“Albert, are you sure you can drive?”
“I’m sure,” he said.
Albert had stopped to give me a ride home. I had just started to notice that he had been way over-served at whichever bar he was coming from.
“Be careful,” I told him. “The traffic department has breathalyzer machines now and they can measure your blood alcohol content.”
“My what?”
“Never mind.”
Just then a traffic warden pulled up beside us and said, “Pull over to the side.”
Once we stopped the warden said, “Sir, you are weaving all over the road and I believe you have had too much to drink. I’m going to have you blow into a breathalyzer.”
“I’m sorry, Officer,” Albert said. “but I can’t do that. I have asthma really bad and I don’t have my medicine with me. If I blow into that machine I could have an asthma attack and die.”
“Well, there are other ways,” the warden said.
“Like what?”
“We just got authorized to take blood samples. We can go down to the station and take some blood from you.”
“Oh, my God!” Albert said. “I could never do that.”
“Why?”
“I’m a hemophiliac; what’s called a bleeder. Once the blood starts going it is almost impossible to stop it.”
The frustrated officer remained calm.
“Sir, I would like for you to get out of your golf cart and walk this line over here, heel to toe.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, officer,” Albert said. “I could not possibly do that.”
“Why?”
“I couldn’t do that because I’m way too drunk.”
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