Week 7: The People V. My Future

 It was the third week of senior year and we already had a ritual down for Friday night home football games; as soon as the dismissal bell rings at 1:58 p.m., we were all to meet at the back doors near the senior parking lot, where the six of us would laugh our way to Emma’s brand new Jeep Wrangler, where even Emma would joke with us about how she did not deserve that car for all the punishable shit we’ve done over the years, proceeding to then illegally shove 7 of us girls into her car so we could drive around the corner to Alicia’s house.

Alicia’s parents were always at work until at least 6:00 p.m. every night, and her parents were also in the middle of a really bad divorce. This meant that they did not give one single flying shit about what we were doing, where we were going, who was over, nada.

Once arriving at Alicia’s house, we would all get ready; two girls would occupy a bathroom on all three floors of Alicia’s house, where music was blasted and jokes were screamed, and I always had as much fun as I could ever imagine to be possible as a 17 year old girl.

We all began to sip “Straw Ber Rita’s” as we got ready for this game, also part of the Friday home game ritual. In that moment, we danced around while we each drank out of our individual cans in Alicia’s kitchen. Yes we were underage, but we did not care.

While drinking before a football game was more of a common behavior to engage in for a senior at my high school than turning in their homework, I of course was caught that night. We left Alicia’s house, and walked back to school for the game.

Contrary to popular belief, we were not complete idiots our senior year. Throughout our high school career we learned that you can only show up to these “after school functions” tipsy. We knew that we should not show up to a high school football game “hammered”. This is why we only drank a Straw ber Rita before the game. This is also why we would sneak a water bottle full of liquor into the games.

It was my turn this particular Friday to smuggle in the vodka filled water bottle. This was an important job, because well, you cant buy alcohol at a high school football game! And it was senior year, so we prioritized the student section atmosphere more than we prioritized watching actual high school football. I shoved the flattened water bottle down my leggings, at the side of my hip.

“Perfect”, I thought, “My flannel shirt completely hides the water bottle full of liquor that is shoved down my pants. I’m a genius.”

For obvious reasons, we walked up to the gate of the football field fashionably late by 30 minutes. We bought our tickets at the glass window and entered the stadium. As soon as we walked in, we made a pitstop to the right of the entrance gate. On the other side we could see a group of our guy friends standing outside of the gate in togas. It was the funniest thing I’d ever seen. I could not make this up, as these boys really showed up to this game in only a bed sheet and sandals. We went over to talk to them, where they explained that they were kicked out of the game because of their attire.

“Wow”, I said, “The administration is being really strict if they are going to kick you guys out for that! Especially when more than half of the student section is under the influence of some substance!”

I spoke too soon. I felt a sturdy grip on my left shoulder. I turned my head and saw the school resource officer.

“God Dammit”, I thought to myself.

“Can I please talk to you for a minute” the school resource officer said.

I braced myself. This was the end. My 17 year old life flashed before my eyes. We walked behind the concession stands. The school resource officer confirmed my deepest fear, as he asked me if I had been drinking.

“Nope” I said. Lie. 

He proceeded to conduct a sobriety test, blinding me with his Paul Blart flashlight. Waving his finger in my face. I kept as calm as I possibly could in that moment, telling myself that I nailed the tests, and the only option he would have after this was to let me go back and enjoy the night with my friends.

To my detriment, this school resource officer was a lot smarter than he looked. He was consciously aware of what high schoolers did before these games. I guess it makes sense now because he did somehow land a job as a “school resource officer”.

He then asked me to blow into a breathalyzer since I claimed I had not been drinking. Fight or flight mode kicked in, and I thought back to the old myth I’d been constantly reminded of by other high schoolers at times in which we were consuming alcohol. The myth went something like, “If you ever get caught drinking and a cop asks you to take a breathalyzer, you can legally say “no” and you can’t get in trouble for it”. As I look back now at 21, I wish I could correct this urban high school legend, making sure to add that you can still be arrested for not complying with the officer’s orders, even if you don’t blow (although you can’t be charged with an MIP!!).

“Nope, I know I legally don’t have to blow.” I said to him condescendingly. I was such a smart ass.

Next thing I know I was walked into the side of the school, where I was shoved in the athletic director's office to be interrogated. Both the school resource officer, and the vice principal were questioning me, good cop-bad cop style. “Who did you come here with?” “Who else was drinking?” “You need to blow into this breathalyzer.” “We know you were drinking.”

I wanted to cry. Mostly because my life felt like it was over. I was always so good at talking my way out of things but I could just tell this was not going to be one of those times. They both left the room to talk, and I sat alone in the office, waiting. I knew I had to give myself up, because they were not going to let me out of that room as a free man. I mentally prepared for my life to hit turbulence and sank deeper into my seat.

Son of a bitch. As I leaned back in the chair I was sitting in, I heard the crunch of a water bottle. I need to dispose of the evidence. I was going to get in a lot more trouble with this on me. I pulled the water bottle out of the side of my pants and ditched it in the garbage can that was in front of me.

They eventually returned, I gave myself up, and was released from the improvised interrogation room. I still had yet to blow into a breathalyzer. For some reason, I was walked back outside towards the football stands. I was inevitably arrested for an MIP in front of my entire high school, handcuffs and all, as they all watched me below from the football stands. (To this day, I am almost positive that both the school resource officer and administrator involved did not remember what it was like to be teenager in high school, with other teenagers, who talked about this event until we graduated in May!!)

I was humiliated. They told me I have to ride in the police car to the station even though the police station is directly next to my high school!

“What a sham!” I thought. “I can’t believe I’m the one in this police car when half of the kids in my graduating class are still in the stands on hard drugs!”

I remember texting my friends in the police car, still handcuffed. Picturing myself doing this now makes me laugh. I somehow maneuvered my hands from behind my back and typed full speed until my short ride to the police station was over.

Upon initial arrival to the police station, I finally took a breathalyzer test because I thought that I had nothing else to lose. “0.05” it read.

“You’ve got to be shitting me”, I said aloud. The officer who was booking me giggled. I started to laugh too. I never thought I would laugh again 10 minutes ago, and look at me now.

“I’ve definitely seen a lot worse” he exclaimed. Obviously.

I had to stay at the police station until I could blow a 0.00, where my parents could then pick me up. I sat in the cell crying over my unknown fate. This was the worst thing that has ever happened to me I thought at the time. My time spent in this cell was the first time all night where I really was able to think about how an MIP would affect my future. This made me cry harder. I wanted to go to law school. I wanted to go to college. I thought that was all over.

 I was suspended from school for two weeks, charged with a misdemeanor that was only expunged from my record once I completed the legal requisites, and I was exposed to the criminal justice system as I was required to complete 12 months of probation.

 ****

It is now five years later, and I struggle to put into words how grateful I am for this experience. While this time proved to weigh heavily on me as a 17 year old who was about to graduate, this experience has ultimately shaped me into the person I am today.  I initially began to find the comical components of this experience while I tried to cope with the effects it had on my life then. It was emotionally and financially draining, but worth it. If this had never happened, I would never have become as passionate about my desire to follow my chosen career path. This event that I believed to have been so traumatic in my teenage years, ultimately allowed for me to have a first hand experience of how the criminal justice system affects the lives of those convicted. I was required to do community service under the terms of my probation, where I had the chance to meet many people who were also affected by the criminal justice system. Talking to these people had inspired me to become passionate about my intended career path as a criminal lawyer. This experience allowed me to recognize the privilege attributed to my social demographics in relation to my legal consequences, and I was able to recognize how the criminal justice system disproportionately affects those of a lower socio-economic status and minority groups.