Brian was tired, not drunk. Couldn’t they see that? Couldn’t they just smell his breath? Couldn’t they just listen to him talk to tell he wasn’t drunk? He was just overworked and tired, so very tired, that’s all.
He put his hand on his head, and then patted his stomach. He’d seen sobriety tests before, mostly on TV. Usually they were as simple as walking a straight line or standing on one leg or saying the alphabet backwards, but this was ridiculous he thought as he held his hands out in front of him and turned them up.
One police officer was watching him intently while making notes on a clipboard. The officer who’d taken his license was sitting inside the car, probably checking his record, but Brian wasn’t worried about that because there was nothing there, two speeding tickets in ten years, no accidents, nothing else.
A car from the other direction honked as it’s headlights lit up the interior of the police car. Brian wasn’t sure, but it looked like the officer there was aiming a digital camera at him.
“Okay, okay,” the officer with the clipboard was saying, “Very good. That’s the Macarena now how about the Chicken Noodle Soup Dance.”