I drove drunk once

I’ve drove drunk once. I was staying with a friend’s mom, Karen, at the time, and I’d just finished off a tall boy of 8% something or another (Smirnoff Screwdriver I think) when her son, my friend, calls her up literally crying because he’s been on fentanyl again and he forgot how to drive and doesn’t know where he’s parked. She manages to gather that he’s at a gas station we know the location of. It’s in the town where he and his girlfriend live, about 40 miles away from where we’re staying and across a state line. She convinces him to stay tf there and wait for her, then, not having a car of her own (she was letting him use it since his gf didn’t have one either and they had a kid on the way), she asks to borrow mine. So I give her my keys and take the passenger seat, knowing I can’t be driving because tall boy. It’s an uneventful drive there, but when she pulls in she hops out of my car and into hers, then takes off, leaving me in my own passenger seat at a gas staion in another state 40 miles from home, half-drunk and panicking because anxiety disorder. I plan to just stay put instead of driving, but I start panicking over the thought of getting taken in for public intoxication in Texas. I finally decide to try and drive home after about an hour of setting there in my car, losing my mind over (probably) unfounded fears. I make it 99% of the way home, I mean six blocks or so away, without any event. My route takes me right by the courthouse/jail in my town, and as I’m pulling up to a stop sign just outside of it, I see the red and blues light up in my rear-view. I hadn’t been driving irratically, but I did have my third/top/central tail light out. Cop comes up to my window and asks for license and shit, then spots Karen’s dab pen sitting in my cupholder. He asks if I’ve been smoking and I tell him it’s been a few hours. He asks where I’m coming from and where I’m going, so I tell him. Then he asks if I consent to one of those field tests, and I, being the dumbass that I am, consent not knowing that that consent alone gives him all the evidence he needs because corruption. He doesn’t breathalize because he isn’t even a bit suspicious of alcohol, just weed, so he just has me do the walking and standing on one foot stuff. Note that I’m autistic and have poor motor control anyways, on top of PTSD related anxiety, and there’s just no way I’m passing, even a couple hours after just one drink. After he deems my performance less than satisfactory, he asks if I’ll consent to a blood test, which I do because he tells me that if I don’t I’ll automatically lose my car and license and won’t be able to get them back (found out later that was a lie). So he takes me from the courthouse to the hospital, and then one blood test later he takes me from the hospital back to the courthouse, then around back to the jail. They throw me in the drunk tank with a bunch of friendly old dudes who are all on like their third or fourth DUI. I take a long nap in there on the concrete till they take me out and ask me if I want solitary or community. I choose community because I’ve heard the horror stories of solitary and figure county jail prisoners can’t be all that bad. I’m in there for about five minutes before 1: all my blankets and toiletries are no longer mine, and 2: an older guy in there has taken me aside to the phones and is getting ready to help me with bail because he doesn’t think I’m cut out to stay in there with them for very long. He was nice. I don’t think I’ll ever forget him. But as soon as he gets ahold of someone on the phone a guard comes in and calls my name, everyone starts cheering and yelling “yo is he getting out?” Then I’m lead to the solitary I didn’t ask for and told my ride would be there in a couple hours. Found out later that they’d moved me because Karen had told them to for my sake. Karen had paid a bondsman and gotten me out. Then the next day she gets in a fight with her son, and as he’s storming out her door shes says some messed up shit about him, his girlfriend, and their kid on the way, which he doesn’t catch all of. So he texts me asking what all she’d said there, and me being his bestie, I tell him. So he storms back in later that afternoon telling her that she isn’t invited to the wedding and also won’t be allowed to come when the baby is born and “I know what you said about us, Bee told me everything mom!” So she gets angry and tries to kick me out without letting me gather my belongings, so her son calls the cops while I start totally breaking down on the curb by the apartments there. They show up and have her allow me in to gather up my things, and my grandparents are called to come get me. I wind up staying with them for a year or so then moving back down to stay with my other gramma where I am now, serving out the remainder of my probation. Judge waived all legal fees and junk for case, just gave me probation and a class to take. Moral of the story, don’t move in with a crazy lady, even if she does have weed all the time.