COMMENTARY ON DRUNK DRIVING : Student Gets a Lesson in Life That Could Have Been Tougher : ‘My parents told me that mistakes can happen to anyone, but I felt embarrassed and ashamed.’

I took a deep breath as the officer approached my car. I had cut him off after making an illegal left turn out of an alley driving the wrong way. “I had to swerve to avoid hitting you,” the officer said. “Can I see your driver’s license?”

My head was spinning. I was trying to gather my thoughts, but my head was spinning too fast. Fumbling through my wallet, I found my license and handed it to the officer.

“Have you been drinking?” he asked. I didn’t reply. “Please step out of the car.”

I followed the officer onto the sidewalk. It was one o’clock in the morning and there were a few people still out on the streets. I’m certain they were watching me, but I had my eyes glued on the officer.

“Put your head back, stretch out your arms, and touch the tip of your nose with your left index finger and then with your right,” the officer said.

“Concentrate!” I told myself, as I followed the officer’s instructions. Feeling confident after performing adequately on the first sobriety test, I proceeded to the next one. I passed the second test, which consisted of touching the digits of both hands simultaneously (thumb to index, thumb to middle finger, etc.). The third test, closing my eyes, leaning my head back, and lifting my right leg, was the one I failed and that’s when the officer handcuffed me and put me in the back seat of his patrol car.

I was under arrest for driving under the influence of alcohol (DUI).

I was taken to a police station in a city twenty minutes southeast of downtown Los Angeles. I was very drunk.

Although the atmosphere was relaxed and friendly, this was where I was to be given the Breathalyzer test to determine the amount of alcohol in my body.

Still cuffed, I took the Breathalyzer test twice and had levels of .16 and .17, respectively. I was taken to another section of the police station for booking. I was placed in a holding cell for two hours and was only allowed to leave for 10 minutes to get fingerprinted and photographed. Then back in the cell I went.

There were five other men in the holding cell with me. They appeared to be in their 30s and 40s and looked like veterans of the arrest routine. They seemed unruffled and tranquil while I felt like yelling and screaming. I didn’t belong here. I was a 21-year-old college student and I wanted to go home, but I had to remain calm. I didn’t want these strangers to think that I was a momma’s boy, that I wanted my parents. But I did.

The holding cell was guarded by a young female officer, protected from us by steel bars. She tried calming us with small talk, but insults were nevertheless hurled at her from time to time.

The latrine was at the back of the cell, with no doors, no privacy. The door leading to the outside world was open and the frigid night air was magnified by the cement walls of the cell, making my teeth clatter.

At 3:30 in the morning, I was put in a cell of my own for detoxification. I was given a woolly blanket and I fell asleep on the hard bed. I was awakened at about 8:30 in the morning by the sounds of chirping birds, which I could hear through a small window on a gray wall directly in front of my cell. This was my only view.

Breakfast was brought in a small aluminum tray wrapped in foil, like a TV dinner. A guard slid it underneath the door and that’s where I left it untouched.

Now, clear-headed and sober, I began to think of the gravity of what I had done. My first thought was how I was going to explain this predicament to my parents. With my dad’s short temper, I figured he’d explode. I could see my poor mother, not sleeping all night, pacing around the house, rubbing her hands together, not knowing what had happened to me, thinking the worst. This worried me the most. I wanted to call her so she could hear my voice and know that I was all right.

After some paperwork, including a court date to find out my fate, I was allowed to leave. I hadn’t bathed and I smelled of day-old liquor, like a wino.

I had to borrow a quarter to call home. My dad picked me up and when I arrived home, my mom hugged me. My parents told me that mistakes can happen to anyone, but I felt embarrassed and ashamed. They were concerned that I might have a drinking problem and if I did, they said, “now was the time to remedy it.”

The process following the arrest was the most difficult to deal with, especially financially. The fines to the courts, to get my impounded car, to retrieve my license (which was suspended for six months), and to have full-coverage insurance for three years will end up costing me about $5,000.

Concurrently, I had to attend Alcoholics Anonymous meetings and alcohol awareness classes for three months. I was allowed to drive to and from these meetings by the courts.

California has the highest number of arrests for DUI’s, which is more than twice as many as the second leading state, Texas. In 1990, 1.39 million arrests were made for DUI’s in the United States. Do tougher laws help? I don’t know, but I do know that I was lucky to be arrested. It had gotten to the point where I was driving home drunk every weekend, sometimes not knowing how I got home or where I left my car.

The scary thing is I know I may not have been so lucky the next time I got behind the wheel after a few drinks. I may have killed someone or killed myself.

I know that there are others out there like me. I see them every time I go to a club or a party. I never thought anything like this could happen to me, but it did. It can happen to anyone.