity to talk to the officers.
“I’m in hell!” I said, out loud. Then I noticed that the room had excellent acoustics. How strange. So I sang some ballads and sea chanties while pacing.
I ran out of songs I knew by heart and sat down on the disgusting floor. “That smear there looks like a cat. My cats must be worried that I’m not there. And the graffiti on the door, how did people manage that? We aren’t allowed anything to draw or carve with.”
I pondered who I could contact eventually who might help me with anything legal, when an officer came by the window of my door and wrote something on a paper which she tacked up next to it.
I stood up and asked with a calm smile: “What are you writing? I get out soon, yes?”
No response.
So then I did a bit of foxtrot and rhumba, pretending that a lovely lady was my partner. Looking back, perhaps they saw this through the window (or camera?) and figured I was either still intoxicated or simply bonkers.
Hours passed. I thought I’d be there “a few hours”. Nope. I ended up being there eight hours, and if they thought I was unhinged before, the boredom took its toll at perhaps hour five, and I was in such despair. I started talking to my brother for a long time.
“We’ve been through worse, right?” I paced in my cell. “Maybe they will take pity on a scared old man, just give me a citation and drive me home soon?”
I did some Tai-Chi stretching moves. “You always told me to keep moving, Sam.” The aches in my back were completely gone at this point. The receptionist had put on some pop music which I could hear, barely. Not my genre, but I started to make my moves go along with the beat.
I happened to be doing a “Stayin’ Alive” attempt in front of the window when a smiling officer finally let me out. It was 11:30 at night. I signed forms, was given my stuff back, and assigned a court date. I texted John twice to come fetch me, but he was already asleep. I called him at 1:00 and he finally replied. “I’m okay to be woken up for this, I’ll be there soon.”
Thank God.
To be continued.
