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Wrong-way driving: It's hard out here for a drunk
The latest fad among Charlotte-area drivers is way too dangerous, and I don't mean texting while driving — that's so May or June. I'm talking about driving on the wrong side of the road — which means, of course, driving drunk.
Just last week, a 21-year-old man was arrested in Rowan County on a DWI charge after driving north on I-85 South for miles, even while a UNC-Charlotte officer tried to stop him. That arrest came just a month after another man led police on a wrong-way chase on I-85 through Mecklenburg and Gaston counties, which happened a mere two weeks after two people were killed in a wrong-way collision on US 74 near Monroe.
This time around, our wise leaders aren't offering many suggestions for solving the problem, not the way they did in 2006 when the area saw a spate of wrong-way drivers. Of course, 2006 was an election year; funny how that makes a difference. Not that their suggestions would have done much good. As I wrote then, barring the establishment of a police state, there's not much that can be done to prevent the problem. And here's why: Most of the people who are driving drunk and/or headed the wrong way are young men, and like most young men, they feel immortal. And, being young drunken men, they're convinced they can drive home safely just this once.
This isn't what anyone wants to hear, but some problems just aren't very solvable, and young guys driving drunk is probably one of them. I know, because I've been there.
When I was 27 and living in a dumpy duplex in Dilworth where a hospital parking deck now sits, I drove out to the UNCC area one Saturday, off Hwy 49, for a party hosted by a co-worker. Most of the people at the party were co-workers, too, and I had a pretty good time talking and drinking, dancing and drinking, and drinking and drinking -- much more than I usually drank, for some reason.
Around 10 p.m., I realized I was too drunk to have a decent conversation with anyone anymore and, using that unique brand of Drunk Logic that only kicks in when you're three sheets to the wind, I decided that it would be best for me to drive home.
How drunk was I? There are many ways to describe inebriation, but I'd say that on that particular evening I wasn't knee-walking drunk, and definitely not commode-hugging drunk, but I was shit-faced. I had parked at the curb, facing my friend's rural-style mailbox, which was fixed to a wooden pole. Someone else had parked very close behind me, and I didn't think I could squeeze out of my space. So I did the only logical thing: I ran over the mailbox -- flattened it -- all the while thinking, "I'll have to call him tomorrow and buy him a new one of those." Drunk Logic is so reasonable, isn't it?
I don't recall driving out of my friend's neighborhood, but I do remember turning left onto Hwy 49, back toward town. About a minute later, I noticed a pair of lights in front of me. Then it registered that they seemed to be getting a little larger by the second. "Hmmm," pondered the Drunken Immortal One in my head, "what is that?" Then an inner emergency switch clicked on: "HOLY JESUS! I'm on the wrong side of the highway! Do something!" I swerved to the right, over the wide, bumpy grass median, and back onto the correct side of Hwy 49, thinking the whole time, "Please God, don't let there be a cop around here." Apparently, there wasn't.
I found myself temporarily scared straight -- adrenaline will do that to you -- so I focused as hard as I could for the rest of the drive and somehow made it home in one piece. When I woke up the next morning, I vowed to never drink and drive again, and I've stuck to it.
My point is an obvious one: When you're drunk, your judgment is as wrecked as you are. Stern lectures, horror stories, never mind the law, all disappear. Better, larger signs, more lights or highway reflectors -- none of those would have made any difference to me that night, and I doubt they'd have been of much use to the wrong-way drivers we've read about recently.
Let me clarify: I think driving drunk is a criminally stupid thing to do, and if I had been caught that night, I would have deserved whatever punishment the law was handing out in those days. Just don't pretend that some new policy will stop it.
The hard truth is that lawmakers can raise the legal drinking age to 30, or deny a driver's license to anyone whose genes predict even a hint of alcoholism. They can even post snipers on highway overpasses and order them to shoot at weaving cars. But if a young guy is drunk, has access to a car, and doesn't have a designated driver, none of that will matter. It's not what anyone likes, or wants to hear, but the truth is that some problems just won't go away.
A version of this column appeared here in 2006.
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