The Malcontent: Don't DUI It

Malbug_13

Speaking of anniversaries people just remembered, it was 10 years ago yesterday (Labor Day 1995, actually) that I had my one and only major run-in with Johnny Law.

I was still a relatively fresh face in D.C., little more than a kid. I had been out that Sunday night in Adams Morgan with my roommate at the time and a friend of mine from college who lived nearby, celebrating the unofficial end of summer.

I didn't have much to drink that night – maybe three drinks total, but they were pretty big ones. I suppose I knew deep down that they were equivalent to more that "just" three drinks, but I thought I felt fine. My roommate was a tiny woman, and my friend had even more to drink than me, so I thought it would be fine for me to drive. It was my car, after all.

I got within one exit of my apartment when I saw the red-and-blues flashing in my rear-view mirror. I don't think I've even been so mortified in my life, but it was only going to get worse.

The state trooper stopped me because I had been going 69 in a 55, which I had done probably a million times before, but almost never after a big night on the town. I was not swerving a bit; in fact, my speed was the only ingredient of probable cause involved.

Almost immediately, he asked me to get out of the car and began administering a road-side sobriety test. I had to say the alphabet backward and close my eyes and touch my nose with my arms extended; I think I did pretty well on those. He also made me walk the shoulder line, which I didn't do quite as well at. I would like to think that it was due to the rubber sole that was beginning to pull off the bottom of one shoe, but in retrospect it doesn't matter much.

Then he took me back to his cruiser and asked me to blow into a portable breathalyzer. My young mind was trying to wrap itself around a quick calculus of my rights, as well the potential consequences of refusing. Having had family members who were in law enforcement, I thought that compliance was the best route to go, and I knew that in some states, refusal was considered DUI "per se." I also thought there was a chance that I would be below the legal limit anyway. I was exhausted, but I didn't feel particularly drunk.

So I blew. It was 0.10. Just my luck, it had been only about a year prior that Virginia had lowered the DUI limit to 0.08 percent BAC. He read me my rights, unceremoniously handcuffed me and stuffed into the backseat of his cruiser, in full view of the passengers in my car and any others who were driving by at that late hour.

I learned later that my roommate was relatively OK and was able to convince the trooper of that fact, so he let her drive my car home. I was taken to the jail where I was printed and processed. I was held in a room for a little while longer before a more accurate breathalyzer was brought in. This time, I blew a 0.11. I guess the alcohol was still working its way through my bloodstream and pushed the meter up a tick.

I was brought before a tired-looking magistrate and arraigned on the spot. He gave me a court date a few months hence. My shoelaces and belt were taken from me, and I was put into a cell alone. Not that I was considering killing myself, but I felt so humiliated that I was looking for a hole to crawl into and never come out again.

I stayed there for a few hours – I don't remember if I slept or not – and then my roommate "sprang" me. I don't think she had to pay any bail; I think they were just more interested in shaking me up a bit and keeping me off the streets for a while.

I hired a lawyer at what the time was an almost incomprehensible expense for me, and he wasn't very good. At my initial appearance, we entered a plea of "not guilty," which is generally what you do even when you clearly are.

My attorney subpoenaed the records for the breathalyzer to see if it had been calibrated within the mandated period. It had. At that point, I was advised to subsequently plead "no contest" at my "trial." If it had been a 0.08 or 0.09, the lawyer was certain he could have bargained it away, but I was just a bit too far outside that range.

I was made to pay a fine of a thousand or a couple of thousand dollars. My attorney's fine work cost me another $2,000 or $3,000. (Can you tell I've been trying to forget about this?) My driver's license was revoked and restricted to driving only to and from work, although I think they made allowances for errands such as the grocery store that were on the way. My car insurance doubled overnight. I was forced to attend DUI-awareness classes for several weeks.

I think I was making about $30,000 a year at the time in one of the most expensive metropolitan areas in the country, so you can bet that most of this was just subsumed into a mountain of credit-card debt.

And that was all my first (and thankfully only) offense. If I had gotten another one within seven years afterward, it would have been much uglier. Obviously, I'm lucky that there was no accident or fatality involved.

I can't say I never again got behind the wheel after having had a drink or two, but in the end, it taught me a lot of things:

First, all drinks are not created equally. When I used to read about how many "drinks" I could have before becoming impaired or intoxicated, I needed to realize that the point of comparison was 12 ounces of beer, five ounces of wine or a shot (1½ ounces) of hard liquor. A Long Island ice tea is not "one drink."

Second, no matter how drunk you get, you need to reserve at least a few brain cells of judgment to give the keys to someone if they ask, or to know when to take public transportation.

Third, even an expensive cab ride is much cheaper than the alternative. I never thought I would get caught, but I did, and I know many others who have also been in my (laceless) shoes. The consequences of getting caught are just too dire to ignore.

Fourth, I reassessed my aversion to city living. It was the commute that finally drove me to move downtown, but the fact that so many of my friends didn't have cars, and I usually ended up driving, made me even keener on the idea of living closer to the nightlife. If they wanted to drive themselves around drunk, that was fine with me, but I wasn't going to keep risking my life or livelihood for them.

And five, I didn't always need to be wasted to have fun. The more drunk people I have hung around with, the more and more obvious that has become.

People have been preached at enough about not driving drunk, so I'll stay off my high horse. But there is something to be said about being an example, 10 years later, of what not to do.

Comments

Two words: Virginia dude.

Thank god I always lived in town (even so, I was hella lucky).

So Sorry.

(unfortunately w/o the breathalyzer, the congressman is probably off the hook, except for an infraction)

Tommy - Athens, Greece

Posted by: Tommy | May 05, 2006 at 04:24 PM

Regardless, I'm sure that even in DC, it's unusual when a resident who gets a DUI doesn't have to take a sobriety test and is instead chauffeured home by the cops.

Posted by: Malcontent | May 05, 2006 at 04:28 PM

DUI's are mess.

I had the great misfortune to hit a parked car . . . that, turns out, belonged to my high school lab mate.

So that was a little weird.

So the whole, "Sure I'm drunk, but I'm only three blocks from home. What could possibly go wrong?" is generally a bad logic train. Lesson learned. Wallet lightened.

Posted by: Robbie | May 05, 2006 at 04:36 PM