To the best of my recollection, this is what happened...
I had maybe three bites at lunch, and then only two pieces of hamachi nigiri at 6 PM. Worked till 10, then had two drinks with Cathey, Tim, and Katrina at Jillian's, then had one more while waiting for the train to take me home.
(FAST-FORWARD TO THE TRAIN)
I'm slumped in my seat, trying to get comfortable so I can sleep all the way to San Jose. Somewhere past the 22nd Street station I fall asleep. I wake up with a start - the train's swaying and vibration are making me nauseous. I have no idea where the train is now. "I have to find the train bathroom so I can throw up," I think. I push myself off the seat to walk to the bathroom. The train sways to and fro and I stumble. At the vestibule door, I groggily push the button to open the door.
The next thing I know, I sort of wake up halfway and realize that I am laying on my side, on the floor. How much time has passed? I have no idea. I tell myself that I probably made it home and that I am now asleep on my bedroom floor. Drifting in and out of consciousness, I hear two male voices laughing and saying, "Look at the drunk guy!" A female voice pipes up, "Sir, please step away from the drunk."
Are they talking about me? Nah, this must be a dream. I curl up into a fetal position and drift back into a blissful, if mildly uncomfortable, sleep.
Someone is rubbing his fist against my chest. I open my eyes to find myself laying down on the train's vestibule floor. Two cops are standing above me. They help me get up and off the train. I am put in handcuffs. By this time I realize fully that I've just been busted for being inebriated in public. Fuck. Section 647(F) of the California Penal Code. I remember this section well, having seen a lot of drunks in my days working in law enforcement.
The cops are nice to me, even though they've got me cuffed, with my legs spread wide, and my torso leaning forward against a white Crown Vic. "Can I call someone to pick me up and take me home," I ask. They tell me they have to take me to the county jail drunk tank and will release me when I am sober. While this is all happening I find myself thinking, "Damn, that cop is hot." They tell me that because I am nice once I am released it will be like this never happened. It will not be on my record, I will not have to go to court.
Hot cop puts me in the back of the car. The handcuffs are extremely uncomfortable, but I am calm. Then he tells me he can take me to a private drunk tank instead of jail, if I promise to be totally cooperative. I can sleep on a cot in there, he says. I say yes, please, and they drop me off at the facility in San Carlos. I sleep until the folks wake me up at 6:30 to release me. Once again they tell me this is the end of the story. "This is your one get-out-of-jail-free card," they say. I say thanks and walk out into the brightening sunshine, and call Bill to ask him to pick me up.
Thanks, Fate. I had a good time.