Abe Moore Guest Contributor
Sometimes the most unfunny experiences in my past become funny. If I’m just laughing at myself.
I was 23, married for about three years. I was out partying where I really shouldn’t have been.
Riding my motorcycle, I was heading home about 2 a.m. on the 91 freeway back in the days before helmet laws. Going 115 mph, I looked over my should to check for CHP, and my Oakleys flew right off my head. No sooner, I turned back and saw flashing lights. I was screwed.
I got pulled over and all was good until I tried to hand him my insurance card. I let it go and before he grabbed it, the card went blowing down the highway. Hmmm. Then came the sobriety check. They took me into a CHP station to get a breathalyzer test. There, they asked me to take everything out of my pockets. I was smoking cigs back then and had a couple of doobies in the pack. I emptied the pack on the ground and kicked the doobies under the table without getting caught. Then I blew a .06 in the breathalyzer. The wouldn’t let me leave and locked me up in a cell.
I called my wife at about 3:30 a.m. When I told her I was in jail she laughed so hard the cops heard her, and they joined her in busting up. Also, she had no interest in coming to get me.
At 16, I was driving at 7 a.m. on the 110 Freeway in a 1970 Mustang, traveling from San Pedro to a friend’s house in Lawndale. I was on the transition from the 110 to the 405 and lost control of the car, rolled it seven or eight times off the side of the freeway. I had no seat belt, wound up in the passenger seat without a scratch. I got out of the car, got my skateboard out of the trunk and hiked up the side of the embankment. When I got up there, cars were stopped and people were asking if anybody was alive in the car, I said I was in the car by myself. They couldn’t believe it; the cops couldn’t believe. I ended up getting a ride to my friend’s house by the cops…
Moral of the stories, both related in some way: keep this jerk off the road.