Day 41 of 100

“Zero officer.”

Yet again sitting in a car with drunk people talking to a police officer. But this time was different. I had gone out with a few friends in Boulder, and we ended up at the Sundowner, which was a bar that most everyone seemed to end up at by the time the night ended.

It was in the middle of Pearl Street, a walking outdoor mall of stores and restaurants that ran through the middle of Boulder’s downtown. It was always filled with colorful people from street performers to panhandlers to mainstream people. And when the university was in session, when the sun went down, it was also full of drunk people.

My friends and I left the bar once it closed and we wandered to my car. I offered to give them a ride home as they lived on the other side of town. We walked to the car, which at the time was an Acura MDX, which I kept for 15 years, three states, and numerous homes.

As we turned left on to the main road, I failed to signal or see the cop behind me. Red and blue lights blazed, and I pulled over to the side of the road.

“License and registration.” Luckily, I had both. “Here you go officer.” I hoped that unlike last time, my friends would stay quiet, which luckily they did. The officer walked back to his patrol car and ran my information. I had taken care of all the violations I had on the car, so I wasn’t worried he would find anything. Well, given there used to be stuff, I was worried.

He shone his flashlight into the car seeing my friends in the back struggling to stay quiet and not laugh.

“How much have they had to drink,” he asked. “Quite a bit,” I replied.

I knew what the next question was going to be and I was ready for it.

“And how much have you had to drink, son?”

“Zero officer. I have been sober for three years.”

He handed me back my license and registration.

“Drive them home safely. You are a good friend.”

And I did exactly that.