I Swear I Am Not Making This Up

Yesterday, my coworker E. finished a phone call, laughing so hard he could barely breathe. Of course, the rest of us wanted to know what was so funny. Here's the story.

Apparently his cousin P., a life-long resident of Santa Cruz, was required to take a drug test for his job (he's a truck driver). He's a habitual pot user, and had already failed a test, so this was his last chance before being fired. Now, P. being the sort of person he is, rather than just not do drugs for as long as it would take for his system to be clean, decided to find another option.

He was referred to a guy in Gilroy who sells his urine for just such situations, but he didn't want to drive all the way to Gilroy, and anyway, upon contact found out that he was no longer in the business. But he could refer P. to someone who could help him.

So P. talks to urine-dealer number two, who says, “Man, it's a good thing you came to me, anyway. The other guy charges $100 for 1/2 and ounce. I only charge $90.”

P., recognizing what a bargain this is, does the deal, meeting the guy with cash the next day:
-“You got the stuff?”
-“Yeah, yeah, got my cash?”
-“Right here. So…is it pure.”
-“Purest ever. I'm not from Santa Cruz after all.”
-“Great, great.”
-“One thing…”
-“Yeah man?”
-“You gotta keep it warm.”
-“Oh.”

So P. asks more questions, and is told that a certain head-shop that /might/ be on Meridian /might/ have some paraphernalia that would work. He goes there, buys this bladder-and-tube contraption, and is told to keep it in the small of his back for four hours to bring the contents to the right temperature so the Thermometer Guy at the testing facility won't be suspicious.

The day of the test, P. finds that he has only boxers, which aren't tight enough to hold the bladder in place. He thinks about sticking it under his arm, but decides against it. So he digs around and finds an obnoxiously colored speedo from when he was a swimmer eons before But they don't come up high enough. So he sort of wedges the filled plastic bladder into the speedo between his…cheeks.

Then he drives over the hill, but he's afraid if he sits down properly he'll cause the bladder to burst, so he's driving over 17 trying not to let his ass touch the car-seat, and nearly getting killed more than once.

Finally he makes it to the testing facility (in one piece), and when he arrives, he checks in. “Oh,” the nurse tells him. “There are five guys ahead of you. Have a seat.”

So P. has to pace the whole time, because, remember, he's afraid of sitting down. Finally it's his turn, he goes in, uses the tube to empty the bladder, sticks the empty contraption in a baggie, and sticks it in his pocket. Then he leaves.

On the way out, the guy coming in after him sees a piece of tubing sticking out, and tells P. “Hey, I have one of those, too. Bet we shop at the same place.”

P. cannot stop laughing, all the way home. Then, this morning, he called E. back and said, “The thing is, there are no results back. I asked my boss and he said they'd hear on Monday, but he could push things if I wanted. And I can't ask because then they'd suspect something.”

E. and I think this whole thing would make a great short film.
And P. is his real initial.

CC BY-NC-ND 4.0 I Swear I Am Not Making This Up by Melissa Bartell is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International License.