I have to get drug tested tomorrow.
I’ve been working at my company for 3 years now. This is the fifth or sixth time I’ve been “randomly” called. I’m really starting to doubt the validity of this so-called “random” pool, especially when the coworkers I have asked haven’t been tested yet. Maybe my employers saw my Pink Floyd messenger bag that I sometimes carry and got suspicious; though with my personality, I don’t think I could ever be mistaken for a stoner.
I know what you are thinking. “Wow, Jenny, we can tell from this blog that you are a wild and crazy chick. No wonder you keep getting drug-tested.” Yeah. I suffer from what I call “The Curse of the Oldest Child.” I think oldest children are generally driven to success and perfection, and want to make everyone around them (i.e. parents and managers) happy. As a kid I was an obnoxious goody-two-shoes because I wanted to make my parents happy and stay out of trouble.
These were traits that generally stuck with me when I was in college, when I wanted to be rid of the ridiculous guilt I felt whenever I was doing something remotely “bad.” I didn’t tell my parents about the first time I got drunk at a party, even though I was above the legal drinking age (I had barely gotten drunk, just buzzed. Plus, all that hard work and effort at looking mature and perfect went out the window at my brother’s 22nd birthday celebration, but THAT’S A WHOLE OTHER STORY ALTOGETHER).
That’s why, to this day, I haven’t experimented with drugs. Nope. Most of my friends have at least tried pot, and I had plenty of chances to try it myself. And I’m not going to lie…I was curious and wanted to try it. But every time I thought about it trying it, I envisioned my mother’s heartbroken face delivering a lecture about the danger of drugs. And that’s all it took. I didn’t want to disappoint my mom. DO YOU HEAR THAT, UNIVERSE? I DIDN’T SUCCUMB TO PEER PRESSURE BECAUSE I DIDN’T WANT TO DISAPPOINT MY MOM. There has to be some kind of award for that.
I haven’t even smoked cigarettes. I’ve been a runner since I was eight and I never desired that cough that goes along with smoking. (Plus, with all the facts we know about smoking today, I personally think it’s stupid even to start. This has been a health message from Mom Jenny.) The only thing I did try was hookah, once. I felt very rebellious and sophisticated as I took a hit off the hookah. I was massively disappointed. I don’t know what I was expecting. All my friends told me that it was so relaxing and I guess I was expecting this rush of inner peace. I didn’t feel anything at all, except for the taste of flavored carcinogens in my mouth.
I had a group of friends in grad school that I hung out with who were stoners. I would go over their house, and study with them while they took hits from their bong. I made the mistake of spending the night at their house on 4/20, which meant I was awake until 5 am because everyone downstairs kept hacking their lungs out.
At the end of that semester, I was due to take a drug test to start my internship. I was very scared, and also very stupid. I was convinced that just being around pot smokers would somehow get THC into my blood, even if I haven’t, you know, actually smoked any marijuana. But if you can get cancer from second-hand smoke, surely you could inhale THC into your bloodstream, right? This is what I thought, at least, and even though my obsessive google searching told me I had nothing to worry about, I couldn’t stop worrying. WHAT IF GOOGLE WAS WRONG?
So I decided to take my own drug test to make sure I would pass my employment one. Oh God, I can’t believe I’m telling this story because it’s so lame. But it’s too late to stop now. Just please keep in mind that any Jenny stories pre-2009 are going to suck because I didn’t have a life back then.
This should have been a fairly simple errand…except that I didn’t have a car back then. So I had to plan a trip using the bus route. (This was all during finals, by the way, which meant I took my notes with me on the bus, as if I was actually going to study them). I checked at HEB and Target first, but they did not sell drug tests. That was one trip down the drain. I planned another route with a stop that had a CVS near it. That CVS was sold-out of drug tests.
By now, I was desperate. Crossing my fingers and trying to quell the feeling of dread in my stomach, I planned another bus trip to visit a Walgreen’s. The Walgreen’s was a good walk away from the stop and would require me to run across a high-traffic road, but I did not care. That’s how desperate (and stupid) I was. I walked into the Walgreen’s and looked for the drug tests. I had to request them at the counter. “What do you need?” the cashier asked. “A drug test,” I said, feeling a small thrill of rebelliousness in me, which was totally lame since there was no reason for me to be taking this test in the first place. As I made my purchase, I wondered if she was silently judging me for being a sinner (the university and the surrounding area was very, very conservative, so it was possible). This gave me another small pathetic thrill of satisfaction.
When I finally got back to my dorm room, I went into the communal bathroom, read the instructions on the kit, and nervously took the test. The pee stick took all of two seconds to declare that I was drug-free. WOW, WHAT A SHOCK, RIGHT? After 4 hours and $15 dollars down the drain, my mind was completely set at ease.
A couple of weeks later, when I was about to start my internship, my boss decided to nix my drug test, because she had complete faith that I was not a druggie. Again, this is one of those situations in my life where I had a lot of mental pain and anguish over nothing.
So tomorrow, I will get drug-tested for the umpteenth time in my life, and I’m sure in another six months, my name will “randomly” get chosen again. I get a kick out of being chosen so often when I’m the least likely person to be on drugs…I wonder when the entity “randomly” assigning these drug tests will realize that selecting me is a waste of time.