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Broken Brake Lights...and Sobriety Tests

Jason Rimbaud


I was in a bar earlier tonight and this black guy I have never met before comes over and says, I quote, "For a white boy, you have mad flavor."

I'm not really sure what "mad flavor" is, but I gots it.

So why would this stranger come over and say things I don't really understand? I guess I should start at the beginning. Well, not that far back, I don't think even my loyal reader would stick around to read this Blog Entry if I started at the beginning. So lets start from a beginning.

I got pulled over the other night on the , way home from work. Apparently my left brake light was shorted out and where its not really illegal it does give the police a good reason to pull someone over at one AM in the morning so they can check and see if that someone has been drinking before getting behind the wheel of their little car. Doesn't that make you all warm and fuzzy bunny slippers?

And unfortunately for me, I reeked of booze.

And before you go all high moral road on me...I was not drinking. Matter of fact I hadn't had a drink in over a week at the time of this incident. Though if I were to be in this situation as I type this, I would be hammered. But the good news, I'm not driving a car right now. And even better news, I probably couldn't find my car right now.

The pig...err...I mean police officer says, "Do you know why I stopped you?"

"Not really."

"Your left brake light is out." Then he leans in closer to my open window and says, "Have you been drinking?"


The bully in blue uniform goes, "License and registration please."

This is the part of the story where I tell both of my readers (I know...I'm gaining readership) that as of this moment, I currently have an expired drivers license.

Don't look at me like that, it's not that I did it on purpose. I'm no criminal.

It's not like I get carded anymore, so I haven't looked at my license since I got the damn thing five years ago. So I have been driving illegally since my birthday back in January. I'm such a rebel. *insert devil horn hands*

After taking a look at my expired driver's license, and the kick-ass picture, the donut eating machine says, "Can you step out of the car please?"

We had a really busy day at work, so busy that I had to jump behind the bar, in a suit I might add, and help the bartender sling drinks for two hours. And do you know how hard it is to sling drinks wearing a suit and tie? Pretty fucking hard, matter of fact, so hard that I ended up spilling a few drinks all over myself.

Cut back to the car at one AM, not only does this pig think I'm drinking and driving, he thinks I'm a dick with no respect for the law. There goes that warm and fuzzy bunny slippers feeling.

I step out of the car, quite gingerly I might add. Work has been crazy busy and I'm not as young as I once was, my feet hurt, I think I tore a back muscle hefting around a keg of beer, so stepping out of the car isn't really true. I hauled myself out of the car, a bit unsteady on my feet. Sadly this didn't help me look stone cold sober either. "I swear, I haven't been drinking."

Again the officer looked into my eyes and said, "I don't believe you. You smell like you've been drinking and you don't look that steady on your feet."

I am a smart ass, but even I know when to keep my big fat mouth shut. So instead of saying, 'well you're eyes look glazed does that mean you've been eating donuts' I simply let the thought die inside my head.

While I'm on the subject, why does every single police officer in the world have the same haircut? It's always shaved close on the side of the head and then on top they have this really bad crew cut. Seriously, next time you seen a cop, look at the haircut, they all match.

So the patrolman sends me on a series of stupid tests designed to do nothing or tell nothing either than make your heart pump harder so any alcohol that's in your stomach reaches your bloodstream faster to give the cops a higher blood alcohol content reading. I had to walk a straight line, which is very difficult when your feet have swelled up the size of melons. I had stand on one leg and count to twenty with my head tilted back, touch my nose without looking, and my personal favorite, saying the alphabet back wards.

Which ironically, I have absolutely no problem doing right now drunk as hell.

After about twenty minutes of this useless shit, the dick head says he has reasonable doubt that I am indeed under the influence and demands that I take a Breathalyzer test.

In the meantime, while the first cop was frowning at me for my blatant disregard of the law, two more police officers show up. I'm on the side of the road, about two blocks from my house, and three cops are gathered around, all who frown when cop number one says I am driving without a license and my brake light is broken. From the look on their collective faces, I am scum. Matter of fact I am wondering when one of those crazy S.O.B.'s is going to pop a cap in my ass.

You have seen the footage about that BART cop last New Year's Eve who had that black guy on the ground, three of them holding him down, and the BART cop pulls his gun and shoots him in the back. That happened not that far away from where I live in the Bay Area. Check the footage on Tube if you haven't seen it yet.

I can almost feel the pleasure oozing out of the cops, they think without a doubt that I am drunk, and I'm only a Breathalyzer test away from them making a shit ton of money and probably a bonus for busting a DUI.

Did you know that? Police departments have a running contest each month, where the police officer with the most DUI's get a cash bonus. And you wonder why real crime is rampant in the world? The cops are all staking out bars trying to bust little Suzy who had one shot of Yagermister and two warm draft Coors Light instead of stopping violent crime like rapists and murders. You go Barney Fife.

So they give me this little tube and I blow into it. And much like I knew it would, the results show I have zero blood alcohol content. The cop looks at the machine, and then back at me, and says, "There must be a malfunction."

He takes me to another police cruiser and a different machine where I repeat my blowing. I wonder if I had been drinking, and failed the machine blowing thing, I wonder if they would allow me to go to another cruiser and blow again.

Anyway, the results said again, ZERO. And now they aren't happy at all. It's now after two thirty AM, catching another drunk driver is all but impossible since all the bars are now closed and everyone is safely home. All the police gather around the machine and finally admit that not only have I not been drinking but I am completely sober.

And do you know what, they don't apologize for wasting my time. The cop looks at me and says, "I could make it that you lose your license for a year, enough time has passed. How would you like that? Driving is not a right, it is a privilege for those Americans that follow the rules."

I really didn't know what to say to that. This cop is so mad at me that I'm not drunk, something he should be happy that I don't drink and drive, but he's in my face, his face is red and his veins are sticking out. For a moment I think I'm in the twilight zone or something. Why is he so mad at me?

I wanted to scream back at him, but I didn't, because I'm intelligent. So instead, I stand there, not saying anything unless he asks me a direct question, while he writes me up a ticket for an expired drivers license and another warning fix-it ticket for my brake light, and a warning that the next time he seems me on the road, I better have a current driver's license.

So what did we learn...

That cops get really mad if you smell like alcohol but haven't really been drinking and that I can't pass a sobriety test while completely sober. And apparently, I'm so gay that I can't change a brake light on my car without cutting my hand and ripping out the carpet lining in my truck.

Thank god for my neighbor who had pity on me and changed the light for me. So I bought him a beer at the local bar and proceeded to get so drunk, and tell my story to anyone who wanted to listen.

And while at the bar, after another telling of this story which started to get more and more blown out of context, this black guy comes over and give me a hug, and says, "For a white boy, you have mad flavor."


Recommended Comments

Drunk or not, license or none, you should still know that flavour is spelt flavour and not flavor. Sheesh, what are cute fluffy bunnikins like these days?Other than that wee misdemeanor 'twas entertaining, and beautifully written. Me likey.C (not Cole) ;)

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Not Cole indeed. If it had been Cole, he'd have spelled 'spelt' correctly!I love your way of writing your life's history, Jason. I think these snippets of reality could be compiled and published. We only have to come up with a title.I'll go first, and others can join in.How about: The Wry Wramblings of a Rebellious Rimbaud.C (the real one)

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