Shall We (Atten)Dance?

Since it's my last semester, and I've been growing increasingly weary of grad school, I've been cutting my students a lot of slack. There have been more "A"s this semester than ever. I don't cut corners on teaching them, but I've bent the rules here and there to make life easier for everyone involved.

Unless you ask my new favorite student. Let's call her "PIMA," short for Pain In My Ass.

Students get three excused absences over the course of a semester. In other words, any student gets to miss class three times for whatever reason. After that, the student's grade will drop. If the unfortunate little snowflake reaches six absences, he or she is supposed to immediately fail the course.

Pima missed eight classes. According to the course policy, I should have failed her; however, she's turned in all of her work, and she got As or B+s on all of her papers. Typically, if a student is keeping up with the work, I try not to fail the poor bastard. Instead, that person will fail the attendance grade (10%), which results in a final grade drop of one letter grade. In this case, I gave Pima a B-.

Pima took exception to this grade, and she confronted me after class. She thought the grade unfair since she finished all the work. "I clearly didn't need to come to class if I did well on the papers anyway."

Now I've posted about my problems with the attendance grade, but I wasn't about to get into a pedagogical discussion with Pima. My syllabus has an attendance grade, so all students have to deal with that. I explained the reasons for attendance, some of which I completely disagreed with, but I wasn't about to let Pima know that. Pima was obviously displeased, but she seemed to accept my decision and her lower grade and left. I thought that would be the end of it.

I was sorely mistaken.

I get an email later that day:

What are the days that I have missed? I plan on getting doctors notes for the first three absences that I have missed.

This is such a common student misconception that it almost needs to be announced to every class daily. She's trying to convince me that her absences when she was sick shouldn't count. What do students think those three free absences are for? Do they think that emergencies don't count and those three absences are for going to the beach? I actually believe students understand the concept, but they intentionally play dumb in an attempt to get sympathy.

My reply:

How do you not get this? Even if I count those first three absences as one (which I have no problem doing - I believe you when you say you were sick then), that's still six absences.

I recall a conversation that we had at midterm after you'd accumulated five absences. I told you that I'd cut you some slack as long as you didn't miss any more classes. You assured me that you would not. Half a semester and three absences later, I can't possibly see how you expect to get an "A" here.

Both the syllabus and the policies page in the Work in Progress clearly state that six absences should result in immediate failure of the course. By not failing you, I've already given you benefits that are unfair to other students, but you're not getting an "A" when you've
clearly not met the requirements for it. In the real world, you don't get to show up two hours late every day, slap the boss in the face, and expect to keep your job just because you do good work. Following the rules of the course is just as important as doing the work.

Admittedly, I was a bit annoyed, and thus a tad snarky. Still, I was right, and as with everything I do, that was the important part. Pima didn't agree:

i asked you a simple question because i needed an answer to it. It didn't require a sarcastic response to how i "don't get this yet?" I'm sorry, but i thought that a teacher was someone who you could come to when you had questions concerning the class. Next time i wont look to my teacher because honestly now I'm shocked and scared thinking that one of my teachers could handle a situation like that with their student. Im sorry that i am concerned with my grade.
Anyways, i have doctors notes for four of my absences, which means that now i will have 4
absences all together. What does this mean for my grade?

I know some of you may be thinking, "That JP is such an asshole. He scared a poor defenseless student." Bullshit. She's now trying to play the victim here, hoping that I'll cave because I feel bad. While I have a very friendly persona in class, she clearly doesn't understand my personal apathy when it comes to the suffering of others. Nevertheless, her emails were growing tiresome, so I tried to be professional with the following reply:

I don't mind that you're concerned about your grade. What I'm trying to explain is that you can't change your attendance grade even with the doctors excuses. The three free absences referred to on the syllabus are supposed to use for instances like that. I refer you to page xxi in the Work in Progress:

"Personal situations and required university events may arise that, on a rare occasion, make it impossible for you to be in class. Remember, however, that's why a few absences are allowed; please reserve absences for emergencies."

This was discussed multiple times in class. All absences count. Those three excused absences are supposed to cover things like illness, funerals, university-sponsored events, etc. That's why they're there.

I try to accommodate every student's needs, but I've already stretched my flexibility regarding your attendance to the limit. I have to consider what's fair to the other 39 students that I teach. If I give you an "A," it cheapens everything that grade stands for.

Please understand that this is not a personal vendetta, but I will implement my course policies and the policies of the English department. If you would like further explanation, please don't hesitate to stop by office on Friday, and we can talk about it more.

At this stage of the game, I'm not happy. This girl should have failed the course... period. But I was being generous by giving her a B-, and she has the gall to throw my generosity back in my face. It's incidents like this that help me understand why so many teachers have a surly disposition.

I thought for sure, though, that this reply would finally solve the problem. I was mistaken. The following email arrived the next day:

Wasn't there papers due on 2/4, and 4/4? Because i didn't hand those in late. I wouldn't have
missed any classes where assignments were due.

This may seem tame to the average reader, but it demonstrates another shift in her tactics. First she questioned the value of an attendance grade, then she questioned which absences were valid, and now she's sure that I marked her absent when she was actually there. I actually shouted out loud at this point. The phrase "pissing me off" doesn't even begin to cover it. I gave a quick reply explaining that I had no evidence to indicate that she had been there on those days. I told her that her papers wouldn't have been penalized for being late because I'm usually very lenient with the late policy.

Her reply:
its fair to not penalize on late papers? but in the syllabus it says that "You are expected to hand in your complete assignments on time. All work must be typed. Computer and printer problems are not valid excuses for late work." Then in the work in progress it says, "late work is unacceptable. Deadlines are not negotiable after you have missed them." And i thought you said to me that "i have to consider what's fair to the other 39 students that i teach." Well i dont really think that its fair to randomly pick which rules and guidelines you follow because all of my papers were handed in on time. If i knew this maybe i would have gone out with my friends and just blew the paper off because you dont penalize for that. But continue to do what you think is fair.

Do you see what I see? She's bitching me out for being too lenient!! How dare I be inconsistent with the rules!! I wanted to simply reply, "GO TO HELL YOU FUCKING BITCH!" But then a few seconds of rational thought made me realize that the short-term delight in imagining her reaction might be overshadowed by the lengthy scolding that I would get from my boss.

But keeping my boss in mind, I sent this final reply:

The only concrete documentation of your attendance is my attendance sheet, and if
you want to question that, you're going to need more than just a defense of "I wouldn't do something like that."

And if I understand you correctly, because I'm lenient with my late policy, I should disregard every other rule on my syllabus?

I'm lenient with most of my rules if I feel the situation warrants it. Again, that's why you didn't fail the course. And if you want to start giving me grief about not following the rules of the course, maybe that's exactly what I should do. The English 101 coordinator told every instructor that four absences should drop a student's FINAL grade to a B. Five absences should drop it to a C. Six absences result in a failure of the course regardless of the reasons for missing class. Why don't you figure out what grade you would get then?

I apply rules as I see fit because I don't think a strict, unyielding attitude toward such things is productive; however, I believe attendance to be an important part of the course, and while I'll give students some slack if they're keeping up with the course work (as I did with you), I won't give an "A" to every student for attendance just because I feel like it.

I consider this matter closed. I'm not a dimwit when it comes to taking attendance. If you're marked absent, you either weren't there that day or you came in late and didn't give me a heads up about it. I will be happy to take this matter to the English 101 Coordinator with you. He'll put an end to this matter very quickly, and I don't think you'll like his decision.

Your attendance grade is not changing. You can call me every name in the book, make personal attacks, and call every aspect of my course into question; I'm not changing your grade. If you want to keep going with this, we'll take it to my boss and have him sort it out.

I don't really want to take this to my boss since he'd probably give me grief for not failing her in the first place. But for this student, I'll gladly endure that nuisance. There's no doubt in my mind that not only will Boss-man uphold my decision, he'll likely penalize her even more.

That would just warm my heart. I almost hope that she wants to do it.

This whole incident is putting a big damper on the good mood that the end of the semester is creating. I can't stand students who don't keep their sense of entitlement to themselves. On the plus side, her emails are giving me a wonderful excuse to craft some delightful self-righteous rants. That's an opportunity I truly relish.

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9 out of 10 readers now understand why JP doesn't want to be a teacher anymore. That last reader slept with PIMA and will turn against JP at the earliest opportunity.

Rock 'Em Sock 'Em Rednecks

I've dragged my ass long enough in writing this post. Part of that is due to A.J. not being able to get the above picture to me, but my own lackadaisical atttitude deserves a good chunk of the blame.

Two weeks ago, I finally made my first trip to Preston County, the country right next to Morgantown, home of the annual Buckwheat Festival (a fact that is given top billing on the "county seat's" town sign as you enter). My reason for going: the second annual wrestling tournament, which I'm sure will be placed on the town's sign in the near future.

These are mostly regional wrestlers who travel the country looking for venues where people with no money will drop 50 bucks for the family to see a bunch of sweaty guys grope each other. Virgil already beat me to the post about this event (but she was, after all, practically running said event), and she describes the wrestlers like so:

The wrestlers who come are from a regional group, and they generally fall into one of a few categories: 1) too old to be on TV 2) got cut for being bad (drugs, etc.) 3) got let go because they were no longer needed 4) up-and-comers who *might* make it to the big leagues, if they're very, very lucky 5) people who love to do it but have no shot in hell at being successful on a grander scale because they're, say, 5'7" and the current system prefers you to be at least 6'4". That's pretty much the range of our wrestlers for this event.

Obviously, we weren't dealing with Hulk Hogan here. But the wresting tourney was for a good cause. Virgil is the assistant director for the area's literacy program, and this event was created to raise money for it. As you can imagine, West Virginia kinda has a need for said program.

I'm convinced that half the people at this thing were 100% sure that what they were seeing was real. After all, there couldn't possibly be any real-world ramifications from a 400-pound man beating a man senseless with a chair. Surprisingly, the women seemed to be the most devoted fans. I'm sure seeing dozens of 300-lb women egging you on as you grope a man gives some of these wrestlers a few seconds to ponder certain life choices. (Did I forget to mention that Preston County has a crippling obesity epidemic? My bad.)

I found the whole thing pretty fun. It was so ridiculously over-the-top, and I'd criticize it more, but I watch shows about laser-wielding space aliens and genocidal robots. Even so, I had a few favorite characters:
>> "The Maestro" - a bearded gentleman who came out wearing a sparkling cape to the tune of Frank Sinatra's "New York, New York." He jumped up on the ropes and taunted the crowd by shouting, "OOO LAA LAA!!" Needless to say, our Preston pals didn't like this guy. Them city folks ain't welcome here. I'm told, though, that The Maestro was the fan favorite last year, and he had the same persona. Not sure what happened in the intervening year. Virgil has a few choice comments about meeting the "real life" Maestro.
>> "The Lumberjack" - exactly what you'd expect... a guy in a lumberjack-themed outfit. The crowed loved this Canadian woodsman. He did carry a pretty wicked axe.
>> "The Thrillbilly Ox" - He was a personal favorite. The guy was bald, over 400 pounds, and wore coveralls. It was pretty impressive actually given that he had surprisingly skinny arms and legs but this mammoth torso.
>> "Bobby Eaton" - Imagine any member of the band Poison trying to be a wrestler today - mullet and all. That's pretty much this guy. He was seen wearing bifocals and hobbling out of the center at the end of the day. I suppose even the most rocking wrestlers succumb to the harsh buzz kill of time.

I have to make special mention of my boy Eugene. He's the guy that I have my picture with at the top of the page. You can't pass up a guy who looks like Superman's own personal Billy Carter. Eugene jumped into the ring during one of the intermissions, and you could get your picture taken with him for five bucks. There was a HUGE line. Eugene was probably the fan favorite. After much cajoling from Batmite and A.J., I decided to get my picture taken with Eugene. I was easily the tallest one in line. The kids loved Eugene, which was sort of endearing until you realize that Eugene looks like a Michael Jackson scandal waiting to happen. Batmite and A.J. got their picture taken with Eugene as well:

Picture shamelessly stolen from Virgil's blog

A.J. (name changed to protect the embarrassed) is actually from Preston County. Watching her hide her face while muttering "Oh God!" during several parts of the show was added entertainment value. While she probably thought her Al Capone hat would hide the fact that she was from the town, no apparel can mask the shame one feels when confronted with your hometown's finest.

Anyone who managed to get out of Kittanning knows exactly how she felt.

After the event was over, I stayed to help clean up. I went into the bathroom at one point where I got to meet some sort of homeless man with mental disorders. I'm at one urinal, and he's at another. Here's our conversation:
Homeless Guy: "Hey bub, how's it going?"
Me: "Fine"
Homeless Guy: "Hey bub, do you know where Reedsville is?"
Me: "Not really. I'm from Morgantown."
Homeless Guy: (after a pause) "Hey bub, do you think you could give me a lift to Morgantown?"
Me: "Sorry bub, my car is full." (His friendly moniker was contagious.)
Homeless Guy: "Well hey bub, you take it easy."
Bub then went to anyone would listen to ask for a ride. Each time he started every sentence with, "Hey bub!" I felt bad for the guy, but the last thing I wanted was to end my enjoyable day by hearing "Hey bub, do you know what a pair of scissors to the sternum feels like?" while I'm in my car.

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158 days remaining until the Preston County Buckwheat Festival. I wouldn't miss it for the world.

Have Carrot - Will Travel

There's a bakery in Morgantown that makes really good bread. It also has a reputation for being kind of a yuppie hangout. The last few times I've been in there, there has been a prominent sign advertising a vegetable-powered bus. The details behind this mysterious Veggie Bus were scarce until The Daily Athenaeum (WVU's newspaper) reported on the sale.

The caption below the picture says: "California natives Brandi Chalker and Wes Middleton are selling their vegetable oil powered school bus after a three-month cross country adventure brought them all the way from their home in San Francisco, Calif. to Morgantown. The bus, which can run on either vegetable oil or diesel fuel, is one of a growing number of cars running on alternative, eco-friendly fuel sources."

First of all, does it surprise anyone that these two are from San Francisco? And this couple looks like every stereotype of hippies ever created. "Hi there! We're walking tropes who never bathe try to impress others with our stylishly low-class clothing."

Secondly... a three month cross-country adventure?? I suppose unemployment or tending the hemp gardens leaves a lot of time to cruise across the nation in a veggie-powered school bus. Either that or these two have very generous (and perhaps clueless) parents who are footing the bill, making their clothing choice all the more perplexing.

I also love that they're selling it. If it's such a great ride, why do they want to get rid of it? The bakery has been advertising this thing for months, and no one seems to want it. It couldn't be that the interior likely reeks of a hobo cleansed in patchouli oil?

It's people like this that give liberals a bad name. Using vegetable oil to power vehicles would probably be something to seriously consider, but when the children of love here are pimping their veggie-bus out to the locals, it makes everyone look bad. You want to convince people that this is a valid machine for the future? Then take a fucking bath and put on a suit or something. Do you two have any idea what kind of horrible cliche you look like?

Maybe these two should be advertising Brandi's ample veggie-powered bust. I'm sure it's gotten a lot more mileage than the veggie-powered bus ever will.

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Hippies: Making government oppression seem like a good idea since 1960.

The Once and Future JP

DATE: APRIL 8, 2038
TO: PAST JP
FROM: FUTURE JP
SUBJECT: DON'T EAT THE BOYSENBERRY PIE

Greetings Past Self. Using cutting-edge software that I obtained illegally, I've been given the ability to type messages to the past. (You don't know what a government-employed three-dicked Rigellian wanted in exchange for this chronoton keyboard.) After using my newfound power to irritate several fanboys who were debating the fourth season of Battlestar Galactica (turns out the Cylons are actually descendants of the Grape Ape... who knew?), I decided to impart some future wisdom to you.

First of all, I highly recommend that you hide every trace of your accomplishments as an English major. Once the genetically-enhanced Emperor Penguins take over the world in 2015, they torture anyone who has more than a passing familiarity with Modernist Literature. It turns out the penguins have a penchant for Victorian Lit. I had many a herring slapped in my face while they demanded that I shout "GEORGE ELLIOT ROCKS MY FLIPPERS!" Better to avoid that whole debacle altogether.

In 2018, the nudists take the world by storm following the downfall of the Penguins (turns out that the Victorian mindset of the Penguins did not prepare them for rampant nudity). This actually works out well for you. With the rise in obesity, you actually look pretty damn good by comparison. Strut your flabby body with pride.

In 2025, this blog will finally take off. After 17 years of laboring in obscurity, my pithy diatribes about condescending penguins and gun-wielding nudists finally gains the attention of the American public. Unfortunately, Virgil and Batmite, who combined their forces in a single super-blog in 2020, don't take kindly to this new competition and hire some hooligans to break your legs. Don't worry. Your new hover-chair is totally baller.

Once your blog hits the big time, female adulators come out of the woodwork. Unfortunately, you're such a naive twit that you end up marrying four of them. Each of them takes a large percentage of your fortune. It turns out that pompously declaring that you're the reincarnation of Jack McCoy doesn't work too well in divorce court.

And for crying out loud, don't marry the last one. Charlene may look like a quality nymphomaniac who digs the big, but that deep voice isn't explained by her "past cigarette habit" and I'm still ordering medicated salve at an alarming rate. We sure do know how to pick 'em, don't we?

Oh, here's an important one. That whole atheist thing you have going right now? You better give up on that one pretty damn quick. The second coming of Jesus was a few years ago, and that created quite a few awkward moments... with the whole "I don't believe you exist" thing. Fortunately, Jesus is a pretty cool guy, and he's a fan of our blog. We ended up debating the finer points of Law & Order's 48th season for a few hours over a couple of beers. I have to admit, I was kinda pissed about paying for beers given that the jerk could have been turning water to wine all night. But he kept on with "apocalypse" this and "heretic" that. You don't fuck with Jesus when he's been drinking.

Oh hey! They find a cure for heart disease in 2021. You can eat all the bacon you want; they've got you covered.

One last thing: Don't try to burn down the English building. I know you have that elaborate set of plans, but that fuse burns faster than you run. My eye-patch looks pretty sweet, but I think I'd pass on it if given the chance.

So fair thee well, past self. The future holds many interesting adventures for you. Now just watch out for Batmite. He's got a sharp stick in his closet that's meant for your thorax. Take him out before he can get to you.

Your pal,
You

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9 out of 10 future readers have extorted and blackmailed JP for large sums of money. The last reader just wanted a ham sandwich.

The Final Countdown

I can't wait for the semester to be over. I'm within five weeks of finally being able to bid bon-voyage to grad school. I've studied English for so long that I'm beginning to understand why Hitler wanted to burn all books. Hell, Hitler was an Arts and Humanities major, so he knows how it goes.

I can't wait to be able to work the 9 to 5 grind. My friends who have legitimate jobs all bitch about it, but when they leave work at 5:00 every day, they get to leave work at work. There's no homework anymore. Anything that they work on is being done as a contribution to a company's services or product development. Any work done for "personal enrichment" is limited to browsing for banana-shaped penis pumps on "gorilladong.com." (An actual website I might add... but sadly it doesn't sell ape-themed penis enlargers.)

I can't wait to read books for fun again. I haven't read a book for my own pleasure in almost four years. Star Trek message boards, Wikipedia, and online erotica don't count. I want to be able to read a book without automatically parsing the historico-political hyper-genres of metatextual postmodernism.

I want to buy things. Part of me is still a product of this consumerist culture ("consumerist culture" is another fun term that I've picked up in the English program that I'd be happy to disregard), and as such, I have my eye on a few fun items. I'd really like a new car. Much as I love folding myself in three places to get into my little Escort, a larger vehicle would provide a little bit of comfort. I'd also like a plasma TV. I don't need it. I want it. I watch a lot of TV, and it would make me happy. Things provide happiness. I'd also like a new bed. There's nothing wrong with my extra-long twin bed, but I take up about 90% of the space on said bed. There are some activities that I'd like to use my bed for that are not really practical with these figures.

Finally, I want to quit searching for jobs. Once I get a job, ipso facto, I can give up this tedious job search. I have a preliminary phone interview with one company on Monday, and even though it's only on the phone, I keep worrying about it. Having to juggle three job applications, looking for other jobs, and convincing every company that THEIRS is the one I want is driving me crazy. Just give me the moneys!!

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9 out of 10 readers were highly disappointed by "gorilladong.com." The last reader is still using tissues at an alarming rate.

All Sound and Fury Signifying Nothing

Don't hate me because I'm pretty.

I was perusing the Rate My Professor website the other day, and, because it's a must, I checked the entries for my own name. In the past, I'd only had one comment that said, "Great teacher. I loved him," which was probably one of the many smitten young ladies that had such unrequited adoration for me over the last few semesters.

But just a few days ago, I new comment was posted:

"Mr. P rambles on a lot about nothing, but at least he is not foreign and speaks the language he teaches. He is also better looking than the rest of the TA's seem to be in the department."

I'm not sure how to take such a backhanded compliment. I suppose it's all true. I prattle on in class about whatever amuses or interests me at any given second. Sometimes I'll simply take a few minutes to muse about something that interests only me... at least none of my students seem to be concerned with who the final Cylon on Battlestar Galactica is.

I love that simply being able to speak the language is such a plus too. I'm sure a lot of my students have TAs from all around the world teaching calculus and physics, but it just seems like such an odd thing to note.

And of course, my ego swells to dangerous levels knowing that this young lady thinks I'm more attractive than the rest of the English department. I don't know if that's a compliment for me or an insult to the department. Although, there's no guarantee that this submission is from a woman. I could be looking at another Apartment Guy all over again. "Hey there Mr. P! My participle is never dangling when you're around."

Oh god!

I guess I'm nothing but an air-headed piece of man-meat. I can live with being a mimbo.

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50% of all freshman English students are picturing JP naked at any given time. Unfortunately, the other 50% are women.

I Fought the Law and Actually Won!

Once again, the local law enforcement put the renegade JP firmly in their sights. I don't know what it is about me that attracts the Fuzz, but for once, I actually managed to come out unscathed.

Last night, the Worthington American Legion [an even dinkier town near Kittanning] held a virtual horse race to raise money for the local baseball team. Some guy has a whole collection of taped horse races. People can buy horses or simply bet on them in each race. Each horse is assigned a number, and then people bet on the horses before the tape is played. The tapes are completely random, so no one can know the outcome of the race.

It is indeed as stupid as it sounds, but it's actually a lot of fun. The biggest selling point is that it's five bucks to get in, but there's all the food you can eat and all the beer you can drink. It's a regular Kittanning paradise!

I didn't win anything at the races, but I did have quite a bit of beer. Given my height and girth, I can have quite a bit of booze before I get drunk. When I left the place around 11pm, I felt fine even though I'd probably had seven or eight beers.

But then on my way home, I see a sobriety checkpoint. Again, I don't think I'm drunk, but I've been wrong before. I pull up to the checkpoint and talk to the officer:
ME: "Evening officer!"
OFFICER: "We're conducting a sobriety checkpoint. Have you had anything to drink tonight?"
ME: "Yeah, a couple of drinks."
OFFICER: "How many is a couple?"
ME: "Maybe three or four over the last few hours." (LIE!)
OFFICER: "Where are you coming from?"
ME: "Um... well... it's this virtual... horse race thing where you bet on the horses... on the videos..."

It's damn near impossible to explain the virtual horse races without sounding like a lunatic. In retrospect, I should have expected...

OFFICER: "Would you mind stepping out of the vehicle sir."

Off we go to the side of the road. As we're walking, I'm going over the various sobriety checks in my head. I can do the backwards alphabet thing. I can even touch my nose. Hell, he could make me recite the Preamble to the Constitution, and I probably would have aced the test. But nooo!

OFFICER: "I'm going to have you walk an imaginary straight line walking heel-to-toe for nine steps."

I started to get nervous. I can't walk on a balance beam in the middle of the day. Sure enough, I couldn't keep my balance because my thunder-thighs kept getting in the way. But then came test two:

OFFICER: "I want you to lift your foot straight out in front of you for seven seconds. You count until I tell you to stop."

Now, I think I did this one pretty well. I had my foot in the air for seven seconds, but he didn't tell me to stop. I kept going until fourteen seconds, at which point I stumbled. He shook his head as if to say, "Tsk tsk, you rummy!" I was beginning to suspect a conspiracy. He finally calls to his buddy:

OFFICER: "Hey Larry! Go get the breathalyser for this one!"

He then turns to me.

OFFICER: "You did so-so on the test, so we're going to have to take a breathalyser."

So they give me the elaborate instructions, but I've done the breathalyser before. Down in Morgantown, they don't waste time. They just have you sit in your car and take the breathalyser from the get-go. It's quite a time saver. I apparently fucked up the operations of the breathalyser too. His buddy yells, "YOU AIN'T BLOWIN' HARD ENOUGH!" I haven't had that sort of chastisement since I was selling nickel blowjobs down on the Rail Trail.

The officer was looking at the breathalyser with what could only be described as delighted anticipation. This asshole was just salivating over the idea of sending me to jail. He seemed crestfallen and amazed when he said, "You passed!!... How many did you say you had?"

Feeling a certain smug superiority now, I reiterated, "I told you... three or four. I'm a big guy. I can drink quite a bit." He had to let me go. But before I left, he asked, "Where you headed to?" I said, "Back home." Which was a lie. I was planning to head down to a bar downtown. I almost told him that (to be an even bigger smartass), but I thought better of it.

While the whole ordeal was kind of embarrassing (a lot of cars got to witness my fun test), I got a big kick out of actually beating the officers at their own game. It was nice to actually be innocent for a change. There have been a few times when I've driven my car when maybe it wasn't quite the best idea, but it's never been for a long distance. I think I'll have to be more careful in the future, since it's clear that the law enjoys fucking with me at sobriety checkpoints as well as speed traps. I did have the foresight to not have anything else to drink at the bar. I made it an early night. Proving one's own incompetence while soberly performing a sobriety test is a definite buzz kill.

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POLICE: 6 JP: 1