Cop: Where are you coming from tonight?
Me: A show at The Cherry Lane Theater.
Cop: What show?
Me: FUCT
Cop: Alright son, license and registration…
In June of 2008, I agreed to not perform in a FUCT run
because Nicole’s due date was imminent and we didn’t want it to interfere with
the birth of our first son.
Thursday, the 12th was the first night of the
performance. George Wendt was in the
audience. I got to serve him his first
beer at his first FUCT show. A very
pregnant Nicole was even in the audience with me. FUCT was great. I was about to have a baby. Norm was drinking a beer in my audience. Everything was awesome.
The following night was Friday, and the second night of the
show. I attended this performance
without Nicole, and afterwards, I went to Barrow’s Pub for our usual post-show
party. Around 2:30am, it was time to
call it a night. My brother, Michael was
with me and as we took off, southbound traffic on 7th Avenue was
moving surprisingly slow. Before too
long, it was obvious that the lanes were narrowing, and the side streets were
closed. Of course…a DWI stop.
I was drinking that night; a few beers at the show, and at
least one or two at the bar. I also
smoked some pot, and while I don’t specifically remember smoking, I don’t
specifically remember a time when I didn’t smoke pot after a FUCT show. Thankfully, when I left the bar I did NOT
take the final shot of Jack Daniels that was being toasted. The BAC limits in New York are extremely low,
so even though I wasn’t “drunk,” I don’t know if I could have passed a
breathalyzer test.
My attempt to answer the officer’s questions without
breathing in his face was even more difficult since he positioned his head
through my car window and directly in line with my nose and mouth.
Cop: Where are you coming from tonight?
(Great, I know the answer to this one…)
Me: A show at The Cherry Lane Theater.
Cop: What show?
(OMG…do I lie? Do I say
“FUCT,” and shock his nervous system with a name that sounds like one of the most
vulgar curses in the English language.
If I lie, what if he asks a follow up question? I’ll go with the truth and just explain that
it is not really a curse because it is spelled with a “T”…)
Me: FUCT
(I did it. The truth
will make you free…or…)
Cop: Alright son, license and registration…
(Noooooooooooooo…The officer was leaning through the window
and head is practically on my lap. There
was no way that he couldn’t smell the booze on my breath or the “bat and dugout”
that I so carefully tossed between the car seats. I’ve been figured out.)
My heart started racing as I felt the adrenal glands crank
into over-drive. My legs began to
involuntarily shake and the sweat from my brow was at the critical point of
beading and running down my cheek. I
turned towards my right pocket, take out my wallet, and open it. I pinch my NYS driver’s license by the corner,
and that’s when it happens…
Just as I’m sliding my driver’s license out of the wallet
flap, I hear:
Cop: “OK, son, move
along.”
Me: “Thank you Officer”
It was just after 3am on Friday night, and I narrowly
escaped spending the weekend in jail.
When I arrived home, I rolled into bed around 4am. I was wiped out. The mix of alcohol, THC and adrenaline was
still pumping through me, and before long, I passed out hard.
7am - Nicole woke me up…her water broke. (Two weeks early). “Are you sure you didn’t just pee the bed?” I
asked. Thinking back over certain times
of my life, this is one of the moments that make me wonder why she hasn’t left
me (yet).
Noon – Jackson was born.
If I was arrested the night before, Nicole would have dealt
with labor without me. I would have
missed my first son’s birth. Only on the
third day of his life would Jackson and I meet as he was brought home from the
hospital and me from lockup.
I continued to drink during 2008, but stopped cold turkey on
New Years, 2009. For 14 months, I
remained booze free. In May 2008, I
started again in the Dominican Republic while on vacation with Nicole and
Jackson. For over a year everything was
fine, but I decided again in 2011 to call it quits. After comparing my life, back-to-back with
sobriety and with drunkenness, I realized that my family and I are happier and
healthier when alcohol isn’t part of the equation.
Tomorrow is Jackson’s 5th birthday and it’s been
a fantastic and rewarding 5-year run.
That terrible birth-eve is also 5 years old. To this day, I don’t
know why the cop let me go. Maybe he was
just testing me to see if I would fumble for my ID. Maybe he was new and had self-doubt. Maybe, he had no sense of smell from a
childhood trauma. Nevertheless, I was
blessed/lucky to avoid the consequences of my stupidity. There were a few more “wake-up calls,” but eventually,
I woke up and called it quits. In a
month, on July 8, 2013, I will celebrate the 2-year mark, alcohol free, and
drunk only on fatherhood.
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