Read Are You There, Vodka? It's Me, Chelsea for Free Online Page B

leaning one hand on my door. As I rifled through my purse for my license, I said to him as articulately as I could, “Can you ask me why I pulled you over?”
    The officer smirked at his partner, who was asking Lydia to remain seated in the car, and then looked back at me. “I’m going to need you to step away from your vehicle, ma’am.”
    “Ma’am?” I asked, trying to figure out how old I actually was since I had been lying about my age for some time in order to get into bars. I couldn’t remember if I was legally or illegally drunk.
    “Where are you coming from, Miss…Handler?”
    “Baja Fresh!” Lydia yelled from inside the car.
    My officer stared at me while I tried to think of anything that rhymed with Baja Fresh that would also be open at two o’clock in the morning.
    “Her cat died,” I told my cop. “She’s really tired.”
    “Uh-huh, it says on your license…”
    “Oh, shit,” I said, and grabbed the license I had given him to make sure it was mine and not the fake one that said I was my twenty-six-year-old Mormon sister, Sloane. It was my license. I handed it back to him. “Sorry.”
    “It says here that you live up the street,” he continued as he pointed in the direction behind us. I realized then that I had driven past my own apartment.
    “Tell him you want to make your phone call!” Lydia screamed.
    “You haven’t even asked me if I’ve been drinking.” I paused. Then I leaned in with my index finger pointed at him. “Because I haven’t been…if that’s what you’re getting at.”
    “Really?” he asked.
    “Nope, don’t like the taste,” I said matter-of-factly. “I had two drinks, that’s all…. Okay, three drinks.”
    “Tell him about your cold,” Lydia crowed once more from the car, which was now twenty feet away from where we were standing.
    “She has a cold,” I said, and then started again. “I mean, we both have colds. We’ve both taken a significant amount of Robitussin, so if there’s anything on my breath, that’s what you’re smelling. I caught my cold from a homeless person at one of the shelters downtown where I was volunteering.”
    “Please stay in the car, ma’am,” I heard the other officer say to Lydia as she once again tried to get out.
    “Go to sleep!” I yelled back at her.
    “Okay, Miss Handler, I’m going to need you to stand with your legs apart, your hands out, and your eyes closed.” This sounded exactly as I had imagined my first DUI to sound: very authoritative and just like in the movies. I got into position and knew there was no chance I’d be arrested. I had practiced this procedure many times with Lydia late at night in our apartment.
    “Let me guess what’s next.” I giggled. “Touch my nose with my index finger, I suppose.”
    “That’s exactly right,” he said. “Have you done this before?”
    “Yeah,” I told him. “Plenty of times.”
    Had they not come up with any new sobriety test moves in recent years? I actually felt bad for him for a minute. It was a shame that the police weren’t smarter. I did what was asked of me and then he told me to walk in a straight line with one foot in front of the other.
    “My heels are too high,” I told him. “I wouldn’t be able to do that sober.”
    “Well, you can either take them off or take a Breathalyzer.”
    “You’re turning into a real nightmare,” I said as I leaned one hand on his large shoulder and took my heels off. “Okay, you know what? I had one drink. One very small drink.”
    This is when Lydia decided to slide over to the driver’s side of the car and climb out. “Ma’am, I told you to stay in the car, and if you don’t listen, I’m going to have to handcuff you and read you your rights,” her officer said.
    “Lydia, stop it!” I yelled. “Sit down!”
    “Faggot!” was her next attempt at mollifying the situation.
    “All right, miss,” said her officer as he whipped out his handcuffs. “You’ve been warned, and now I’m