Your Headlights Are Off
It’s Wednesday and college night at the club, which is a great time to drink. I’m, no joke, about fifteen rums deep when we decide to head to another bar. My buddy met a girl there, but she didn’t want to drive. Being the gentleman I am, I suck it up and offer to drive her car. Let’s roll.
Only about a quarter-mile from the club, a cop pulls up on me with his lights going. Fuuuuuuuuck. As I pull over on the main street downtown, I hit the curb and the car jumps. The officer walks up and says, “How did that curb treat you?” Dick. “Sorry sir,” I reply. “I was trying to get out of the way quickly because I thought you were going by.”
He tells me that the reason he has pulled me over is because my headlights are off. I try to explain that the girl I’m with had too much to drink and needed me to drive, and that I was unfamiliar with the car since it was hers. I try to turn them on and the windshield wipers start going. She says, “They’re right here” and turns the headlights on. I shoot her a look of disapproval for making me look even dumber to this guy.
“Where are you heading?” My apartment. “How many drinks have you had?” Three. “You know it’s hard to get a job with a DUI?” I understand that, but I’m not drunk. Baffled is the only word that can describe his expression. He heads back to his car with my license and dignity.
I’m fucked. I’m thinking about jail, how I’ll explain this to my parents, and if it really would hurt my chances for getting a job. He spends what seems like half an hour checking my shit and then comes back to the car.
“You’re heading to your apartment, correct?” Yes, sir. “Go straight there and don’t go anywhere else. And be careful.” Thank you, sir.
Holy shit! Are you kidding me? How the hell did that happen? He returns to his car, follows us a block or two and then turns off. And we head straight to the bar to meet back up with my friends. Fuck my liver.
