Because I Got High (Supposedly)

I would like it to be known that I am writing this blog under extreme duress, including, but not limited to:
Teasing
Daring
Heckling
Guilt ("if it were one of US, you'd write about it!")
Wheedling
....and other forms of manipulation. Can you tell my roomies are back from San Diego?

I do not want to write about myself in this blog. That's why I have a MySpace account. You can follow a minute-by-minute account of my daily travails by finding me there and reading...This is supposed to be about the coolness pocket.
Nevertheless, here I am, for the abovementioned reasons.
My recent quest to find a job better than the Pit Of Sarlaac I was working in before led me to a nursing agency called Maxim (That's right. I'm a Maxim girl. It just makes what you're about to hear all that much more delicious). They offered me a contract with County Corrections in Mansfield as a Jail Nurse, pending the results of a polygraph (lie detector test).
You see where this is going, right?
A pretty nice guy administered the test. The kind of dude that wears perfectly starched and ironed cowboy apparel and has a baby handlebar moustache, but tries to pretend he's not a redneck. He was actually an okay guy. The worst part was the blood pressure cuff, which, by the way, has left a bruise on my upper arm chub. There were control questions (is your name Erin Ferguson, is your date of birth 8/31/84, does two plus three minus one equal four?) and then questions about previous employment and illegal activities.
Now, let me interject for a moment. I may be a little wild for my current group of friends, but back in College Station, I was the straight-laced one. I have friends that used recreational drugs, and they knew enough not to use them where I could see it. I always knew if I got caught with so much as a joint, my career as a nurse was over. I've never shoplifted, never falsified records, etc.
So SOMEONE PLEASE, FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT IS LOW-CALORIE, EXPLAIN TO ME HOW I FAILED THIS STUPID POLYGRAPH TEST??
I was super-confident when the test was over! Really! I was actually yawning while the test results were printing out! Then he gets all serious and says, "Is there something you'd like to tell me?"
"Uh...your fly is down? (okay, not really, but after what happened next, that would have been great)"
"Okay, you have a problem area here."
".....huh?"
"Can you think of anything on the test you might have failed?"
"Um....not really."
"Okay, well, you had a physical reaction to the questions regarding illegal drug use."
SERIOUSLY? REALLY???? All those years of being so careful to not so much as watch a joint being lit, and I FAIL that question? Why couldn't it have been something like the one about office supply theft? I'd admit to stealing paperclips! No problem! I can go to rehab for pen-jacking!
There was no point to getting upset, though. Homeboy was just telling me what his equipment said. Still, this was completely beyond belief. But I thought carefully, and replied to him in the most intelligent way I knew how.
"Look, I have no reason to lie about that question. I know that telling you I had used recreational drugs wouldn't bar me from employment provided my drug tests came back clean. I also understand that something like eighty percent of Americans have used illegal drugs at one point or another, and that it's nothing unusual. But I haven't, and I'm not going to lie and say I have."
"Well, some people are ashamed...."
At the word "ashamed" I started laughing. I couldn't help it. It was funny! The thought of me being ashamed of something like that was a little much.
Anyhow, it was clear he didn't believe me, so eventually, I gave up arguing and trying to find out if there was something that could have caused a misread. I didn't think of it, but as my dad pointed out later, I could have informed him that it was basically physiologically impossible for me to use illegal drugs, since my body can just barely handle over-the-counter medication. But I didn't. I was too busy thinking things like, "If I was going to get accused of using drugs anyway, I should have at LEAST tried pot when I had the chance!" I allowed him to broom me out of the public safety building (apparently potheads are not allowed on the premises).
I was stymied. I actually called my dad, and didn't get much out of him besides spittle-covered epithets about the inaccuracy of polygraph machines and stories about some of the stupid polygraph results he's gotten. He was upset for me, but there wasn't a lot he could say that would help.
As I pulled up to the driveway, I saw the Kia Van parked in the garage. "Oh, good!" I thought to myself. "Tonya is home. She always provides such a nice, clear picture of things. She'll have some suggestions."
To that end I ran inside, eager and full of expectation. When she asked, I very simply told her, "I failed the polygraph."
What followed can only be described as buffeting waves of non-sequitor laughter.
When she was finally able to draw breath again and had cleaned up the water she had spewed all over the kitchen, her first words were "I'm SO proud of you!"
I never got an explanation. I'm not sure there is one.
But my biggest comfort on coming home tonight was a soothing knowledge that my roomies loved me too much to make me feel badly about this. If they pressed the issue at all, it would only be out of concern, and they would definitely be supportive. So, after a little coaxing, I let the entire stupid, humiliating story come spilling out.
After the gales of utterly socially inappropriate cackling had tapered off, the cleverness began. Questions were raised about my honesty, my chemical dependancy, and even something about my doubt-ridden heritage that I don't think anyone heard. I'm not even sure who said what any more, but rest assured of one thing...
That was NOT the response that I was looking forward to.
Once they got done with the ridicule, they began ribbing me about putting this in a blog. I didn't want to, of course, but I wasn't given much of a choice. Really, guys, I'm so glad that you enjoy my writing, but being the Blogmistress has GOT to have certain privileges, one of which, I feel, should be that you don't have to write anything embarassing about yourself.
Just sayin'.
So now, this is your bogmistress.
Single, slightly dyspeptic, and apparently hopped up on every illegal drug known to man. And I'm a Maxim girl.
Anyone know a midget I can beat up? You know, complete the trifecta of shame and ridicule?
Rest assured, roomies, that because of my love for you and my gratitude for your supportive behavior, I will begin a plan of action for the next time you are in an awkward situation with the potential to have an unreasonably ill effect on your self esteem. In the words of Laura:
"Oh boy. Retaliation will NOT be pretty."
Got it in one, m'dear. It will be ugly, swift, and final.
And it'll make one KICKIN' blog entry!
Love you guys!!