October 22, 1998

Here's another story about my reunion.

On Friday Night, after talking to Sammy Seymour at the bar of the Hilton in Woodcliff Lake, New Jersey, I left for Hoboken with my buddy/classmate Sean. As we walked to my car in the parking lot, the air felt especially cold against my flushed cheeks. I could tell my face was completely flushed after having spoken with Sammy. Not only that, but I was perspiring a little and even my eyes felt sore. I guessed that they were completely bloodshot.

With my heart still racing in the wake of Sammy, Sean and I pulled out of the parking lot and out onto a service road. At the end of the service road, we came upon a red light, at which I turned right.

That's when, as Bruce Springsteen would say, "a local cop's cherry top ripped that holy night."

"What the fuck?!" I shouted out loud.

I had to wait a couple minutes for the cop to come to my window. My heart was racing.

This big bull dyke demanded my "license and registration, sir."

"What's this about officer?" I asked politely.

"Your license and registration, sir" the c-word said flatly.

"Jesus Christ" I thought, "this is not going to be pleasant."

My license was in my wallet. But I could not find my registration. It wasn't in the glove box. I knew I had it somewhere. I felt frantically under my seat. I asked Sean to feel under his.

I started to spazz out. Sean whispered for me to calm down and to take it easy.

"I think it's in the back officer. May I get out of the car and look?"

With her flashlight shining in my eyes, I got out of the car and opened the right rear passenger door. My back seat was cluttered with papers and wrappers and empty cups. (Thank God there were no beer bottles!)

It was too dark to see anything so I asked the c-word to borrow her flashlight. At the time, it seemed like a reasonable request. Looking back, I realize that must have looked a little absurd.

But she did give me the flashlight and--thank God--I found my registration.

"Have you been drinking tonight, sir?"

"I had one drink earlier this evening" I said. That was a lie. I had had three drinks about three hours before. I knew I wasn't even close to drunk and I didn't want to give her any ammunition.

"Well sir, you disregarded the no-right-on-red sign back there." Her voice was stern and even.

"I'm sorry officer. I didn't see it."

"Your eyes look extremely bloodshot sir. Are you sure you haven't been drinking?"

My eyes were bloodshot for the same reason that my palms were moist and my face was flushed. I'd just dealt with Sammy Seymour for the first time in years and I was all worked up. Getting pulled over for what was turning into a DUI wasn't calming me down any. Plus, I'd worked a full day in Manhattan before driving out to New Jersey for the reunion festivities. I was just plain tired.

"Look officer, here's the deal" I began, intending to explain all of the afore-mentioned reasons why my eyes were bloodshot and why I was too preoccupied to notice the no-right-on-red sign. "I had three drinks about three hours ago. I had a vodka tonic, a White Russian, and a bottle of Budweiser. But I feel fine and that's not the reason why my eyes are bloodshot. The reason my eyes are bloodshot is..."

Before I could finish, the c-word asked me to step out of the car.

I couldn't believe what was happening.

"Sir, starting at the letter D, I want you to say the alphabet to the letter N."

"A. B, C, D..." I began.

"Sir, did you understand my instructions?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Let's try it again."

This time I got it right.

She then made me count from 99 to 69 backwards.

I passed.

Then I had to follow her pen with my eyes without moving my head.

I think I did well on that.

Then I had to stand on one leg with my other foot raised six inches off the ground and count to 30 by thousands.

"I'm in the National Guard, ma'am" I volunteered, knowing that a lot of cops were also in the Guard.

"That's commendable sir, but it doesn't excuse drunk driving."

"I'm not drunk, ma'am."

But she wasn't listening.

"Sir, I want you to walk a straight line heel-to-toe ten paces out, pivot around to your right, then walk back heel-to-toe to where you started."

I did that fine.

"Sir, we do not take drunk driving lightly in the state of New Jersey."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Has your friend been drinking?"

"I don't know ma'am." (I didn't want to get another answer wrong.)

The c-word walked over to the car and shined a light in my friend, Sean's, face. She asked him a few questions which were inaudible from where I stood.

"I am so fucked!" I thought. I really wasn't drunk. I was just flustered by Sammy and the whole reunion thing. Now I'm gonna get hauled off to jail for a crime I didn't commit; kind of like the guys in the A-Team or Dr. David Banner on The Incredible Hulk. Or was it Bruce Banner? That's what I was thinking as I stood there nervously along side that dark road in northern New Jersey. I was also wondering how many people from my reunion saw me taking all those sobriety tests.

While I was worrying about that, the c-word walked back over.

"Sir, this is the luckiest night of your life..." she began.

Then she gave me a long speech to make sure I felt bad. I said "yes ma'am" and "no ma'am" a zillion times.

Then she let me off without even a ticket.

She had told Sean to drive us back to Hoboken. I got back in the car and let out a huge sigh.

Sean pulled onto the road slowly and then got us onto the Garden State Parkway.

For a few minutes, all I could say was "fuck!" and "man!" and "that fucking cunt!"

After I'd calmed down a bit, Sean started busting my balls.

"I knew you were fucked the moment you asked to borrow her flashlight" Sean laughed.

I couldn't help but laugh, too.

"And what the fuck were you thinking by giving her a laundry list of what you'd been drinking? You should have stuck to your one drink story. Instead, you're like, 'Well, ma'am I had six Jack Daniels, two lines of coke, some crystal meth, and a couple cat tranquilizers, and....oh yeah...a joint right before I got in the car.'"

"It wasn't like that!" I smiled.

"It was close enough!"

For the rest of the ride home, Sean kept imitating me:

"What have I been drinking officer? Let me check. I wrote it all down. Can I borrow your flashlight so I can see my list. Thanks. Okay, here we go. I had two viles of crack, some white crosses, four cans of Old Milwaukee, seven Cuban cigars I smuggled into the country, some Valium, two throat lozenges..."

And the ball busting continued.

 

Broadway Jim Jenkins