At the hour of 3:55 in the morning, when virtue sleeps, and poor decisions take the wheel, a Carson City deputy observed a motorcar proceeding north with one headlight out and the other apparently doing the work of two. The imbalance in illumination is often a metaphor for the driver, and in this case, it proved a faithful one.
The deputy performed a U-turn of such elegance that it would have impressed a ballet, and stopped the vehicle, only after it had executed a maneuver best described as “sharp,” which is to say it arrived in a parking lot with more enthusiasm than geometry.
Inside sat a young gentleman of twenty years, accompanied by a bottle of beer in the cupholder, placed there, no doubt, for easy reference and moral support. When asked for his license, he presented his entire wallet, which is a generous gesture, though not the one requested. His speech, meanwhile, had taken on the leisurely pace and creative pronunciation favored by men who believe consonants are optional.
He assured the deputy he had not had “that much” to drink, a statement so widely used that it has ceased to contain a number. It means precisely enough to be noticed, and never enough to be blamed.
The deputy, being a practical man, administered the customary roadside examinations, which are designed to answer the age-old question of whether the citizen can walk a straight line when the line is imaginary, but his condition is not? The results suggested he could not, which is often the case when a man has been negotiating with spirits more persuasive than reason.
At the jail, the machine rendered its verdict in the impartial language of numbers: .145 and .149. These figures are not opinions; they are arithmetic with consequences.
Now, there is a modern tendency to complicate such matters with explanations about circumstances, feelings, and the tragic unreliability of headlights. But the old rule remains stubborn: if a man intends to drive, he ought to be better acquainted with the road than with the contents of his cupholder.
Government, for once, played its part with commendable simplicity. It noticed the one-eyed car, stopped it, tested the pilot, and removed him from circulation before he could improve the statistics. No committees were formed, no studies commissioned, just the ancient and conservative principle that actions have consequences, especially at four in the morning.
As for the young man, he will have ample time to reflect on the matter, ideally in a well-lit room with both headlights functioning and no beer within arm’s reach. And if he learns anything, it may be this: the road is a poor place for experiments in optimism, particularly when one’s vision, literal and otherwise, is only half working.
The Old Blog in the Desert 
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