Member-only story
Why I’m Glad I Got A DUI
Bombing down the Garden State Parkway in 1999, I wasn’t shitfaced, but I shouldn’t have been driving. My friend George was riding shotgun when I asked, “Wanna see how fast my car can go?” Before he could even register surprise on his face, I stomped on the accelerator.
The speedometer on my burgundy ’89 Mustang GT maxed out at 140 miles per hour. I had almost reached the limit when I saw a swarm of brake lights suddenly appear in front of me. When I pumped the brakes, my old muscle car shuddered like a Higgins boat on D-Day. In spite of the initial scare, I was able to wrestle my car down to a stop in time.
That’s how my teenage driving years were spent: Creating situations that could’ve ended terribly turning out just fine.
Not only did I get used to driving while under the influence, I developed a system for binge drinking and driving. If I was at a house party and had to go somewhere else, I would take shots and pound beers right before leaving. The idea was that it took your body 45 minutes to fully absorb alcohol, so if I drove for 20 minutes, the booze wouldn’t fully kick in before I arrived at my destination. I’d be fine. Needless to say, I wasn’t fine.
The night I got hit with a DUI, I was at a high school graduation party. I drank seven or eight beers, which is always too much for driving (and health in general) but…
