Too much McDonald's and Hand Sanitizer

As some of you know I have a phobia of cops. Not like a diagnosable phobia (although I am pretty sure I have those too, I just make sure I am never near those things – such as feet.) But this is a phobia where I am a law abiding citizen diligently checking that my parallel parked car is close enough to the curb and watching my speed and signaling and stopping at railroad crossings (this I would do anyway because it would be dumb to be run over by a train because you didn’t stop and check.) However, despite my law-abiding status I am sure that I will be arrested soon for something. Therefore every time I pass a police car my hands sweat and I usually have to narrowly avoid a collision because, instead of watching the road, I am watching if it is coming for me in the rear view mirror. It’s not just driving either. I can’t really even walk past them. I start gesturing wildly like I am telling a funny story and laughing a strange cackle of a laugh. It does seem to be working so far as I have yet to be arrested.

As we left our friends' house one evening, Amelia was in a talkative mood and we were discussing her poor taste in music.  It really is shocking. I had thought all the Five for Fighting and Bic Runga we played when she was a baby would have set her on the proper path to refined music taste. However, on most days we find we are in conflict over whether each song is having a negative impact on gender equality and exploitation of women and their bodies. Mostly they are.Anyway, we drove up to a road block where the police were checking for drunk drivers. So I was trying to change the look on my face from frightened bunny who just robbed a bank to cool hipster parent. (I wasn’t sure what this face looked like but I was trying.) I didn’t have anything to drink but I was sure that they were also checking for people who don’t wash their car enough and there is probably a new rule about this that I didn’t know about (yes, the car was dirty, it looks like a motel for spiders). Being that our daughter was in such a talkative mood, she asked about the process. So when we pulled up, in an I’m-so-relaxed voice, I counted to four out loud into a little device, like the kind officer asked. And then, as the little device blinked and beeped Al and I both used our very patronizing teachable-moment voice and said, "Watch Amelia, you'll see what it does.” And she did watch – it came up as a FAIL.

“Did you drink any alcohol tonight?” The officer said, still kind but with just enough hint of official to make me nearly pee my pants.‘No!’ I said in a slightly high pitched voice as Amelia made judgmental noises from the back seat. (Like ‘OOOOOOO. SHAME!’ These are actual quotes. I think she may have been trying to get me arrested for my comments about her music.) ‘Just so much McDonald's.’ I offered, first because I already felt a little guilty about eating the McDonald's and feeding it to my family. And I find it’s always best to admit your crimes up front. But also I was hoping there was some sort of fault with the device that made it so that if you eat too much McDonald's with your friends you sometimes get a false positive. Then he asked something I didn’t quite comprehend because, at that point, I was wondering if I was going to prison for eating McDonald's - only to be released when Amelia was twenty-three - because they finally worked out the flaw when prisons were being overrun by tired mothers who were bringing home McDonald's for dinner. I sensed movement beside me and then Al drapes himself over my lap and proceeds to hold the hand sanitizer out Vanna White style. Something the officer said had triggered Al’s memory about some copious use of hand cleaner. (He was so excited – he really wishes he was a cop or at least be a consultant - so much smiling and leaning over my lap to be helpful.) I expected the man to say, “Oh well of course you have used so much hand sanitizer that you set off our detection thingy (yeah, he would have said “thingy”). Instead I was directed out of the long line of traffic to the side of the road for secondary testing – where every person in the cars behind us nearly injured their necks watching our shame. (The shame of so much McDonald's - because I really had not had anything to drink besides a cup of coke that tasted like it had been sitting out on the counter all day. I did, however, feel shame about that.)

All I had to do was blow in this little straw but I couldn’t breathe already because I thought I was going to be executed soon. And I kept asking all these questions about how to do it. But I couldn’t really understand him because his words got lost in the flashing blue and red lights. So I didn’t suck in a big enough breath and thus ended up looking like I had no lung capacity - which then made me panic more because I was sure looking like you have decreased lung function also means you look drunk. I managed to force the last molecules of air from my lower lobes with a grunt. 
I passed the secondary test and drove on with my giddy husband and my judgmental daughter. I drove very slow all the way home.