I’m good at lots of stuff. I take decent photographs. I can cook a decent meal, sometimes I write. There are things I’m good at, see. And then there’s the stuff I’m not so good at. Like passing drug screens, for example.
I blew it once before. It was by accident, of course. Wait. That was a bad choice of words. Allow me to clarify. I didn’t have an accident or anything. I failed the screen because, having been brought up right, I flushed the toilet. And then was close to failing a second time because the sample was a little, er, on the low side.
A few days ago, I had the chance to redeem myself. As part of the pre-employment process of a job I am up for, I had to go and do another drug screen. I promised myself this time would be different. There would be no flush. No flush. Not from me. And there would be no question of volume. I would turn that volume UP! I knew I could do it! I would pass this screen the first go-round. Sometimes you just need to believe in yourself, you know?
So I went. To the clinic, I mean. Well, I went, too. Because that’s part of the process. But I’m getting ahead of myself. I showed up at the clinic and registered after drinking enough water and coffee to provide a large enough sample
for an elephant. The lobby reeked of cigarette smoke. I looked around to see if they were screening Noah. They weren’t. The closest they had to a Flood of Biblical proportions was a large fish tank with a constantly trickling filter. In the lobby of a place where people go because they’re supposed to pee. Rather dangerous placement if you ask me.
When they called my name, I knew my moment had come. I followed the nice lady back to the Cubicles of Disappointment and got signed in. She gave me the instructions, but she needn’t have bothered. They are burned into my heart. “Pee in the cup, don’t flush.” Like I could ever forget them.
I did what I had to do, and I did it well. After all that water, my cup overfl- oh, nevermind..You get the idea. I walked away from my nemesis
feeling a little grossed out without flushing. I had done it! I think I heard an angel sing.
The thrill of success doesn’t last forever – just long enough to remember the poppy-seed bread I had eaten a couple of days before. Poppy seeds. You know the ones. Little black seeds that show up in a drug screen as heroin. Awesome. Even though my liver problem means I can’t drink OR shoot up heroin, but try explaining that one to Human Resources.
I’m waiting to hear the results. They say no news is good news. It might also be said that no news means they think you’re strung out on something stronger than dandelions. So now I’m scouring the classifieds for a position with an employer seeking hard-working individuals with a taste for poppy seed baked goods. I’ll let you know what I find.
You shall submit! Your link, that is!