Last week the Gene Simmons Family Jewels staff and crew had our Season II wrap party. It was at some overhyped, trendy, hollywood bar - but when you are surrounded by people you like, it doesn't really matter.
As a staff, we have a pretty good time busting on each other. We gave out awards (I won "Most Likely to Fall Asleep During Principle Photography"). One of our producers, Tracy, also made us little keepsakes - little stickers featuring the owner of the Greif Company, Leslie, in a compromising position with a buddy of his. In truth, it was the two of them hugging goodbye on a beach, but with the angle (waist up) it looks like two big, naked men embracing. The little hearts she put dancing around them didn't help. This will play in later in the story...
I drank more than I usually do and was feeling pretty buzzed. I don't know how people drink in LA since you have to drive everywhere. Oh wait - I do know - the entire city drives drunk. Well, not me. I stayed 2 1/2 hours longer than I planned and made sure I was fine to drive.
So there I am driving on the 101. I am doing 65-70, but you have to realize, no one goes under 80 in LA. Cars were leaving me in the dust - flying by me. I look in my rearview mirror and see, yup, flashing lights. "Holy shit," I thought, "No way. I am not weaving, I am not changing lanes, all the traffic is moving with me or faster. I am not trying to look like I am in control, because I AM in control." It has been hours since I drank and I don't feel a thing.
My heart is racing as I pull over. Am I going to get a DUI? That means I will be arrested. My wife is going to have pick me up at the police station. It'll traumatize my kids forever. Lets go visit daddy in jail, great.
This was the conversation...
ME: Hi Officer, is there a problem?
HIM: I am about to tell you if you'd let me speak.
HIM: Where are you coming from this late?
ME: Yeah, I work crazy hours.
Now I notice he is looking at me really funny. He is searching the car with his flashlight, which I assume is normal, but he is looking at me like I am a freak.
HIM: Have you had anything to drink tonight?
ME: No sir, not at all.
ME: No sir, I was at work.
HIM: Can I have your license please?
At this point he goes back to his car while I quietly shit myself. He comes back, removes a pen from his pocket and says:
HIM: Please follow this pen with your eyes, don't move your head.
I do it. I know I am doing it fine, but in my mind I am thinking, "You're fucking up. You fucked up. You are going to jail."
He hands me back my license, gives me another of those weird looks, and tells me to drive more carefully.
My heart is racing, I am sweating. I drove home 10 miles per hour, with my hazzards on, on the shoulder just to be safe.
I got home and was getting undressed for bed when I took my baseball cap off...and noticed...
The sticker of Leslie and his Man Servant in a warm embrace stuck to my hat.
Now I know why that cop was looking at me funny. Not that there's anything wrong with that...