Crossing The Line

People are sometimes hardheaded and stubborn for no reason other than they want to be hardheaded and stubborn. Case in point: The Line.

The Line was a tall man who had come in to do a pre-employment drug test for a towing company, which means he has a commercial driver’s license, and therefore his drug test needs to follow federal rather than state standards. The Line’s major problem is that he’s a clown, and as veteran peemeister readers will know I am fairly incompatible with clowns.

When I ask someone a question about a service they are providing me, I like to get a clear and honest answer. When someone asks me a question about the drug test collection I’m conducting, I like to make my answers as clear and honest as possible. This creates a surprising amount of friction with some people, and it baffles me as to why. The Line is a perfect example of this.

When I asked The Line to place his things in the lockbox he asked me, “How do I know you won’t take anything?” This is a perfectly reasonable question. The answer, of course, is that he’ll be in the bathroom with all his stuff locked up in a box, and I’ll have the key outside. Neither of us can access the materials in the lockbox. Halfway through explaining this to The Line, however, he interrupts me by saying: “How do I know you ain’t a magician?”

So, now I have to temporarily abandon the first question and answer the second: “Sir, I assure you I’m not a magician. Neither of us will be able to touch the things in the box.” Yes, the magician question was a joke. But I still had to answer it seriously. Why? Because what if it wasn’t a joke? Crazier things have happened. The running theme here is that people will try anything, absolutely anything to cheat on a drug test, if they have to.

Now that the foolishness about me being a sorcerer are put aside, I try to revisit the original question about the lockbox and the key. But again, he interrupts me: “Man, it was a joke. I’m just messin’ with you.”

“I try not to mess around at work, sir,” I tell him. And this was the point I crossed the line with The Line.

Not appreciating his joke was essentially the most horrid thing I could have possibly done to this man. From this point on it was a war. Every instruction I gave him was a battle. Everything was met with an icy stare. He suddenly had a problem with washing his hands with cold water. (Why is there no hot water in the sink next to our bathroom? Beats me, but there isn’t.) He is entitled to hot water. He wants to know why he can’t flush the toilet. I can’t get two words out of my mouth without another interruption about how rude I am or how ridiculous drug testing is.

Eventually we manage to get The Line’s sample poured into the split bottles. All that’s left is for him to initial the bottles, sign the forms, and then I can be rid of him. He snatches the two bottles from my hands, stares me right in the eyes, and without breaking his gaze he quickly and flippantly puts a line on each sticker.

“Sir, I need you to please initial each bottle.”

“Those are my initials.”

“That’s just a line.”

“That’s how I write my initials.”

“I need you to please write T. L.”

Again he snatches the two bottles and scribbles the initials T. L. onto each one in the most terrible chicken-scratch handwriting I’ve ever seen in my life. He practically throws them at me. “There. We done?”

“No sir,” I reply as I place the bottles in the sample bag. “Now I need you to read and sign step five, right h–”

The Line snatches the pen from my hand before I can finish and very firmly draws a line in the signature field. Well, at least it’s the correct field.

“Sir, I need you to actually sign your name.”

“That’s my name.”

“Sir, that’s a line.”

“That’s how I sign my name.”

“No, it isn’t.”

“Are you patronizing me, boy?”

“No, but I can see your signature on your driver’s license, and it isn’t a line.”

“I don’t care.”

The Line crosses his arms. We are at an impasse. There’s no way I’m going to get him to sign the form. There are a lot of things I could explain to The Line. For example, I could explain that his company may choose not to hire him if he refuses to take a drug test (which, by the way, is what he’s doing if he doesn’t sign the paperwork saying it’s his sample). I could explain that the lab might get audited by the Department of Transportation, his sample might get pulled out of their freezer, and they might find his refusal to test and revoke his license. He might face fines or, worse, lose his CDL forever. Which means no more working in his field. For the rest of his life.

Of course, I can’t get any of this out. He red-lights every word I say by reaffirming: “I don’t care.”

“Okay,” I shrug. I hand him his copies of the paperwork and send him on his way. Once he’s gone, I write “REFUSED TO SIGN FORM” in huge letters in the remarks field on the lab’s copy of the form.

The company which sent The Line to our office is actually pretty lax about the federal standards they’re supposed to follow, so chances are good that nothing will happen to The Line. However, I’ve dealt with companies that will blacklist people who refuse to test. I’ve had more than a couple desperate phone calls from men who were tough and invincible on drug test day, who now all of a sudden have lost their job or their license and need me to fix it.

The DoT standards are strict and maybe a little cruel, but they are what they are. I can’t imagine anyone who works in a field that requires a CDL could possibly not know that. Why anyone would risk their livelihood because some kid didn’t think his lame joke was funny is beyond my grasp.

This was anecdote the second. I’ll post the third in a couple of days.