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Two beers.

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Somebody needs to show me these two beers.

I have heard about them all of my law enforcement career — usually at about 3 o’clock in the morning — but it’s obvious that someone is actively engaged in hiding them from me.

I mean, there I am, driving along minding my own business, when I notice the bed of a pick-up truck sticking out of a house.

Now, this is the sort of thing that kind of requires a tad bit of attention, so I stop and get out to ponder the architectural statement of a bloody huge Ford tailgate protruding between a couple of very large bay windows.

As I meditate upon this, I notice a pair of trenches cut into the lawn that lead from the street to — you won’t believe this — the pick-up truck.

This discovery, together with the bisected hedge, and the mysterious disappearance of the Mama deer lawn ornament that was formerly — if memory serves — located between the Daddy deer (now to the left of the trenches) and Baby Bambi (right side), leads me to believe that my professional services are probably required.

I call dispatch and have them run a 10-28 on the license plate prominently attached to the visible part of the pick-up, then further inform them that I will be needing the services of the VFD, a mentally-flexible tow-truck driver, and possibly EMS.

Then I scramble up onto the bed of the pick-up, duck under the collapsed eaves and into the living room.

The first thing I notice in the glare of the one remaining headlight, is Mama deer looking at me reproachfully from somewhere betwixt the radiator and the fuel pump.

The second thing, is the gentleman steadying himself against a bookcase with one hand, warbling a country song, as he relieves himself into some kind of potted plant.

Ah, I think to myself, here is Person of Interest #1.

I look into the cab of the pick-up, but I don’t see anyone else. Behind me, George Strait left his saddle in San Antone, and I pad into the kitchen.

I quick twist of the taps produces no water. I had remembered that the owners of this house were summer-ing in Colorado; looks like they hadn’t come back yet.

Even so, a quick trip through the bedrooms reveals only dust and a musty smell — thank God — so I return to Mama deer and Person of Interest #1, as Dispatch returns the name and address of the registered owner of the pick-up.

I step up behind the gentleman — who is firmly shoving up-and-down on a unoffending branch — and I clear my throat.

“What’s on your mind, sir?”

“Summbeesch won-wonn–won’t flusdht.”

“That’s okay, sir, ferns are bad that way. Want to tell me what happened here?”

“Welsh, I’s tak-taken a whizz, ‘n the thin-thingie won’t fllushdt.”

“Ah,” I say, “And how much have you had to drink tonight?’

Behind my back, I extend two fingers.

He looks at his own hand, counts unsteadily, then waves a Victory sign at me.

“T-too beerdsh!”

Damn, I’m good. I should give lessons to Miss Cleo.

“You do realize, sir, that you have succeeded in parking your truck in a house?”

“G’wan funnymaansh … wa-wait minnit. Yoosh a copdt.”

Hello, higher brain functions! I wave the flashlight beam around the living room, the pick-up grill, the bits and pieces dangling from the ceiling. The decapitated plaster deer.

“Oh-o-oh, chidt.”

“Succinct, yet pithy observation. Let’s go outside.”

“Way,way,wayminnit! Yoush ‘rrestin’ me? Whafor?”

“Suspected DWI and hunting plaster deer out of season.”

“Nonono, no. Mansh got ri’,rite to do wha he wnats wi’ his hoo -hou -, house!”

“Yes!” I exclaim, happily, “Yes, he does! And you are Mr. Jim Drunkard, of Onehorse, Texas, are you not?!”

“Yeesh! Da’s me!”

“This is Bugscuffle. Onehorse is about 120 miles…” I point, “That way.”

“Oh. Chidt.”

I want to see the two beers that can give a 270 pound man a BAC of 0.27%.

Seriously. Do they come in buckets, or what? Is there a secret non-cop beer mug measured in gallons behind the bar?

Of course, I suppose from the smell he could have been swimming in it. Are there special beer vats for dunking customers that I’ve never seen?

I want to see these famous two beers, dammit!

LawDog

Tole has a post to think about.
Happy Mothers Day

42 thoughts on “Two beers.”

  2. I, too, was confused by the size of the BEERS before I retired. Then one evening, a very humorous drunk informed me that he only had 2 beers, the first and the last, and that the ones in the middle don’t count…

  3. The Two Beers are a societal menace on par with the villians known to ER personnel everywhere as Some Guy and his partners in crime, This Dude and That Bitch.

    I suspect they brew the Two Beers and this is how they fund their nationwide organized crime network.

  7. my favorite is the “One Drink” crew. In my years of doing security in St. Louis and it’s environs, I assited the local constabulary many times when they pulled over a subject inside the Housing Projects where I worked. I was constantly amazed at how many people only had “One Drink” and yet they without fail all blew over a .10 which in Missouri at the time was the legal limit. I too wonder if that one drink was a horse trough, or a bucket.

    Mark

  8. You know, back around oh ’90 or 91 a guy tried to outrun the local police on a motorcycle late at night (sometime past midnight). He too insisted he only had two beers. It seems those two beers had quite an effect on him. He tried to pull into the neighbors carport to hide and instead fell and slid about ten-fifteen feet into my bedroom wall (fortunately slowing enough to do no visible damage to the wall – thank goodness for 1960s brick rather than plasterboard).

    When the police pulled up perhaps thirty seconds behind him he loudly insisted that:

    1: Nonono the motorcycle was not stolen no matter what someone claiming to be the owner reported earlier.

    2: He only had two beers and couldn’t possibly be drunk.

    3: No as matter of fact he did not have his wallet or drivers license on him and why the heck should that matter

    4: Nope, couldn’t give them a name because he couldn’t remember his name, age, or place of residence and no sir he wasn’t either lying and how dare the officer accuse him of that.

    And finally, 5: He knew his rights they had nothing on him and had to let him go.

    Strange but neither the first officer on the scene nor any of the others agreed with him on number five. I hadn’t yet fallen asleep (I’ve always tended to be a late sleeper) and found it all rather amusing to listen too. I mean this guy was clearly too drunk, or had already killed off too many brain cells, to realize just how stupid he sounded.

  9. Hate to double post but I remembered another example of “Two Beers.”

    Within a few years of the previously mentioned story my father came home from working a shift at the hospital and had an interesting story. Seems a very loud and uncooperative man was brought into the ER. The guy was partly upset because he was sure there was absolutely no reason for him to be in the ER. Now one of the standard questions is how much someone has had to drink and this guy’s answer was, “Just two, two!” The guy’s odor made this seem rather unbelievable so they kept asking him, “Two cans? Two bottles? Two what? Are you sure you didn’t drink more than that?” Eventually Angry Man expanded on his answer, “Just two cases dammit! Can I go now?”

  10. I was a paramedic for six years, heard a lot about those “two beers”. Figure they must be gallon sized.

  12. We noticed a truck sticking out of my neighbors house once, the driver was hiding in the bushes.

    He didn’t have sense enough to run He probably had two beers as well.

  13. The only explanation I can give is it is something that is taught somewhere. Must be the same class where they teach that if you can outrun the cops, park in your driveway, and get in the house before they catch you, you can’t be arrested.

    Or that you should put a heroin overdose in the bathtub and soak them in cold water. That, however, is a story for a different class.

    It’s the reason I NEVER have two beers. No one would believe me anyway…

    Gary

  14. The trauma service corollary…if, after drinking just Two Beers a man enters into an altercation and end ups in the ER, he will inform everyone that he was jumped by “two dudes”. If the two dudes stayed home that night, then he was assaulted by “that bitch”. (strangely, she always travels alone). If only you could catch them!

  15. Tears of joy…. nice post.

    Almost two decades ago when I was a baby prosecutor we had an all-day training on how to prosecute DUIs. It was capped by an evening get-together at the lead prosecutor’s house entertained by the DUI squad and all the booze they had confiscated from minors the prior week.

    The only ground rule was that anyone attending had to have someone come pick them up. About a dozen of us started hoovering back shots of rot-gut chased by beers. It was shocking how fast you could blow a 0.8+ in the intoxilizer.

    It ain’t the beer, or the number of beers – it’s the beer-ee.

    Cheers,

    rwc

  16. This must be some kind of universal experience for police officers. The story brings to mind my encounter a few (make that a lot of) years ago with a very inebriated driver I pulled over while serving with Nashville’s finest. He very earnestly told me that he had had only two beers. He was, however, an honest man, for in response to my inquiring look as he spontaneously lost his balance, he added, “‘Course, they was quarts!”

  17. LD,
    Your critter mispoke himself…YARDS is what he ment to say. 2 Yards of beer and I would need a tow truck to get my tanked ass out of the bar.

    PS dont try and get a “Yard” of beer at an american bar…go to an Irish pub and they might help you out.

  18. This is an international issue as well. I worked in a central California county where there were several Spanish speaking communities. When I took my first serious accident case the driver of the car now wrapped tightly around the bridge support informed me he had “Dos Cervesas. No mas.” as he slowly slid down the fender of my unit. For those who don’t know, that’s Spanish for “Two beers. No more.” Apparently that phrase is taught in Mexico too.

  19. Highway Patrol officer chasing weaving speeder, “I bet that S.O.B. has only had two beers, I wonder where you can buy them in a two pack?”

  20. Boy, does this bring back old memories. Not to mention a few grins and chuckles. Thanks LawDog for the trip down Memory Lane.

  22. Turning on the way back machine, when I was in college the first time, I had a local dive bar that I frequented (thus necessitating my return to college, methinks) wherein I would regularly ask for “a” beer and be returned a pitcher and a straw. If you ever make it up to Akron, Ohio, I’ll personally introduce to one or two of these.

    Oh, and Anonymous, I know what a yard of beer is. There’s actually a lot of places stateside that you can order one.

  23. Its simple! You reach a point when you can’t say with a straight face that you had ONE beer. Two sounds better, you’re still legal after two beers, and besides, you don’t really remember how many you’ve had. And most drunks are smart enough not to say “shitload”

    Notice I said “most”. When still in college I was a passenger and my good friend was being questioned about being parked COMPLETELY on the sidewalk in front of my dorm. When the officer asked me how much I drank, I answered “A loooot more than he did!” figuring I wasn’t driving and therefor was safe. Forgot about the little Public Intoxication issue….

    Strangely, neither of us was arrested (supposedly the security guard pleaded on our behalf). I had to wake my room mate up and have him move my friend’s car to a more suitable location, though.

  25. OMG-

    Kicking myself for not visiting sooner. Have seen numerous links from a lot of other sites and now I see why!

    New Fan- Old Paramedic in SC

    John

    The deer was PLASTERED get it uhhh hum sorry.. my first visit and already I’ve screwed up!
    Least I didn’t try to post a link- 🙂

  26. My sister told me about some 24% beer she had at a Strong Beer Festival in Heidelberg a while back. She weighs all of about 110 lbs, so she’d probably have been plastered if she had a second one.

  27. I’ve been forced to “do the hokey-pokie” a number of times, never blew anything noticeable.

    Since wrecking my leg, I can’t do any of that nonsense any more.

    Got to the point when they asked me to do a FST I’ll just say “why don’t we save each other some time and skip on down to the machine.”

    Now I know why…

    See, I have a 2-beer limit, always chased with at least 2 glasses of water, and stay at “the hole” for at least two hours.

    I didn’t know “2 beers” was cop-speak for “I’m wasted and lying.”

    So what’s the right answer? I guess if it happens again, I’ll say “I have enough cop friends to know that ‘2-beers’ is cop-speak for ‘I’m wasted and lying’ but the truth really is that I had 2 beers chased them with 2 glasses of water, and stayed at ‘the hole’ for at least two hours. Why don’t we save each other some time and skip to the machine.”

    DD

  29. In EMS, we refer to it as ‘JACOB’ –
    Just A Couple Of Beers.

    It’s amazingly common.

    Orion

  30. How many beers does it take before you can’t count to three? I should have found that out a long time ago, but somehow I just don’t remember much from those days…

    markm (sober for thirty years!)

  31. Well, I only frequent dive bars, and they tend not to mind if you drink from the pitcher. For some, two pitchers is enough to cause that level of stupidity (though I don’t think I’ve ever been THAT drunk in my life).
    And, you know, you should give him a little bit of a break. If he could’ve gotten that damned fern to flush, he might’ve been less frazzled.

  32. “I had 2 beers chased them with 2 glasses of water, and stayed at ‘the hole’ for at least two hours. Why don’t we save each other some time and skip to the machine.”–DD

    Well, DD, add up the numbers, and just tell them you had six. You’ll probably get off, then…Lol.

  33. Behind my back, I extend two fingers.

    Buuwahhh! Can’t tell you how many times I’ve had the locals do the same thing when I was working the late security shift at the hospital. It’s always the same, no, I don’t do drugs and JACOB, just as Orion mentioned.

  38. This post reminds me of so many of my hubby’s DUI stories … Shortly after he became a Senior Operator on the Datamaster Breathalyzer, one of the DWI Task Force Sergeants brought one critter in who blew a lovely point two-oh. When asked how much he’d had to drink that evening (it was only 5pm) Critter answered, you guessed it, “only two beers.” Then he paused, quite dramatically in fact, before telling the rest of the story … you see, it was only two beers, but them two beers were full pony kegs and the Critter had skipped lunch. He was still going up on the scale … too bad he wasn’t drunk enough to go for my husband’s suggestion when he contested the BAC results. The Hubby was more than willing – still is in fact – to take anyone to the ER for a nice Spinal Tap for a Truly Accurate Blood Alcohol Content test. *eg*

  39. ha-ha-ha, Lawdog ! Oh I like reading this blog !!! Gonna add it to my links !
    That’s two beers each the size of KEG, for those who need alcoholic’s translation anonymous !
    Happy Monday to you, and Be Safe !

  40. And they always claim to “know my rights”. Well, go ahead fuzzball; tell me your rights. You have the right to what???? Stupid people.
    For those of you that believe in evolution; and you work in the medical field….do you feel responsible when you thwart the effects of evolution?
    You know….when you save somebodies sorry ass and allow them to live….don’t you feel slightly naughty?

    Steve

  41. I'd be willing to bet my left nut that at least one of the cops with comments on this page has driven while over the limit and gotten away with it. I do it all the time. I'm pretty good at it. I'd also be willing to bet a few bucks that more than a few of you have. Pretty funny article however. Even for someone who hates cops most of the time.

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