Part Two -- My DUI Arrest
Printed Anonymously by Jonko.com
View page one of this article

EDITOR'S NOTE: Unlike most articles that appear here on the pages of Jonko.com, this piece doesn't involve auto repair. Quite simply, it is a firsthand account of a DUI arrest and subsequent "punishments" meted out by the State of California. Our contributor asked that his name be withheld, and we have obliged. Nevertheless, this story is an accurate account of why you should do everything in your power to avoid getting behind the wheel when you've had a few to drink.

We departed the reception and headed down to our car. The road away from the reception was a long and windy trail leaving a clubhouse at a golfcourse. We made it back out to the freeway and proceeded to our hotel.

The drive was uneventful and we found our way to our exit.

We pulled down the ramp and stopped at the light to turn onto the road to the hotel. At the light I glanced in my rearview. A cruiser immediately behind me had his lights on.

"Oh shit... I think we're getting pulled over..."

"No we're not," said my fiancee. "You didn't do anything, he's probably going somewhere off the ramp."

"No baby, I don't know... if we get pulled over... I'm sure he'll smell alcohol..."

"No don't worry we're fine. Just relax."

"I can't relax... I so don't need a DUI... he has to be going somewhere else... "

The light changed and we made a left onto the street hoping the cruiser would whip out from behind us and pursue another target. No such luck. I pulled to the right and shut off the vehicle. My fiancee scrambled for Altoids and handed me three. She then became so nervous and sick that she vomited into a small bag that she found on the floor of the car.

The officer arrived at the window and asked for my license and proof of insurance. I handed him my license and we searched for the insurance. He asked if I had been drinking. I indicated that I had come from a wedding reception and had a few glasses of wine.

My fiancee kept searching for the proof of insurance. Not in the glovebox. No where in the console. We checked both roughly 10 times while the officer took my license back to the car and radioed in a variety of information.

He came back to the window and I asked the situation, pleading that he allow us to drive the few hundred yard down the street to our hotel. Please.

It was our first vacation in nearly 2 years and I had spent money on a suite that would have a bottle of champagne, crackers, and fruit for us in the room when we arrived back. Please just see fit to let us drive there. We could see the hotel for Christsakes...

The officer informed me that he had called the CHP and that they would be sending out officers to administer, "a few tests... if you do well you can go home..."

Fine then... I'll do well and this will be over.

I am ungodly nervous, shaking, worried that I am a few hundred miles from anyone or anything I know save my fiancee and I might get arrested here. Please God let me pass these tests.

My fiancee is trying to reassure me, "You'll be fine... you didn't drink that much. Just calm down and you'll do fine."

I cannot control my anxiety. I am nervous, I cannot stop thinking that I am going to be arrested. I cannot stop thinking about how this is going to cost a fortune. My God this sucks.

The CHP officers arrive after what seems like an eternity. They come to the window and ask me if I have been drinking. I respond in the afirmative and let them know that I had a few glasses of wine at a wedding reception. I am asked to step from the car to take some tests.

I walk to the sidewalk at the rear of the vehicle. I am told to watch a pen that the officer moves in front of my eyes for a few seconds. After this task is complete, I am ordered to stand on one foot, count to 30 by thousands, and not to hop or bounce. I hop once at 24, recover and count the rest. Next I am told to close my eyes, place my feet together, lean backwards and count to 30 silently. I should open my eyes and tell the officer when 30 seconds have passed. I do so and he notes it has only been 27 seconds. I am now given a "hand chop test." I am instructed to place one hand flat on the other and count 1. I am then told to flip it completely and count 2. I should repeat this over and over and continue to accelerate the pace.

After these four "tests" we're completed, the officer asked me to take a breathalyzer.

Oh man... I know I did well on the tests, but I have no idea if I can pass a breath. Christ.

"Do I have to?... Didn't I just do well enough that you could let me drive the few hundred yards to my hotel... Sir you can see it from here... please....?"

"You need to take the breath test or you will be arrested and have your license suspended for a year."

I proceeed to take the test. Thinking, I believe I can breathe air through my nose and out through my mouth to fool the test. I ignore the officers command to blow deep from my lungs assuming my method will insure a lower reading. I blow .14. The legal limit in CA is .08. The have me blow again with the same result.

They now test my fiancee to see if she can drive the car to the hotel. She blows .12. No dice. The car will be towed.

I am asked to put my hands on my head. I comply. A steel cuff is clasped around my wrist.

"You are being arrested for driving under the influence of alcohol. Do you understand?"

"Yes... can you please take my fiancee back to the hotel? Can someone get her home please?"

She's now crying. I hear her pleading with another officer. Telling him that I never do anything wrong. That he can't arrest me because I am too good a person for this to happen to. That I never drink and drive and that we're the ones who always make our friends get a cab with us to the bars.

I am placed in the back of a cruiser and a truck arrives to tow our car.

We leave before I can talk to my fiancee again and I am drive off to do the "real breath test," as the device on the scene is not considered accurate. We have to head to a station in Salinas (20 minutes away) to do the test.

Eventually, we go to three stations before I can be tested. Each location is out of mouthpieces for the device so I spend nearly an hour and a half in the rear of a cruise driving throughout the Monterey area.

We finally find a station with mouthpieces and the officer prepares the machine. I am again told to blow hard from my lungs until he says stop. Again I ignore this command and attempt my method. I blow a .13, a .14, and a .14. After two identical consecutive readings the officer fills out some additional information, and we head to "booking."

I'm again in the back of the cruiser on the way to the Monterey County Jail. We arrive and I am lead inside through a steel door at the rear of the building. Inside, the clock walls are painted in a pale putrid yellow and the building is perhaps the coldest and most unfriendly I have ever entered. At the nooking area a gaggle of officers asks questions relating to what I'm in for. They joke amongst themselves about issues I know nothing about.

After a few minutes, a booking officer the briefly interrogates me. I am asked a battery of health questions, I have to remove my shoes and socks. I show the officer my only tattoo. I empty my pockets (of nothing), I gave my fiancee my cellphone and wallet before the officers tested me.

After the officer complete his questions I am passed off to another who takes me for prints. And the another for my worldy "mugshot."

And then the real joy begins. A night in jail while my fiancee cries in our vacation hotel suite.

Continue to page three -- Jail and Release