Some silver bracelets are not a fashion accessory

I mentioned The West Wing in my last post, confessing that it's my favorite TV show. Of course the only way I get to see it is in the Bravo channel reruns of the show, because I work nights and I'm never home to see the first run episodes. Yea, I could set the VCR, which I never do. Or I could get TiVo, which I don't have. TV just isn't that important to me. It's mostly just background noise when I'm home. But I like The West Wing.

The news broke last week about Stockard Channing's arrest on suspicion of driving under the influence. Channing plays the first lady on the show, and, in case you didn't know, has had an impressive acting career. She may also be one of the sexiest 60-year-old women on the planet.

One of the things I love about the show, it that it has a great ensemble cast of fine actors. Of course, the first few seasons also had episodes largely penned by the show's creator, Aaron Sorkin, who has a fine ear for dialogue and pacing. His scripts were smart without being superior. They were clever and worked on many levels. If you ever caught any episodes of his show Sports Night, you would recognize the rapid fire dialogue transformed from a half-hour comedy to an hour-long drama.

But I digress.

Channing's arrest got me to thinking about my own brush with the law several years go. I too was once arrested for driving under the influence. So I empathize with her. Of course, I didn't have her bankroll, and am still dealing with some debts incurred during that period when the court, and a lawyer and a court-ordered alcohol awareness class, wracked up some major bills.

It started out simply enough.

I had a date. And at that time in my life, I hadn't had a date in, well, a while, and a date sounded like just what the doctor ordered. A coworker introduced me to a friend at a bar, and the coworker proceeded to play matchmaker. The coworker's lady friend was also having trouble meeting someone. It seems that a lot of guys our age weren't too interested in getting involved with a woman who had kids. Well, I had a daughter, so the kids issue didn't put me off. And she was cute. And, well, I hadn't had a date in a long time. And the coworker was flittering back and forth between the two of us sharing information and messages, which felt a little like junior high, but I was shy and afraid of rejection, so I went with it. It was a sure thing. A sure date. She wasn't going to say no. I was still nervous as hell when I called, but sure enough, she said yes.

So far so good.

So, we decided to do the "normal" date thing, and go to a movie. I don't remember if we went to dinner or not, but the movie, now that was truly memorable.

Me: "So, what movie do you want to see?"

Her: "I don't know, what movie do you want to see?"

Me: "How about 'Leaving Las Vegas'? I don't know anything about it, but I've heard it's good. And Nicholas Case is in it. He's good. What do you think?

Her: "I don't know what it's about either, but I've heard good things too. Sounds great."

So, we go to the movie, and settle in. So, I'm setting next to this woman I hardly know, and there is Nick Cage on screen playing this character who is doing his damnedest to self destruct. He hooks up with a prostitute (played by the lovely Elizabeth Shue) who fucks his brains out when he is sober enough to get it up, and otherwise keeps him company while he drinks himself to death.

And I'm watching this. With a woman. A young mother. A woman I hardly know and am trying to impress. I wonder how I'm doing so far.

I find myself sinking lower and lower into the theater seat, willing myself to just disappear. Praying for the movie to end. Thinking all the time, that my date must think I took her to this movie with all the sex as a hint or something.

It was the most miserable and awkward couple of hours in my life. Nick, pass me a bottle, man. I'll race ya to hell!

Fortunately, mercifully, the movie ended, but the date was not yet over.

I apologized profusely for the movie choice.

"I didn't know that's what that movie was about," I say.

"Well, it was.... interesting," she says.

Yea, interesting. And then I said what may have been the biggest understatement of my life.

"But it probably wasn't the best choice of movies for a first date."

No shit, Sherlock.

But my stupidity knew no bounds that night. It was like all my social skills and judgment were left hanging in my closet. My next bright idea, after watching a man drink himself to death on screen? Hey, want to go to a bar?

Brilliant!

Why she said yes, I'll never know. We stopped at a bar, and the place was packed. We had a tough time finding a table, and an even tougher time trying to talk over the live band.

We had maybe one drink, danced a couple of songs, but it felt like the earth was crumbling underneath me. I had to end this night before my head imploded.

So, I took my date home. We fumbled through the world's most awkward goodnight kiss and I raced home to hide under my covers.

The next day, a Sunday, I was beating myself up pretty severely over what I was sure qualified as one of the Top 10 worst first dates of all time. I couldn't imagine anything worse, unless someone got maimed or killed.

I needed something to take my mind off the embarrassment I kept re-living. So, what did I come up with? Go back to the crime scene, namely the bar where the dates final death spiral took hold.

I started pounding 7&Sevens and had myself convinced I could actually go to work the next day and face the coworker who had set me up with her friend. I felt the buzz kicking in, when an acquaintance bought me another drink. Now, I couldn't be rude, so I accepted his drink, and sure enough, the buzz was getting a little more pronounced. Now, being the responsible person I (thought I) was, I decided, I better not drink anymore, I've got to drive home. So, I said my goodbyes and headed for the door.

I was approaching my apartment complex, and decided, a little too late, to turn down the side street and go in a side entrance rather than the front entrance. I took the corner a little too fast and squealed around the corner. And, as luck would have it, an occupied police car was sitting right across from the corner. I saw him a little too late too. And moments later I saw his flashing lights.

Busted.

Big time.

Needless to say, I failed the field sobriety test. Apparently failed it pretty badly, because the sheriff's deputy told me:

"At this time I'm going to stop the test because I'm afraid you may hurt yourself if we go any further."

How sweet. He really was looking out for my safety.

And that's when I got to try on his nice silver bracelets. Oh, look how shiny they are. Hey, wait a minute, my arms don't really move in that direction. Ouch! OK, so they aren't comfortable, but do they look good?

Is this really necessary? I wasn't resisting. I wasn't fighting. I was willing to take my punishment. I wasn't going to try to run.

We all know from TV and movies that we have the right to remain silent. What we don't really realize is that once we have a run-in with the police, and end up in police custody, most of the rights we take for granted get left on the curb while we go for a little ride with our hand in an extremely uncomfortable positions behind our backs.

Stockard and me, we know.

(To be continued)

Drinking and driving
Celebrities