In short, yes, it’s not something I would rank among my favorite experiences or greatest achievements in life.
But…it wasn’t the worst thing that’s ever happened to me either. In fact, in my case, it ultimately became a pretty positive and transformative event overall.
Has my life turned to shit since the arrest? No, it has not. In many ways, it has only improved.
Has the financial burden been devastating? Not really. DUIs are certainly not cheap, but the additional pressure placed upon me as a result of the DUI helped ignite a fire in my belly that would motivate me in my career. As a result, I am better off now financially than when I got my DUI a year ago. Crazy, right?!
Do people treat me differently knowing that I have a DUI? I’ve been relatively careful about who I share the information with, but basically, no . . . no one I have told has thought any less of me due to the mistake I’d made. In many cases, it has garnered me some additional respect from some friends and family members due to the way I’ve handled the entire situation.
Am I a different person now having gone through this? Yes. Seeing this through has most definitely been a character building experience. I’ve endured tougher challenges, emotionally, than this one, but there’s nothing quite like becoming an outlaw for the very first time and going through the criminal justice process.
Alright, so on with my story . . .
The pertinent details
Exactly one year ago today I was arrested for a DUI. It was my first offense, but because of my elevated BAC, I received the higher grade variety DUI. My breathalyzer results were .24 and .25, which is 3 times the legal limit.
There was no auto accident or property damage of any kind, but my passenger-side front tire was shredded when police pulled me over – which I’ll discuss further on in more detail. 😉
As a result, I was charged with 2 misdemeanor counts: one for driving under the influence, and the other for having a BAC of .16 or greater.
Here’s how it happened . . .
It was Fourth of July weekend, 2014. The fourth fell on a Friday that year and I decided to start my celebrating on the evening of the 3rd, which merely consisted of me enjoying a few tasty beers at home while chatting with friends on the telephone. Normally I don’t drink all that often, so taking a night off to relax and have a few brews was rare for me.
Being that I have a penchant for the more robust micro brews, particularly IPAs, the 6 or 7 beers I enjoyed that night had left me feeling a little worse for wear the next day. I wasn’t in horrible shape, but I was moving a little slower than normal come 4th of July.
Given that I was obviously on high alert due to the 4th being a high-profile night for DUI arrests, and considering I was feeling a little sluggish from my imbibing the night before, I took it relatively easy that evening. I drank only light beer, paced myself fairly well, and ate a considerable amount of food so as not to get too buzzed. I also stopped drinking about 2 hours before I drove home AND I drank copious amounts of water during that time.
I was trying to drink and behave responsibly, which is usually how I am.
On July 5th I woke up a little earlier than I’d intended. I can’t exactly recall why, but it probably just had to do with the weekend’s drinking throwing my sleep off a bit. I had hoped to sleep in late that day so I’d be feeling fresh for the party I’d planned to attend that evening, but . . . that wasn’t the case. I had what could be considered a mild hangover, but nothing that would keep me from going about my day. Still, a little extra sleep would have been nice.
My eventual plan that day was to head out to my dad’s house for a bit so I could visit with him for an hour or two before I went to my cocktail party that evening. The party I was attending was about a 40 minute drive from my home, and just a couple of minutes away from my dad’s place. We had tentative plans to meet up before the party, but apparently, he forgot about them once Saturday rolled around.
I called his number, but no answer. I decided to head down that way anyway, thinking he might return home in the meantime. As I got near, I tried him again and went to voicemail once more.
The Pre-Party
So . . . with a few hours to kill before the party, I decided to head into my favorite micro brewery for a few pints while I waited to hear from my dad. I figured if he calls, great . . . if not, I’ll just hang out here until the party’s about to start, then head over.
My dad never returned my call, so I ended up hanging out at the brewery, swilling down about 3 pints of IPA in the span of about 2.5 hours. I also had a pint of water with each beer, so as to retain my competitive edge. 😉 Some of you may think that in itself is a bit risky, but being that I’m a pretty big guy (220lbs), 3 pints of beer in 2.5 hours is not really buzz-worthy for me.
Once it was about time for the party to start I headed out to my truck and made my way over.
The Party
The event I was attending that night was a casual cocktail soirée hosted by one of my clients. This was not going to be a rager of any kind – it was simply intended to be a nice evening with friends, which was supposed to be over at around 9:30 PM.
However . . . the theme of the party did not lend itself (for me anyway) to maintaining any kind of sobriety. The event was a cocktail recipe party in which some of the guests were to be competing for ‘best recipe’. All those in attendance were asked to sample the myriad of cocktails served, then vote on which they liked the best.
Alright, so the first thing I did when I got there was drink a beer. I was the first guest to arrive, so I began to help out a bit with getting snacks ready, while casually sipping another IPA, bringing the day’s total to 4 IPAs.
I believe the next drink I had was another beer. Just as I was enjoying my 5th beer of the day, it turned out the hosts were getting low on ice as the eager cocktail mixers began concocting their creations in the kitchen (say that 5 times fast…). 😉
Like a gentleman (cough, jackass, cough) I volunteered to drive over to the store to grab some ice. At this point I was not drunk by any means, but I had consumed the equivalent of a 6 pack IPA in the span of maybe 3.5-4hrs, so I was feeling a nice little glow. Being that time was of the essence, I hurried as fast as I could to the store and back.
Foreshadowing
During my drive to the store I was driving like an idiot. And by idiot, I mean way too fast. It was a route that I could practically drive half-asleep, given that it was where I grew up and I’d driven on that road thousands of times. Still, I even caught myself thinking, “dude . . . you need to chill out . . . if a cop should be lurking about or if an animal decides to cross the road, you’ll be in bad shape to react.
On the way back from the store I drove at much more law-abiding speed, yet still thinking I had a wild hair up my ass that night . . . “I’d better be careful”.
Back at the party
Upon returning to the party, the drinks were now flowing and food was starting to be served, which was great because all I had eaten that day was a bowl of cereal. Big mistake that was, which would most definitely haunt me later on.
One of the first rules for responsible partying is to not drink on an empty stomach. I know this, but for some reason I didn’t choose to abide by this rule that night.
By the time I was served my salmon burger and salad, I was feeling pretty good. Considering the fare was so light, it didn’t do much to dilute my buzz. I wasn’t drunk at this point, but I was feeling pretty dandy.
A few hours later things were starting to wind down, and the remaining cocktails were going to go to waste if people didn’t partake of them, so I did my part. A couple of them, in particular, were quite tasty so I had seconds on a few. Although they were not full drink size, if one was not mindful of their limit, a few of these cocktail samplers could easily get one into trouble.
Should I stay or should I go?
As things are winding down, the party moved inside from the back patio and a few of us were sat around talking, and in my case, still enjoying a tasty beverage. At this point I felt a good buzz, but nothing too out of the ordinary. I did not feel drunk by any means, just a nice warm glow.
This is an example of how demon alcohol tricks you. 😉
As the last of the guests were leaving, one of my friends turned to me and said “you’re not driving home, are you..?” I said, “no, of course not, I’m staying the night here”. Which was partially true because the host did encourage that I stay the night.
As I walked out front to see them off, I stumbled a bit in the dark, but no one saw. I thought to myself, “hmmm…maybe I am a little worse off than I think I am”. But then I also thought, shoot…how many times have I been worse off than this and still made it home alright.
My bed was calling to me, so . . . once my client and her husband went to bed, I waited a few minutes then quietly slipped out the back door and out to my vehicle. I was careful not to stir them as I knew they’d probably try and talk me into staying, but I really wanted to get home.
The drive home
As I sat in my truck and started it up, I wasn’t too worried about the drive home. Although in those days it had been rare, I had been known to drive drunk in the past – always making it home safely. I’d often felt like I was the sorta guy who was too smart and level-headed to attract attention from the cops. I knew if I were to get pulled over it’d be game over once they saw me and smelled the alcohol, but that wouldn’t happen. Not to me. I’m not the kind of guy that’s careless enough, even when I am drinking.
HA!
So on I went, down the highway towards my home. The drive started off fine, and I remember having a bit of coffee left in my thermos which I sipped on the way home. Even though I didn’t feel hammered, I felt the coffee would be a good idea to help me stay sharp.
A lot of good it did me.
The first part of the drive was a gradual blackout. I recall the first 10 minutes or so, but after that things get real hazy. The next thing I knew I was being closely followed by another car, and thinking “oh shit…this IS NOT good!”
Something snapped me from my trance, which was me swerving for whatever reason, then all I could think about was this car following me. This went on for awhile, then I exited the freeway still being followed by this car. I remember thinking…
OH SHIT, OH SHIT, OH SHIT… THIS IS BAD, THIS IS BAD…
At this point it was as if I was coming to after being unconscious for awhile. I wasn’t all there, but I was also well aware that I was in some deep shit.
Then came the lights…
Oh. My. God. That is arguably one of the worst feelings a person can experience. The thought of knowing that in a few minutes your life will be invariably changed, for the worse. That feeling of utter helplessness and surrender. Oh man…
Having the flashing police lights behind you can be a very sobering experience, but in my case, no way was I going to gather myself enough to talk my way out of it.
I was screwed.
Number one . . . my right-front passenger tire was off the wheel. That was more than a subtle indicator that I wasn’t of completely sound mind that evening.
As the officers were trying to pull me over, one police car had already pulled up ahead and the officer was stood outside his car ushering me over to the side of the road. He said, “you do realize you’re driving on your wheel..?”
I did know this, as I remember wrenching on my steering wheel trying to maintain my direction. Then there was the sound of my wheel carving into the asphalt. The reality of my fucked situation hit me pretty hard at that point.
The stop
As the officer approached my vehicle I knew I was done for. It was as if I had been put under, then suddenly revived in a semi-conscious state, behind the wheel of a moving vehicle with one tire off. At this point I had no idea how I had done that, and I knew there was no talking my way out of this.
The officer came to my window and then asked the standard question…
“Do you know why we pulled you over tonight, sir?”
I honestly don’t recall exactly what I said, but it was basically “no, I don’t”. I mean, obviously I knew they were going to grill me about my tire being off the rim, but I didn’t know how to respond so I just played dumb.
Apparently what had happened was I attracted the attention of a fellow motorist when he saw sparks emanating from my vehicle. He also noticed that I was driving erratically so he called 911 on his mobile phone then was instructed to stay in pursuit of me until officers could arrive.
This was the reason there were headlights in my rear view mirror for miles, yet no flashing police lights until just before I was pulled over. A concerned citizen dimed me, and thank goodness he did. Considering I don’t recall much before him closely following me, it’s possible that the night could have had a worse ending if he’d not gotten my attention when he did.
The officer was actually quite calm and pleasant, so I felt somewhat relieved thinking I must not have done anything too bad. He continued…
“Can I see your license, registration and proof of insurance, sir?”
I fumbled a bit when trying to get my license out from behind the windowed plastic compartment in my wallet, I took awhile to locate my registration, and although my insurance was current, I could only produce an expired car which was sitting in my console. Additionally, I was having a hard time speaking clearly and articulately, i.e., I was slurring a bit.
It wasn’t looking good for me.
Next came those dreaded words…
“Have you been drinking tonight, sir?”
Given my condition and the fact that the cab of my truck must’ve smelled like a distillery, I said, yes, I’ve had a few drinks tonight.
“What did you have to drink tonight, sir?”
“I had a few beers and a cocktail or two..”
“How many drinks have you had, sir . . . a 6 pack, a 12 pack..?”
My response was, “yes”, or something like that. I didn’t really cop to how much I drank, but I guess my response came across as being agreeable with a 12 pack. I think at that point I knew I was up shit creek, so I just wanted to cooperate and get it over with.
He then produced a pen from his pocket and did the eye test. He next asked me if I wanted to step out of the vehicle and perform a field sobriety test, to which I replied, “no”. I told him that I had a medical condition which affects my balance and that it would be difficult to perform the tests, which is true. I didn’t break it down for him, but I do have a form of peripheral neuropathy which would make completing the FST difficult, even if I were sober.
Next up he asked if I would agree to a breathalyzer test, to which I naturally said, “yes”.
He then headed back to his patrol and returned with a breathalyzer. I had never used one of these before, let alone seen one, and in my altered state I had no concept of what was considered an elevated BAC.
At any rate, I took a deep breath and blew into the device. The officer looked at my reading and seemed a bit surprised. He told me my reading (which I’d quickly disregarded) then said I was highly intoxicated. He then asked me to blow again. The second time I did it, I blew with vigor as if to try and show up my first blow. It was actually a very surreal experience at this point. I knew I was hosed, and I figured may as well see just how high you can get the numbers to go. It was inconsequential, but still…a bad idea.
Now that it had been established that I was drunk off my ass, the officer then asked me to remove my phone charger from the dashboard and place it in my console, unbuckle my seatbelt and step out of the vehicle.
The second I stood up it felt like I was on a boat experiencing rough seas. I was in bad shape. The officer steadied me a bit and ushered me over to another officer where I was supposed to stand by while they called for a tow truck and did other police stuff. After teetering about for a few minutes, the officers had me take a seat on the sidewalk and then proceeded to ask me questions.
It was a particularly nice evening. It was the height of summer and there was nice breeze. It was a cool evening, but not cold, and the offshore breeze blowing through the row of eucalyptus trees along the sidewalk filled me with a sense of calm. Of course, that feeling was short-lived due to the 5 police cars nearby, my truck being hoisted onto the tow truck, the and several officers standing around me probing me for information.
It was around this time that I started getting my wits about me. I recall the moment vividly because at one point I detected some frustration from one of the officers when he said my place of birth did not corroborate with what I’d told the officers minutes earlier.
“Now wait a minute…you just said you were born in Laguna Beach!”
“What..? I wasn’t born in Laguna Beach…I was born in Norwalk, California… I’m from Laguna Hills, but I was born in…”
Anyway, I think what I did is go down the entire list of cities in which I’ve lived and somehow I must not have been clear on my origin. Point is, when I started to sober up I realized just how incredibly shitfaced I was. It was embarrassing and shocking.
They next ushered me over to the curb and told me to have a seat. I waited there for a few minutes, contemplating my future after this night, then shortly afterward they came and read me my rights, then threw the cuffs on. Not sure if they were out of handcuffs, but I got the zip ties.
The other thought that went through my mind while I was sat on that curb was, “where in the fuck am I..?” Seriously . . . I didn’t know exactly where I was, but I thought I had a clue. At the time I imagined I was about 6 miles south of my home on a frontage road off the freeway. Boy was I wrong on that one.
That was my first-ever (and presumably last) trip in the back of a police car. At the time, I remember feeling somewhat comforted, knowing that I was off the road and that no one else was involved in this incident, and that no one was injured as a result of my drunkenness. I wasn’t thinking too much about the consequences – only that I was in the safety of the police car, sorta like…”man, I’m glad you guys got there when you did..”
It was really weird. I was dead to rites busted and I knew it. I had apparently blacked out, I didn’t know where I was or how I got there, and I was driving on my wheel. I had totally blown it and I felt that all there was left to do was be cooperative and take what’s coming to me.
There was another officer in the back of the police car with me. As we started off he turned and asked me, “what do you do for work?”
I thought, oh shit…I don’t like how that sounded. He seemed like a nice enough guy, but I didn’t get the impression he was asking me to make conversation. it felt more like he was trying to gauge just how fucked things were going to be for me.
“I’m a web developer”.
From that point the ride was really quiet. I just stared out the window contemplating how I could have possibly allowed myself to be in this situation.
Truth be told, I felt like I had been dosed at this party. No joke. I thought no way I was that drunk…someone must have slipped me something. I just don’t do things like this..!
Arriving at the sheriff’s station they asked if I would please remove the laces from my shoes, as I had told them I would prefer not to walk with my ankles bound. Given that I was already struggling to maintain proper balance, making my way around with my hands shackled and shoes practically falling off, I felt like quite the drunken mess coming into the sheriff’s detention center.
First thing they did was seat me in the hallway and draw some blood. I thought for fuck sakes, 2 breathalyzer tests and a blood test… It’s clear that I’m hammered…how much proof do you need?
I was quite calm and compliant, and I also thought, hmmm…this may be a good thing. If someone did slip me something then it’s bound to show up in the test results. Oddly enough, while at the station I was starting to feel a little better about my situation. I was thinking that there had to be some funny business going on, and that just maybe I’ll be able to get out of these charges somehow.
The next stop for me was my cell. Fortunately, I was to spend the night in there alone. I got pretty lucky on that deal, as I know most everyone who’s ever been through this did not have it so easy.
I proceeded to lay down on the cot and then what seemed like moments later, another officer came to my cell and escorted me to the area for processing. I must have dozed off for a few minutes, so when they came and got me I was a little out of it once again – having been stirred from a drunken coma.
I was sloppy as hell going through the halls of the jail. Once we reached the processing room I was pretty stable and I remember thinking how strange this all was. I am not a criminal…I don’t get into trouble like this, I thought. What the hell am I doing here?
I remember telling the officer that the only time in my life I’d ever been fingerprinted was when I was going through the process of becoming a classroom volunteer at my son’s elementary school. This fingerprinting session was a much worse experience than that one. 😉
Once they got my fingerprints and mugshot, it was back my cell.
I was pulled over about 10:40 PM. By the time I arrived at the station it was maybe around 12:30 AM, and I’m guessing around this time it was probably 1:30 AM.
From this point on I did not sleep a wink.
I sat and paced in that jail cell for hours. I looked at the stainless steel piss pot, bail bondsmen and lawyer posters on the wall and thought, holy shit…you’re a fucking criminal.
Thoughts of my son and how I let him down consumed me. I felt like the biggest loser of all time.
A little while later an officer on the morning shift came by my cell and asked me what I was being held for. “DUI”, I told him. He walked off and then came back a few minutes later and threw a bologna sandwich and milk carton on the bunk. I went ahead and ate it. Realizing how hungry I was, I asked myself why in the hell did I eat so little that day. It probably would have made the difference between me sleeping in my own bed right now as opposed to being in lockup.
After awhile the officer came back to tell me that I would be released once they finished checking my file for outstanding warrants, then he asked me how drunk I was when they pulled me over. I told him I was pretty drunk. He said, “It says here you were driving on your rims”.
When he said that, I about shit myself. I had forgotten about the state of my vehicle, and when he said rims, all sorts of thoughts went through my mind. I was picturing my truck having all sorts of damage to it that I was not aware of, making my already shitty situation that much worse. I thought, what the fuck did I do..?! Did my drunken ass back up over one of those parking lot one-way-tire-puncture-thingies. How in the hell could I have been driving on my rims?!
I felt like such an asshole.
Then, in an instant, that all went away.
My next thoughts went to . . .
“You know what…this isn’t so bad. Regardless of what sort of shape my truck is in, no one – including myself – got hurt, so I was grateful for that. In fact, from then on I kept thinking how fortunate I was, considering the condition I was in when the officers stopped me.
Things could have gone much, much worse.
Sure, this sucks, I thought, but one thing’s for sure…I will be given some type of sentence and I will serve it. In time, this will all be behind me, but at least I’m not in this cell having to live with the thought of someone else being hurt by my actions, or worse. I took solace in that, and from that point on I felt only gratitude.
There must have been a reason for this.
Getting released
Sometime around 7:30 AM, they determined I was free to go. I was brought up and given my belongings, which included my wallet, iPhone, shoelaces and a bit of change from my pocket. Next, they opened the door to the station, told me to proceed through the yard and through the gate.
What a weird experience. Never have I felt so out of sorts. It was like being in a movie. I felt like the gangster being released from prison, only no one was there to greet me.
I walked across the parking lot then sat down to put the laces back in my shoes. Next, I got up and started walking…
I had a general idea as to where I was, but I didn’t know exactly. I started toward what appeared to be a main road and then the next thing I did was check my phone. I felt for sure it’d be dead, but alas, it had some battery left! My first thought was one of horror that perhaps I had called my dad sometime after the arrest. I was preoccupied with thoughts of him being incredibly angry and disappointed over this situation I’d gotten myself into.
Scrolling through my recent calls I was pleased to see that, in fact, no calls had been made at all! It was likely that no one knew about this…for now.
However, I did have 2 voice mails – both of which were from the woman whose home I had been at the night before. I decided to call her first, just so that I could let her know I was safe. She of course felt bad that I had doomed myself by driving home, but she was relieved to know I was at least safe and in one piece.
After I got off the phone with her I continued on towards the road then realized, I could be maybe 7 or 8 miles from home and it was starting to get pretty damn hot. Not to mention, I was starting to settle into my hangover phase finally, and..I hadn’t slept but maybe 20 or 30 minutes the entire night.
So, I decided to call my neighbor. Having been a bit of a delinquent in his younger days, he immediately knew where I was even though I did not. He was very understanding and headed over right away to pick me up.
Having offloaded my experience on two friends of mine, thinking that no one else knew about the arrest, then being in my neighbor’s car headed home, I was feeling a little better about things.
First order of business was to answer 2 questions:
Who has my car keys and where is my vehicle?
First place we went was the police station. I figured they’d have some answers.
Sure enough, they did, but being that it was a Sunday, they weren’t available to assist me. So, we headed back to my house.
During the ride I started to review the paperwork I was given. I noted the street on which I had been stopped and asked my neighbor about it. Considering I had been relatively new to the area, and incredibly wasted at the time, I was pretty clueless as to the whereabouts of my arrest.
Turns out it was a mere 3/4 of mile from my house, and even worse, it was past my house.
For reasons unknown to me, I somehow went past my house and then managed to get pulled over.
to be continued…