All this urine talk has reminded me of another story.
The Story Of My Bad-Ass Friend
Folks, I want to tell you a story about my friend.
You see, a long time ago, my friend used to smoke certain green plants that had certain…enjoyable…side-effects. After all, my friend was in college, which is a natural time for experimentation, and having so few adult responsibilities, my friend perhaps partook in this activity a little too often.
Unfortunately, during her senior year, my friend was struck down with a terrible case of mono. As a result, the summer that my friend was supposed to graduate from college, she was forced to take a class that she had dropped due to her medical condition. During this summer, she also accepted an internship at a company that launched her career in to what it is today.
My friend turned out to be a good, honest, reliable worker. All that summer, she studied diligently while attending to her interning responsibilities with precision. At the end of that summer, when she received her degree, she was also offered a permanent position with the company.
The day her title was transferred from Intern to Editorial Assistant was a happy one. She signed all the documents and was about to be on her way, when the HR woman stopped her at the door. It was at this point that the woman uttered the sentence that would send my friend into a panic of epic proportions:
“As part of company policy, we’re also going to need you to take a drug test.”
You see, my friend, while having limited her intake of the above green plant, had not stopped entirely. Having partook in this recreational activity over the past weekend, any drug test was sure to result in positive findings, at which point she would be immediately terminated.
Knowing she was required to report to the drug testing facility the next morning, my friend spent the rest of the day in agony, wracking her brain for a solution. At long last, she developed a plan. With one fated phone call, she took the reins of her destiny and set a course that, while daring, would result in an employer that was none-the-wiser to her recreational habits.
That night, her sister arrived at her apartment. They spent the evening assembling a container, hand-warming packets, and blue painter’s tape, and waited fitfully for the morning.
At first light, with an understanding not between siblings, my friend’s sister took the container and headed to the bathroom. Moments later she reappeared with a fresh sample of urine that was, above all, uncontaminated by drugs. After frantically assembling the container and hand-warming packets in a travel-safe container, my friend left for the drug testing facility.
It was a long drive. My friend, terrified of being caught, ran the scenario over and over in her head. Pale and shaking, she arrived at the facility. Noting the time and recognizing that she only had about 15 minutes before the sample in the container would cool to a suspicious temperature, she hurriedly attached the container and its contents to her inner-calf with the blue painter’s tape, and pulled her pants leg back down, hiding the evidence.
Then, taking a deep breath, she marched into the office.
In the waiting room, she signed in and was told to wait to be called. Trying to be cool, she opened a magazine and appeared to read, all the while watching the clock and wrestling with the icy fear that gripped her.
But luck was on her side.
Within 5 minutes, her name was called. Heart racing, she was lead to a large bathroom and instructed to place her purse in the lock box that was assembled next to the toilet. Trying to keep the nurse from noticing her quaking hands, she surrendered her purse and watched, on the edge of hysteria, as the nurse left the bathroom.
Her body surged with adrenaline. Immediately, she sprung into action. With the stealth of an international spy, she removed the container from her leg and swiftly poured the contents into the waiting sample cup. Hands trembling, she closed the lid to both containers and used an extra piece of tape, thoughtfully wound around the original container that morning, to re-secure it to her leg. Checking around her for signs of evidence, she gave the toilet a triumphant flush and emerged from the bathroom breathless. As she handed the cup and its contents, a balmy 98.6 degrees, to the waiting nurse, a wave of relief washed over her.
It was done.
A few days passed, with no word from the drug testing facility. Breathing a sigh of relief, my friend realized that she had gotten away with her plan, but she could have very well failed, and life could have lead her down a very different path. She was grateful for her luck, and vowed never to mess with the substance again.
Well, except for the occasional house party.
And on April 20th, natch.
That was my friend’s most bas-ass moment to be sure. While she’s learned her lesson, she says that she’s actually grateful for the experience. She says that sometimes, life is all about taking risks...
As long as you have a sibling that is willing to donate their bodily fluids for you.
Have a great weekend, everybody!