I have terrible vision.
My prescription is something like -6.00, -4.75, for you optometry nerds out there. Really, really bad. (I accidentally put my boyfriend's contacts in my eyes this morning and his eyes are even worse, if that's possible. I thought I'd awoken with supersight! I could see the details on the details of EVERYTHING.) I always need to wear contacts or glasses.
The weekend before I leave for college for the first time ever, I had gone downtown to have a proper send-off with my dear friends at our local hookah bar. In all these popular TV shows, they have folks hanging out at the local bar (which is always too loud and full of sloppy people in the real life) or the local coffee shop (also loud, replace sloppy with pretentious). Nope, the hookah bar was "our place." We would smoke a couple, dance the Cupid Shuffle every now and then to earn a free shisha (is dancing in exchange for goods kind of like prostitution? Damn.) and generally have an uproariously good time.
However, there were two things significant about this weekend. Maybe three.
1) Hometown College just went back into session. And HC kids are notorious (like, Playboy top list notorious) for knowing how to party. Or going over the top with the partying.
2) My family would return that evening, at midnight, from a two-week jaunt to Alaska. I missed them terrible and had painted a huge welcome home sign that hung in front of the house.
3) I was super emotionally strung out after my BFF getting into a vicious car accident (with who turned out to be her true love soulmate, and they met at said hookah bar) and getting "back together" with my *~*high school sweetheart*~* Vomit. Vomit. We decided to get back together for the whole week I had left in town. Soooo romantic. Not.
So I am super emotional, surrounded by raging college kids, when I realize the clock is fast approaching midnight. It is IMPERATIVE that I be home to greet my family, because we are supertight and I missed them terribly and... I don't know, I would have just felt like a shit daughter if I couldn't manage to greet them at the door after a two and a half week absence. Must run out the door and hop in my car. Must get home. NOW.
Have you ever tried to run after smoking for two hours straight?
Run, run, pant pant, wheeze, wheeze, oh God, I'm going to die, my lungs, unghhh... after sitting on the sidewalk for five minutes, regaining my breath, I hopped in my car.
And gunned it.
I was flying so fast, I almost breezed through the police checkpoint.
I slowed to the officer waving me over, and rolled down my window. It must have smelled like a cloud of smoke billowed out. The hookah smell definitely soaked into my clothes, hair, upholstery, ect. (Thank you, Bernie the Honda Accord, for being so forgiving.) Here I trembled, a very clearly almost freshman girl, reeking of smoke, speeding, and my first confrontation with the police.
Don't taze me, bro?
Officer: You were going pretty fast there, miss.
Me: Oh um, I don't know, there's a lot of hills on this road. (Wait, what the hell does that have to do with anything?)
Officer: Hmmm, yes. What were you doing downtown? (What is this, the Spanish Inquisition? It is now 11:55. I need to get home. Puppy-dog eyes: GO. Chin tremble: GO.)
Me: I was just saying goodbye to some friends before we all go to different colleges... forever. Please, officer, I just want to go home and see my family. Sniff, sniff, they've been on vacation for weeks and I really miss them.
Officer: Sure thing, just let me see your ID. Then you should go straight home. You shouldn't be downtown. (Rude. I can handle myself, thankyouverymuch)
He took my ID. And examined it. And flipped it over.
He continued to hold my ID and glare at me with an increasingly suspicious look.
Me: Is anything wrong? (I don't have a fake; it's not expired; Ireallyfreakingneedtogethome; shouldn't you be bothering other people for breathalyzer tests?)
Officer: Well it says on here that you need corrective lenses to drive.
Me: Yes... ?
Officer: Where are your lenses?
Me: I have contacts. They're in my eyes.
Officer: Are they? Are they REALLY?
There were drunk, STD-laden college kids careening around town in Hummers, and I was being harassed over a license restriction. Tax dollars at work, as they say. If I was going to lie about something, wouldn't it be the pervasive odor of smoke, or the reason I was downtown, or about being drunk/high/trafficking illegal immigrants or whatever else the kids do these days? Why would I LIE about contact lenses?
Me: I have them in my eyes so I can see.
Officer: Are you sure?
Okay, it was almost midnight and I was already walking on an emotional highwire. Tears started coming.
Me: YES. Yes I am wearing contacts. In my eyes. I can't see without them. If you want to ask me how many fingers you're holding up, I'll do it. PLEASE. I need to get home. I can... umm... I can take them out and show them to you! Here!
The second I touched my eye the officer recoiled in disgust.
He warily said that he believed me and handed my license back slowly. I rolled up the window and gunned it. Again. Surprisingly no one left their breathalyzer/contact-alyzer posts to chase after the girl careening 15 miles above the speed limit.
And after all that strife, my family was late getting in.