I often give up my Friday and Saturday nights to earn a little extra cash (no, I’m not a part time prostitute ...), by trawling around pubs and clubs promoting various alcohols. A few weekends back I had four jobs; two on Friday and two on Saturday, each of which involved eight bottles of vodka, which totaled in there being thirty two bottles of alcohol in back of my car. I had dozens of litres of coke and sprite, not to mention posters and beer mats and whatnot in the boot, so I opted to keep the crates of booze safely in the back seat where I could see them.
Now, I have a naggin of my own in my bag, cos I’m headed to a friend’s house after I’m finished, and I foolishly mix it in the car before I set off ... and spill half of it on both myself and the floor. Not the end of the world, but now my car (and me) smells like rum..
So off I go anyway, whizzing around at about half ten at night, when I happen upon a Garda checkpoint. These are fairly frequent on weekends, and normally they just check your registration details on the windscreen and wave you on, so I slow down, and switch to second, ready to continue on my merry way, when suddenly the Guard pauses, and sticks his hand out for me to stop.
I roll down my window, and he casually asks if I’ve been drinking tonight.
“Why, no sir, I would never do such a thing”.
He nods slowly ... his eyes wander to the back seat of my car where there are thirty two bottles of vodka ... then he sniffs and takes in the whiff of rum.
“Mm hmm ... well, if you wouldn’t mind just taking a quick breathliser test ... standard procedure, you know yourself ...”
“Oh, sure, sure ...”
Now, in case you don’t know, they’ve recently made the alcohol tolerance level practically zero, so much so that a bloody chocolate champagne truffle would probably cause a breathaliser to explode and send you to jail for a night, so I’m left panicking that the actual rum fumes have somehow seeped into my pores and into my bloodstream and poisoned me ... oh I’m definitely going to be over the limit, despite not having touched a bleedin drop. Oh god, what if my mouthwash did it?!
“Now, just take a deep breath, and blow into this until it beeps ...”
Ah feck, I’ve brushed my teeth three times today ... that’s a triple dose of that demon mouthwash!
And hasn’t it been recently proven that poppyseeds on bagels count as opiates on drug tests?! What if that bagel with peanut butter I had for lunch shows up?!
And Pepsi has like a 0.5% of alcohol in it, DAMMIT I had a ...
“... you’re good to go.”
Oh, of course I am.
Sure I haven’t had a drop of the stuff.
Wasn’t worried in the sliiightest.
“As a matter of interest, where are you going with all that?” *Points to booooze*.
“I do promotions, we’re giving out free samples.”
Shakes his head and sends me on my merry way.
Soooo later at about half eleven/twelve, having made a hundred people very happy tonight (again ... I am not a prostitute, honest), I'm on my way to my friend's to reward myself for a night of
ridiculously easy hard work when I stumble upon ...
The SAME damn checkpoint, having moved to the opposite side of the road to catch potentially drunk eejits coming home from town.
I roll up, and – no seriously, I actually kid you not here – the SAME DAMN GUARD stops me.
For real? You have got to be joking me here.
He ambles over, grinning like a feckin eejit, and I grit my teeth and smile.
“So, where’s half of that lot gone? You haven’t drunk it have you?”
“No no, just doing my job, I’ve given half of it away as samples”.
“Right, right ... well, this is a mandatory breathalysing checkpoint, not just a standard checkpoint, so if you wouldn’t mind, I’m just going to ask you to take this test here, its standard procedure, and ... blah blah blah ... blah blah ...”
And the FUCKER actually breathalysed me AGAIN.
Honest to God. You couldn’t make this shit up. And he laughed and all.