During my senior year of High School, I was encouraged by my parents to get a job on the weekends to make a little money. While I was not thrilled with the idea of working, I decided to give it a shot and began interviewing around a local mall. A music store in the mall called me in for an interview which I passed without a problem. They extended an offer for a part-time position, pending on the satisfactory completion of a drug test. I was not concerned with this task since I was not on any drugs and I was slightly excited to try out working for the first time. The music store told me to finish the drug test by the end of the week and the job is mine.
In an elaborate plan created by my father, my family intended on stopping off at the drug testing facility on Friday, immediately before going on a 6 hour drive to Maryland for a wedding reception party. Understand that this is my mother’s side of the family so promptness is crucial and there was no room for error. Although we were running late, we figured that the drug test couldn’t take more than five, ten minutes tops, and then we could be on our way to Maryland for the wedding party.
My father and I left my mother and sister in the car, headed into the building, and assured them that we’ll be back in 5 minutes. As we entered the elevator in the drug testing facility, an intriguing thought entered my mind. I had never in my life taken a drug test and therefore had not properly planned, for I had gone to the bathroom just before leaving the house. I laughed to myself about it and made a quick joke to my dad but little did I know that going to the bathroom just before heading to the drug site would cause sheer disaster and would change my life forever.
We waited for a few minutes in a reception room and after a good eight minutes, my name was finally called and I was led back to a prepping room. The disgruntled, old nurse started reading me the rules of the test and then brought out a package with the testing contents within it. I swear I am not exaggerating when I tell you that she took out the largest beaker in science history and handed it to me. Being the light-humored guy that I am, I decided to bring up the fact that I just went to the bathroom before I left the house and was curious how much of this gargantuon glass I was expected to fill. The nurse did not find me to be amusing what-so-ever and explained that it needs to be just about full so she can fill three huge test tubes with it.
Although it looked impossible, I had faith in myself and thought that there was a slight, albeit slim chance of me being able to fill the beaker. So I did a slow strut down a long hallway and tried to get in the mental zone for filling the glass. I got to the bathroom, opened the door and wiggled my way inside the tiny bathroom. This was a one-person facility that perfectly resembled an airplane bathroom. Your movements are completely restricted with the toilet directly in front of you, sink pushing into your back while you’re facing the toilet. I began my attempt at filling the beaker and despite all of my dancing and struggling, I could only fill the beaker about a quarter of the way. I figured I could probably talk my way out of this so I washed up and headed to the nurse to present her with my pathetic sample.
The nurse took one look and told me that it would not be enough and I couldn’t leave the facility until I was finished to avoid failing the test automatically. I tried to explain to her that I’m on the way to a wedding, my family is waiting in the car, I’m in a rush, but nothing worked.
Embarrassed, I walked back to the reception area and explained to my father that I could not leave because I didn’t give enough of a urine sample. He started to panic and sweat since he is scared of my mother and tried to come up with a quick plan. He told me to drink water and then he ran out of the room. I parked myself in front of a water cooler and began chugging small cups of water non-stop. After about 10 more minutes, my father comes storming back in with two Snapples in his hand and warns me that my mom is on a rampage and we need to get out of here fast. So I chug a Snapple and keep drinking the water, I’m jumping up and down trying to get the system moving a bit, anything that can speed up the process.
Around 15 more minutes go by and now I know it’s gametime. I had determination in my eyes, nothing was going to stop me now. I marched up to the nurse and told her I’m ready to give it another shot. She hands me a new beaker and is telling me the rules again but I can’t even hear her, I’m in the zone and all I see is the light at the end of the tunnel. Beaker in hand, I march confidently down the long hallway, squeeze into the tiny airplane bathroom and as focused as possible, begin attempt #2 at filling the beaker.
This time around everything is going according to plan. I’m filling that beaker like a superstar and I know that I saved myself from a major crisis. I remember feeling proud of myself for going into such a pressured situation and being composed enough to get out with flying colors. I finish up and see that the beaker is completely filled. Actually, I was so proud with myself that I forgot to take into consideration the size of the tiny bathroom. I spun around way too quickly, knocked the beaker against a wall, lost control and spilled the beaker all over myself.
My rage grew exponentially and I screamed out “SHIT!” The nurse came running to the door and cried back, “What happened? Is everything ok?”
I replied, “No, I dropped the beaker!”
“Did it fall in the toilet? We can still use it if it fell in the toilet.”
I look down at the toilet…nothing. I look down at my jeans…drenched. So I pick up the beaker, which had less than my first attempt remaining in it, washed my hands, and came out of the bathroom. The nurse takes a look at me and the beaker, clearly thinking that I must be on crack, and explains once again that I do not have enough and can’t leave until I’m done.
My father then comes into the back to see what is taking so long, being that it has been over an hour already. He sees his son, standing head down, covered in piss and starts contemplating where he went wrong all these years. As if on cue, my mother comes bursting through the doors screaming, telling us that we’re leaving right now. She was caught off-guard when her son smelled and was drenched in urine, but she told us that we’re leaving right now and to forget the test.
So we piled into the car two minutes later and I’m still in the same clothes and stink like urine. We drove for 6 hours, in silence for the most part. I’d love to know what everyone was pondering during that ride. I know that I was thinking that this kind of thing can only happen to me, I can waive that job good-bye, and my parents think I’m half retarted. Eight years later, I have never taken another drug test and don’t plan on starting anytime soon. Who knows the disaster that could come out of another attempt. Did I learn anything? No, but at least I got a great story out of it.
