Conjunction Junction

I grew up in the ’70s and ’80s. Back then, there was a show between Saturday morning cartoons called Schoolhouse Rock. These short educational spots took the place of some commercials. I’m guessing it counted as what was then FCC mandated “public service programming” which has since gone away. Anyway, the most popular of these was called Conjunction Junction.

Remember conjunctions? And, but, or?

Now that I’ve stuck the song in the heads of all Women of a Certain Age, I’m switching gears. But this column is about conjunctions —  a part of sentence structure. Remember that. There will be a quiz later.

So those who know me in real life, or on Facialbook, or who read my blog, are aware that my life radically changed in early August.

Early in the morning of August 5, I was arrested for DUI.

Drinking AND driving.

Some of you have had their lives changed by DUI. Some have lost loved ones, as have I. During my paramedic days, I held a friend whose car was crushed by a drunk driver as he cried, gasped his last words, and breathed his last. “Don’t let me…”

So I should know better, right? Exactly.

I was on my way home from Laptop Lounge. I had changed, showered and thought I was fine to go home. I was pulled over at 1:30 a.m.

I had seven drinks in seven hours, dinner, and eight glasses of water. Add to that, my German/Scots/Irish genetics, which have never failed me in the past.

I did all the tests the officer asked, and was completely respectful. “Yes, sir.” “No, sir.” He checked me with the breathalyzer. Then he asked me to turn around and told me I was being arrested, then cuffed me.

I sat in the back of his car as he and a second officer searched mine. I told him he’d find my Sophie stuff. He didn’t blink. Very professional.

From there, we went to the hospital for a blood test which I agreed to do. (If you refuse in Pennsylvania it’s an automatic one year license suspension.) Then I was taken to the police station for fingerprints and mug shots. While there, the officer said that I was the most cooperative and respectful person he’d picked up ever. He said he’d recommend me for ARD. He never told me the result of the breathalyzer.

After all that, he took me home. I called my wife from the hospital so she was up waiting for me. She signed for me at 3:30 a.m. She was not happy.

I mentioned ARD (pdf). In Pa. you have an option, as a first time offender, to plead guilty and apply for ARD. It’s a rehabilitative program. Not everyone who applies gets in. The police officer has to recommend you. If you’re an ass to the officer, they won’t do it. I’m glad I gave the officer his due respect!

So, I retained an attorney recommended by friend Jone, and waited.

On October 27, I had my preliminary hearing, where I pled guilty and applied for ARD. I submitted two notarized copies of the application as required. The officer arrived late. He had my blood alcohol paperwork. I had a .106 level. That’s “Tier 2” which means a thirty day suspension. Among everything else.

From there, I had to get an Alcohol Evaluation. That was a day off work and a long series of questions. They determined I needed further evaluation, which meant a court approved psychologist. More questions, far more detailed. She said I needed to attend eight Alcohol Awareness classes, each an hour long.

I also had to attend an Alcohol Highway Safety School, which was two days of eight hours each. Two more days off work.

Did I learn anything? Yes, lots. Some I already knew, like coffee doesn’t sober you up — it makes you a wired drunk. Only time sobers you. Also that at any given time, 1 in 6 people on the road are drunk. On a given weekend night, that’s 1 in 3. Think of that next time you’re out. Look at the cars around you. One of them could kill you.

On November 27th, I had my second hearing, where I was formally admitted to the ARD program. I had to pay all my fines and costs, and meet with a parole officer. I stood in front of the judge and pleaded guilty to a crime. I turned in my driver’s license. I’ll see it again in a month.

Now begins the Winter of my discontent.

In the safety class, we calculated how much this whole thing is costing each of us. My estimate was $4,104.50, which ended up a little low. And that’s with a great deal from my lawyer! And not counting time lost from work. Then were the last two boxes on that sheet: “Number of Drinks” and “Cost per drink.”

For me, my cost for each of my seven drinks that night came to $586.36. Each.

No, repeat No drink was worth $586.36.

Why am I telling you all of this?

I’ll be blunt.

This entire process sucks MAJOR league. Big style.

I’m pissing away $4,000 and for what? Nothing. Zero. That’s a lot of money. And thank God I hadn’t hurt anyone – I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I had.

If I get caught again, it’s 60-90 days in jail, $15,000 fine, loss of license for two years, and a breathalyzer installed in my car, which costs $1,700 to install. $15K is more than the best breast implants. And I want those far more than I want a drink!

I’m taking my punishment. I did what I am accused of many times, and was caught. It was just a matter of time. The average drunk driver has driven drunk 380 times before their first arrest.

Sounds about right.

I was lucky. A drunken driving death occurs approximately every ten minutes in the US. I never crashed. No one was ever hurt.

Here’s my point — We in the Trans community are serious drinkers. At every conference I attend, the bar is where all the action is, and that isn’t because we all love pub food. Alcohol masks pain, and we are Creatures of Pain. We live with it most of our lives, until (and often after) we transition as well.

And sometimes we pay the price. I am. Can you imagine if one of us (non-full time) is caught while en femme? Especially in a place where we aren’t exactly tolerated? Which are most places.

Consequences.

I can’t drive for the next thirty days. I will miss the last two Laptop Lounges at Blue Pacific, and I love that place. In a time of year when I really could use some time with my Sisters to help me fly . . .

. . . my wings are clipped.

And I did it to myself.

I’m writing this so you can Learn from MY pain.

I’m living it, and as I said, it sucks. Learn from my mistake. It’s a simple matter of a conjunction.

Remember conjunctions?

This column is about conjunctions.

Instead of Drinking AND driving, make it Drinking OR Driving. That simple. One or the other. No BUTs about it.

I’m not saying don’t drink. Far from it. Enjoy! Just don’t drive. I’ll be at the bar at the Keystone Conference, making an ass of myself as always, because I won’t be driving.

You won’t see me out this month. So as I won’t be there to say this in person: have a Merry Christmas, Happy Hanukkah, Happy Kwanza, or whichever version you celebrate. The key here is that I wish you Health, Safety, and Happiness.

Tags: alcohol, DUI, featured

Category: Transgender Body & Soul, Transgender Opinion