This Could Only Happen To Me

I was on probation for a DWI Conviction.  Under terms of probation, I could not drink, go to a bar or do drugs.  I also could not leave county without written permission of my Probation Officer.  My Probation Officer was a cool guy looking back, as he could have sent me to prison numerous times for violating terms of my sentence, but he never did.  One such time occurred in February 2006.  I wasn’t working at the time, so I was the automatic go-to guy when my friends or family needed a favor- like picking them up from the airport. 

On this particular day, I was asked to pick up not just one, but two people from the airport.  My mom was coming back from Florida and was landing in Albany at around noon, and my friend Buttercup was coming back from Arizona and flying into Syracuse at around 4:00.  So, not only did I have to pick up 2 different people, but I had to go to 2 different airports to do so.

For those of you not familiar with the logistics, Albany is about 2 1/2 hours from Syracuse.  So, I had to wake up in the morning, which is something I wasn’t used to, drive 1 1/2 hours to Albany to pick up my mom, then drive 1 1/2 hours back home, at which point I had to unload my mom and all her luggage, climb back in the car and drive an hour to Syracuse to pick up my friend.  I needed to be back by 6 pm, as I had a chemical dependency class later that day, after which I had to meet with my court-appointed counselor, who would preach religion to me and then make me piss in a cup to make sure I wasn’t swaying off the path to righteousness.  These classes were pointless and just a waste of time for all involved.  They were supposed to teach me how to cope with being sober, but all they really did is make me want to pop a beer the second I got out of class because they were so boring.  I would just skip them, but attending these sober seminars were part of my sentence for my DWI Conviction, so if I missed them I better have a damn good reason.

Even though I was leaving the county…twice, I decided not to let my Probation Officer know because I was literally just picking someone up, then going right back home.  As long as I didn’t get pulled over or get in trouble my PO would be none the wiser. 

The first 1/2 of the day went smoothly; I picked up my mom on time and safely delivered her back home.  I actually had time to run in and eat lunch and relax for an hour or so before I headed back out to pick up Buttercup from Syracuse.  I left around 3 pm and got to the airport a little before Buttercup’s plane was supposed to arrive at 4.  As long as his plane wasn’t really late, I would be back in time for my class.

Being that nothing ever goes as planned for me and whatever will go wrong in my life, does- Buttercup’s plane was late.  Not very late, but late enough where making it to my class on time would be a task.   I waited in my car outside, contemplating, until I saw my friend come out of the baggage claim.  I loaded him in my car and we were on our way with minimal time wasted.

Buttercup started telling me about the crazy time he had in Arizona:  sex, drugs, rock n’ roll- the whole bit.  At some point during the conversation I decided I didn’t want to go to class that night.  I was pressed for time to make it to begin with, but I was also tired from driving half-way through the state that day.  Buttaz remained quiet while I called my counselor and told her I wouldn’t be able to make it.  Luckily, I got her vm, so I left a message saying I would call her tomorrow to reschedule.  I had my phone on speaker during call, as I frequently do when driving so I don’t need to put phone up to my ear and risk getting ticket.  I can also hear much clearer with the speaker phone on than in normal mode. 

I left the message, then closed my flip phone and put it on my lap.  Buttercup and I then resumed our conversation.  He started talking about the crazy bud he smoked in Arizona.  Even though I was on probation, I still managed to get high every now and then, and was still very much into weed culture.  We went back and forth about smoking a few times, then Buttaz took his phone out and showed me pictures of the bud he smoked in Arizona.  I made a few comments about it, saying something to the effect of “Damn, I wish I got to smoke that shit.”

At this point I reached down and grabbed my phone again.  I think I was going to call my parents and say that I would be home shortly.  To my surprise…and extreme horror, my cell phone was still on and the previous call…to my counselor, was the number on the screen-  meaning that call was still active.  I had closed the phone, but with the model I had, flipping it closed did not end the call if the Speaker was being used!  I had to actually hit the “End Call” button to hang up in those situations!  So, if you’re a little confused why I was so horrified at this discovery, let me explain it:  The entire drug conversation I had just had with my buddy was now part of my answering machine message to my substance-abuse counselor! – All of it!  Including the part where I say “Damn, I wish I got to smoke that shit.”  I immediately hung up the phone, and then started to freak out.

Despite the mishap, I still love you!

After a few minutes, I started to think positive.  Maybe the answering machine didn’t get it, as it might have hung up after I left the initial message, I thought.  Also, maybe the speaker phone didn’t pick up our conversation cuz the phone was too far away!  Eventually I forgot about it as Buttercup and I just continued shooting the shit.  I dropped him off without any further disasters, then headed home.

As I pulled in my driveway, my phone started ringing.  I looked at the caller-ID and, sure enough, it was my counselor.  My hopes that I had gotten away with one immediately vanished.  I prepared myself for the drama that was sure to ensue one I picked up the call.  The second I answered, a voice on the other end of the phone said “Rob, where are you?”  I told her I was just coming home from a long drive.  “You have to come here right now!”  She said.  I told her I was tired, and asked if I could come in tomorrow.  She would have none of this!  “No, come in right now!”  Not having a choice, I reluctantly agreed.  I had literally just pulled in my driveway.  I turned my car around and headed to the Chemical Dependency Center to accept whatever dire consequences awaited me.

As soon as I got there, my counselor was there waiting for me.  She took me into her office and immediately played her answering machine message that I left her.  I pretended like I was hearing it for the first time, acting all shocked when I heard myself commenting about the weed.  She started interrogating me- asking why I had decided to smoke and if I knew what would happen once my probation officer found out.  I told her that I hadn’t smoked- which was the truth.  I said I was simply talking to my friend, who had smoked.  Not believing me, she ushered me into the testing center.to take a piss test.

Normally, when I took a piss test there, the nurse would just hand me a cup and I would walk into the bathroom, unsupervised, do my business then walk out and hand her my sample.  I had never failed a test, even though I had smoked on occasion.  To pass a piss test, all you need to do is:

1. Drink a shit ton of water in the days prior to the test.

2.  Never have the first few drops or the last few drops of your piss be part of the sample you give.  Always start pissing in the toilet, then, when your streams going strong, switch your aim so your dissing into the dish.  When your bladder is approaching “E”, transfer your stream back into the toilet.  The first and last few drops of piss are from the walls of the bladder- this is where THC often settles before exiting the body. So, avoid beginning or ending a piss into a cup, and there is a much better chance you will pass.

*This only applies to casual, infrequent smoking.  Once or, at the most, 2x a month.  If you smoke every  day, you best be going to a Head Shop to get their concoctions if you plan on passing a drug test.

I didn’t need to follow those instructions this time, though- I had not smoked in over a month.  I walked in to the testing center, expecting to get handed a cup.  Instead, a 250 lb. Bull of a woman wearing a nurse’s outfit grabs me and ushers me into the bathroom.  She hands me the piss cup, then stands over me as I unzip, refusing to give me any privacy- even after I start pissing.  She watches me piss the entire time, making sure I didn’t try any funny business.  After making sure it was my piss in the cup, and taking a second or two to admire the enormous size of my johnson, she ushers me back out to my counselor.  After getting yelled at some more by my counselor, I finally get to go home.

Normally a piss test takes a few days to come back as they get it done the cheapest way possible.  This time, they had results the next day.  Not surprisingly, I passed.  This still did not prevent my Probation Officer, whom was told of this incident by my loving counselor, from lecturing me next time I saw him.  I took it all in stride, though.  I knew he couldn’t really punish me cuz I passed the drug test.  He could have punished me for leaving the county without his permission, but in all the excitement over the answering machine message, he completely forgot about that- the one time in this cluster-fuck of bad luck that I actually got a little lucky.

So, all things considered- I made out pretty good.  The lectures and the impromptu piss test were an inconvenience- but the story I now have because of this incident trumps all those.  I did learn from this, too- From that day on I ALWAYS made sure I hung up the call properly whenever I used speaker phone, even years later, when I was using a different, much better phone.

For another sad story of my extremely bad luck, check out I HAVE SOME EXPLAINING TO DO