How not to impress the Gardai

This weekend I had the opportunity to witness firsthand the fruits of the new garda anti-drink-driving campaign. As has been in the news here quite frequently lately, gardai nationwide have been equipped with breathalisers and they have been making random stops to check people’s blood alchohol levels.

So there I was, stowing the last of the equipment into the back of the car after 3 gruelling hours performing music at a country pub. Just as I started the car a woman ran out and began chatting to us about the performance. We obligingly rolled down our windows to listen to her friendly banter about how she had enjoyed the show. As the night was quite cold, she excused herself after a minute or two to hurry back into the warmth of the pub and we turned to see . . . nothing. Our conversation had frosted the windscreen over with our breath. I flipped on the defroster and glanced in my rearview mirror to see . . . nothing; the equipment in the back of the car was completely blocking my view.

Thus blinded but impatient to be on my way, I stuck my head out the window and began a cautious reverse. The cars around were parked randomly on some very rough, hilly ground and it took some careful navigation to get turned about. Now facing the main road, some approaching headlights lit the thinning condensation on the inside of the windscreen and turned it bright white. Now completely blind, I rolled to a stop. The car took its time passing. Frustrated by the delay, I leaning back out the window to ensure I could see clearly and began to roll out toward the road.

“It’s the guards,” said my passenger.

“Really?” I said, sticking my head back out the window. I didn’t see any approaching cars on the road.

“No, behind us in the car park!” Crap. I pulled my head back in the car. The headlights that had blinded us were the gardai. I pulled to a stop.

“No, no, keep going! You’re alright, keep going!” Shite. Stupid, stupid, stupid. I started going again.

“Uh,” my passenger warned. The side mirror lit up with blue lights behind us. Great.

There was no shoulder on the one lane road for me to pull over onto. I began to panic mildly. I pulled to a stop. Realising this was no place to stop, I started again. Realising the guards might think I was driving away from them, I stopped again. Crap – I was starting and stopping way too much. Moron. There was still a bit of condensation on the passenger side of the windscreen, preventing me from seeing if there was someplace to pull over on that side. So I stuck my head back out the window to see better. Then I realised the guards were behind us and here I was with my head sticking out the window like somebody’s Jack Russell terrier.

I pulled the head in and pulled into a driveway I’d spotted just ahead. I heard the crunch of boots on gravel and a garda officer appeared at my window.

“Name?” he said.

“What?” I said, intelligently.

“I’m *** and this is Sean Lightholder,” said my passenger, trying to be helpful.

“What?” I said, even more intelligently this time.

“Do you own this vehicle?”

“Yes, I do. Well, my wife and I do. That is is, uh, we do own this vehicle. Officer.”

I can be astoundingly eloquent sometimes.

“Can I see your driver’s license?”

I reached across my passenger, took out my license and handed it to the garda. He looked at it. He looked at me. He looked at it again. He looked at me with a strange expression. I glanced over at my passenger, who was holding my driver’s license.

I retrieved my wife’s driver’s license from the garda’s hands and handed him mine.

I gave him a great big smile, just to reassure him that everything was okay.

“Have you been drinking?” He asked.

“I have,” my passenger immediately volunteered, laughing. “I’ve had ohhhhh, 6 or more beers!” He was in a good mood. I wasn’t so much.

“I had a beer three hours ago, sir.” I said. The garda walked back away from the car, gesturing for us to wait.

“He’s going to breathalise you!” My passenger hissed. “Be cool. Hyperventilate. Clear your lungs. Get lots of air into your lungs.”

“What will that do??!” I hissed back.

“It’ll get clean air into your lungs, just do it!”

I took a deep breath with the intention of hyperventilating when, turning my head I saw the garda had reappeared at the window and was unwrapping a plastic tube, which he attached to a digital breathalising machine.

“Please blow in here,” he said, holding it close to my face. I had two lungs full of air. I began to blow. “Blow, blow, blow . . . keep blowing . . . “ I began to feel lightheaded. “Okay, stop,” he said.

The little device blinked. The screen flashed a word: PASS.

“Thank f**k!” I blurted, without thinking. “Uh,” I recovered, gracefully“. . . wow, I was so nervous.”

The garda gave me a completely expressionless look. “Have a good night.”

I think from now on there will be absolutely NO beer, not even one, consumed on nights I am driving.