The Drug Test...

The voyage out of the pit may begin with a good shower, but to change the trajectory of my life, much testing would be required....

I managed to find another "temp" job at a printing company that paid $3.50 an hour. I was committed to do whatever it would take to make ends meet. I was done with mustard sandwiches, dirty clothes, and deteriorating conditions. My DUI had put me on probation again and cost me my license and every penny I would make for the next several months. I needed progress.

The work environment was silent rows of production lines, mindlessly packing boxes of paper under the watchful eyes of floor managers seeking to meet quota. Occasionally someone would not show up and the word would be literally, "suicide." The only communication I heard was the latest gossip going around and the venting of overworked, hungry and disgruntled souls. This place would be my home for the next 4 and a half years.

After temping six months, managing to get a GED and having no record of rebellion, tardiness, or days of absence, I was approached by the chief floor manager, Russell. Old timers at work referred to him as, "Russell, the one-eyed muscle." He had never spoken a word to me. I thought for sure I was being dismissed. He hands me an employment folder and says to me, "Be sure you fill out all the paper work and bring it in after your drug test on Wednesday." I was stunned. Like the last scene in "the Pursuit of Happiness," when Chris Gardner got the job at Dean Witter, a tear wanted to make it's way out at the celebration of crossing a mile stone.

Yet, I took a step back when I recalled the word "Wednesday." That was in less than two days. I ran over to a veteran old timer and asked, "how long does it take for drugs to be out of your system?" He said, "Dunno... maybe a week?"

I was toast. I had counted at least three different drugs in my system from the last couples days. I did not have the time. Would I have to start all over? I had been making progress.

I ran home to my new, somewhat clean apartment and asked my roommate Bob for the answer. Bob was like the Godfather of the "cool" party world and would have the answer to every question. It didn't matter that he didn't have a college education and used brain tissue mostly carrying multi-layers of bong resin. Bob was feared by all, all-knowing, and was my best friend at the time.

"How do I beat this test?," I asked. Bob, in his epic cool voice and cigarette in hand said, "Simple... Just start drinking water now and don't stop til' you get into the office. By that time, all you have to pee is water. You will pass!" So I followed the wisdom of my chief advisor and started drinking water by the heap fulls. The morning of my test had arrived. I had already peed twice and felt pretty comfortable bouncing over in my Chevy Chevette, though I had no legal tags, registration, insurance, or license. I was going to pass this test. In the waiting room I continued to stand by the drinking fountain loading up. I had to go again, but thought, "I better save this one for test time."

Sure enough, they called my name. I headed into the small room, was handed a nighty and told to change into it and wait for the nurse. I changed and waited. The urge to go had mounted astronomically. Beads of sweat began to dampen my face. I was still waiting and no one was coming! I entered into a small panic as I started to pace the floor back and forth like a catatonic Schizophrenic. I was even dancing in the hope to turn back the tide. It wasn't working. "Should I just pee in the sink next to me?," I wondered. "No. This was the pee that would save me. I must hold on!" And that is literally what I did. I looked like my 6 year old son, Ben, with both hands latched on for dear life.

At that moment, two female nurses walked in holding a pee cup, ready to lead me through the process. They looked startled as they saw my desperate, helpless, beat red face dripping with perspiration. "Can I just take it now!," I humbly demanded. "Umm..okay, sure, that would be okay," the head nurse said next to the trainee obviously caught in a first time senerio. She held out the cup, which would mean one thing...I would have to let go.

I don't know why I thought it would work. Did I think the two gallons of pee pressing at full force would just cooperate and go back to the blatter until I made it to the restroom? Not a chance. I let go to grab the cup and instantaneously in super sonic force, like one of those giant super soaker squirt guns, a line of pee shot through the nighty like it wasn't even there. The two nurses acted quickly both dodging the bullet by flying in different directions as it hit the wall between them. I ran down the hallway to the restroom leaving a trail behind. From the distance I heard the shout, "On the left." Then another crackling voice trying to contain the laughter saying, "I have never seen that before."



Somehow I made it out of there without officially dying of humiliation. I managed to have a few drops of pee left for the cup that custodian workers would not have to clean up. Sure enough, like Bob said, I passed. But the road for progress would still demand more tests before my soul would know joy.