Day 16 of 100

“Let’s go out.”

I was living on the beach in San Diego, among a group of surfers from Kansas City, Kansas and going out was pretty much what we did.

We had been drinking for most of the day, but I got tired and took an afternoon nap. As night fell we decided to head down to the Gaslamp district and hang out at the bars. We rarely ventured outside of Mission Beach, but we wanted to be adventurous.

I felt pretty sober so I decided to drive versus spend the money on cabs. We piled into my green Ford Explorer and headed out.

At the time The Gaslamp was relatively new. The scene was a mix of folks from the beaches, military, and tourists. And theme bars. Never really understood the theme bars. We ended up at Martini Ranch, which sold over priced martini’s and had a huge screen that played movies and tv shows.

As closing fast approached, I bought a final martini (I was not drinking much because I was driving), and finished it quickly as there was no greater crime than leaving a drink half drunk.

We decided to take the freeway home as it was the quickest, and as I entered the freeway and started to accelerate, rotating blue and red lights exploded behind me with a sharp instruction of ‘pull over” ringing in my ears.

I am not sure how we ended up in an AM-PM parking lot, but as the cop approached my door my friends in the car, all very drunk, were yelling at me ways to beat a breathalyzer. “Suck on a penny!” I didn’t have a penny.

Rolling down my window, I was greeted with a flashlight in the face. “How much have you drank, son?”

“A beer,” I replied.

“A pitcher?” He asked. “No. Just a beer.”

“Step out of the car.”

As I climbed out of the driver seat, my friends kept yelling “he didn’t drink anything!” which I am pretty sure was not helpful.

After a series of tests, the cop said, “I have one more test. Put your left hand on your head, put your right hand on your head and spread your legs.”

I think the only sound I truly remember from that night was the click of the handcuffs.