The test

We had to write about any sort of test for our writers craft class, I chose breathalyser.

 

           At 5 o’clock he was finally set free from the grasp of the office. The tie around Tim’s neck was tight, but loosening it never felt so good. He took his keys from the pocket of his jacket and walked briskly towards his black Honda. Tim was ready to escape and immerse himself in several drinks. Tim was ready to forget the day, forget the past, and probably forget the future of the night ahead come morning. But he didn't care, as there was nothing to worry about in the pointless life he leads...except indulging in what he craves.

            He arrived downtown by 5:30 and parked in the lot behind the bar. The horn honked as he locked the car when he walked away, his dark hair blowing in the cool October wind. Opening the big wooden door was like opening a portal which guides him to all that he lusts for; all that he needs to survive in this lifetime. The familiar scent of whiskey and beer floated beneath his nose, tempting and teasing him. His family of drunks and sinners sat at the bar already, many came at opening time and left when the doors finally locked and the booze stopped flowing. Tim hadn’t reached that low quite yet, but he felt the hopeless alcoholic beneath his skin trying desperately to emerge and reveal itself. Rita, the bartender, came up to Tim with a smile on her lips and his legs tightened, holding him to the bar stool firmly.

“So are you feeling rye and coke on the rocks tonight, Tim, because I’m just never sure with you?” She flirted shamelessly and the drunks stared with jealousy in their eyes. Tim beamed at her and slid off his jacket, feeling the tension of the day in his shoulders strain.

“I think tonight I’ll start with somethin’ classy. Martini dry, please.” His dark eyes flickered in the dim light of the slum where they sat. Slow music played quietly and Tim watched Rita carefully make his drink of choice. The way she shook her long blonde hair made it obvious she wanted attention, which is not hard to get in a place like this, filled with scumbags and raging alcoholics. She put an olive in her mouth, and then proceeded to put an olive in his martini. Yet another brazen attempt to perhaps take him home tonight. As she set the drink down gently in front of him, her blue eyes sparkled but he knew his usual plan couldn’t include her. It never did, it never will. You’d think the poor girl would learn.

“I’ll start you a tab,” she said slyly, and turned to get another round of beers for group of loud men who sat in the corner, ranting and raving about the latest football game.

            The martini disappeared in a matter of minutes and soon it was rye, white rum, and vodka in different mixtures. The alcohol that should feel strong and burn his nostrils slid down his throat like water. After 15 years…it gets easier.

            A dizzy swirl came over him after his tenth drink. A feeling of ecstasy moved over his body like a warm, comforting wave. By the time 9 o’clock came around he was better than ever. The memories from that morning drifted further and further away. Bob’s complaint of Tim’s hair getting too long to be suitable for the office was distant now. He couldn’t even remember what exactly was said. Tim was worn, tired, and almost about ready to head home.

            “Hey big boy, you’re looking out of it,” Rita startled him but the drunkenness kept him from leaping up from the barstool. The panic didn’t register quickly enough.

 “I’m fine,” he insisted. “In fact, I could really use another.” Tim grinned crookedly at the bartender who knew she could use the extra tips the drunk would give her. Sure, Tim was a regular, but money is money, and Rita’s gotta pay the rent. She poured another rye and coke, just one of the many kinds of mixtures he had requested and downed rather rapidly in the last few hours.

The room began to shake and spin through Tim’s glossy eyes. He held his head in his hands and groaned miserably, feeling the stares of the others who surrounded him.

At 10 o’clock the urge to get home was overwhelming. He threw more money than he need to on the counter and pulled himself away from the stool. Putting on his jacket was somewhat of a struggle, but he managed to fit it over his broad shoulders. Swaying and stumbling, he made his way to the exit.

“Hey Tim, you’re not driving, right?” Rita called after him, a worried tone in her voice. He blinked several times and without turning around he replied, “No, Rita, I’m not drivin’ tonight. I’ll hail a cab…”

The ground was trembling beneath his feet and as he stepped outside, the cold air perked him up ever so slightly. After turning the corner towards his car in the parking lot,  he reached into his jacket pocket and he felt the keys between his sweaty fingers. Once he got behind the wheel he felt more secure than words could ever describe. The engine roared to life with the turn of the key and he drove swiftly out of the lot, turning onto the main road that would lead him home.

Although he felt steady, the car swerved dangerously around the road, narrowly missing oncoming traffic that honked and cursed as he kept driving. Within moments he saw the flashing lights in the rear-view mirror, and although he felt the need to get away, the fear in his stomach made him pull to the side of the road. The officer got out of his cruiser and walked up to the car door which Tim sat behind. A drop of sweat made its way down his forehead as he rolled down the window cautiously and tried desperately to act sober.

“Good evening officer,” He mumbled, sounding more terrified than shitfaced.

“Hello, sir, have you had anything to drink tonight?” The officer leaned over to look him in the eye, breathing in through his nose quite heavily, attempting to smell the stink of booze that was probably wafting throughout the vehicle.

“Yes sir, I’ve had a couple. No more than I can handle,” Tim lied through his teeth.

“Step out of the vehicle,” the officer demanded, and Tim complied. His knees shook and his body was hardly holding on, the grip on the ground was slipping away. The officer led him back to the police cruiser where he knew what would soon happen; a breathalyser test. Okay, he was drunk, but an alcoholic can hold himself well and keep his composure. He cannot, however, fool that damned breathalyser. He breathed hard into the tube, already smelling what a night in jail would be like.

            “Sir, you just blew 0.203 and the legal limit is 0.08. I’m afraid you’ll have to come with me,” The officer looked displeased. Tim always worried about failing, but this kind of failure had never crossed his mind. Tim was ashamed as people drove by watching him get handcuffed and put in the backseat like any other criminal. His Honda was left on the side of the road, and for the first time in Tim’s life, he was being taken to jail. He closed his eyes in the backseat and felt the world whizzing by. He didn’t worry about explanations, and he didn’t worry about work the next day. He only hoped to God he would have a chance to forget this incident by drowning his sorrows the following evening.