Excuses, Excuses

The story is told about a police officer who pulled in behind a speeding car. For the next mile or so, he observed the car weaving in and out of the passing lanes as the driver became increasingly erratic. The officer hit the siren and pulled the vehicle over. Moments later, he was cautiously approaching the car when the driver rolled down his window and called out with great gusto, “Hey officer, what can I do for you?”

The officer explained that he had been following the man for some distance and he was concerned that there might be a problem.  “Aw, that’s right neighborly of you to be worried,” the unsteady fellow said, “but, really, Officer, I’m gonna be fine.”

The officer simply nodded and produced a breathalyzer tube. “Sir,” he said. “I’m going to need to you blow in this breathalyzer for me.”

The driver seemed completely unfazed. “And I’d love to, sir,” he replied, “but I can’t.”

“You can’t?” the officer asked.

“No, sir, I can’t.  I’m an asthmatic. If I do that, I’ll have a really bad asthma attack.”

“Okay,” the officer said. “If that’s the case, I’ll have to take you to the station for a blood sample.”

“Oh, and I can’t do that,” the driver said. “I’m a hemophiliac. I could bleed to death.”

The officer’s patience was being severely tested. “Fine, then, we’ll just take a urine sample.”

The driver shook his head like it was a sad situation, “Sorry, no can do, Officer. I’m a diabetic and that could mess up my low blood sugar.”

That was it! The officer was through. “I’ve had enough of this,” he said. “I suppose you have a good reason for not being able to get out and walk this white line, too, don’t you?”

“Yes, sir,” the man said, seriously. “I can’t do that. I’ve been drinking.”

Hugs, Shellie