The One With the Grass...in the Glove Box?

So this is me Tyler. Second oldest son, student at BYU. My mom told me to do a guest post today. I am going to tell you what happened to me yesterday. I swear to you I still can’t believe this actually happened. Yesterday morning I woke up and packed my things in my car and parked at Josh and Jessi’s house. I was driving a friend’s car to California for her, so I put my weekend’s worth of clothes into that car and headed out. Driving out of Provo a little later than I had wanted to…Don’t tell Mom, but I started to speed a little, wanting to get home faster. I saw a police officer and slowed down to avoid a ticket. I was speeding back up again, when a second police officer noticed me before I noticed him. He pulled me over.

I was a little nervous that I was driving a friends car, and so the names on the registration and the insurance were not mine. I opened the glove box to retrieve the registration, when a small mason jar fell out of the glove box just as the officer approached the passenger side of the vehicle. I thought to myself that it was a funny place to keep whatever nasty food was in the jar. It looked like some funky rotting substance. The police officer asked what was in the jar. I told him that I didn’t know, and he picked up the jar and opened it. He asked again: you don’t know what this is? At this point I am starting to know what is in the jar, and I realize… I. Am. In. Trouble. I told him that it was not my car and not my jar of whatever it was. He had me get out of the car and get into the front seat of his Highway Patrol car.

He informed me that I was in his custody even though I was not under arrest…yet. He read me my rights and then asked if I wanted to waive my rights and talk to him. I agreed. Have you ever smoked marijuana? No, Sir. (two years as a missionary in Texas has left me unfailingly polite and respectful…not a bad thing in this situation). When was the last time that you smoked marijuana? Never, Sir. I didn’t suppose that it would help to try explaining that I had never tasted alcohol, never smoked a cigarette...never tried drugs of any kind. Ever. I would be asked this question repeatedly over the next three hours. My response, and theirs, was always the same: Never? Really?! (the tone disbelieving, bordering on sarcastic). Probably as a result of the constant praying I was doing, I stayed calm the whole time, realizing that freaking out would not help my case.

Apparently, what I had unearthed in the glove box was marijuana, dry roasted in a fire, meaning that it had already been smoked somewhat. (The police officer explained that that meant it was probably not worth saving…it was really only good for getting me arrested). I was not happy that my first time seeing weed was when it was technically in my possession, and I was sitting in a police car. Okay, so I have never ever wanted to see weed, but still…

Officer Friendly and I made some calls on my phone and he was talking to everyone he could find to see if the stash was mine. During this time, we also stepped outside the car to do some routine tests. Following his finger with my eyes as he watched my reaction time. Counting with my eyes closed, head back. Thank goodness they didn’t make me say the alphabet backwards…I have never been able to do that. My phone rang. It was friends, with more info on the real owner of the hash. Back to the car; no more tests. He talked a while and made more calls. After some lengthy conversations he was done with my phone and asked me if I thought he was working hard enough. Yes, sir. (I could tell he was trying to save my butt.)

Then he searched the car for more paraphernalia. More officers arrived and questioned me. (You guessed it…) SO, when was the last time you smoked marijuana… same answer… same “Really?!” I overheard from their conversation that the first officer was impressed with my tests and answers, and that he was sure I was telling the truth. Search finished and they found nothing.

They asked me to put all of the boxes from the car back inside and the sit in the car again as the officers talked. Although I had been praying pretty much nonstop for the past couple of hours, now was the time to pray out loud. One car drove away and I was called to the first car again on the loudspeaker. Officer K. (the first officer) explained that he would be calling his superior to discuss what he should do and if I would be set free. That, and the realization that Officer K. looked a lot like Steve Martin, were helping me to relax a little.

I went back to my car and watched as he spoke to his superior. Lots of hand motions and I even could tell when he was explaining the jar to his superior. He finished and came to the passenger side window. He told me that I would be getting my speeding ticket and that he had lowered it for me. And then the miracle. I was free to go. BUT, he wanted to know if I was a Chris Rock Fan. I said, um...sure? He said I needed to go and watch “How to not get your ‘butt’ kicked by the police.” Obedient as I am, I just watched it. Lots of foul language, but it rang true. Rules to live by: Before you borrow a friend’s car, make sure they don’t have any outstanding warrants against them. Check the trunk for dead bodies. Search the car for weapons, drugs and stolen goods. Although, after watching the video clip, I see that I had at least one thing going for me: I didn’t have an angry woman in the car with me, pointing at me and screaming at the police officer, “He got weed! He got weed!”

See? There’s always an up-side.

I drove away still stressed out, and only got as far as the next rest stop…I was done. I almost just gave up and drove back to Provo. But I played my guitar for awhile. Got a soda. Called my parents. And then got back on the road…a little under the speed limit this time.

Please note that neither Tyler, nor his friend who owns the car, do drugs. But his friend will be very much more careful to whom she loans her car in the future...