I’m not going into detail about the tests we administer because while I’m a terrible human being, I’m not giving advice on how to beat them accidentally or otherwise. Practice made me good enough that I could call your blood alcohol level (or B.A.C.) within about two-tenths of a point like Babe Ruth would call his home runs, and as I got better I didn’t care if you refused it (as you’re advised), because besides the automatic suspended license, I could articulate your conviction to a judge or jury without blood or breath.
Eventually I went from counting centerline dips on midnight shift to becoming a dayshift patrolman where I let the skill atrophy due to infrequency. But I’d still get reminded now and then by someone who was N.D.D.Y. (not done drinking yet) who would pass my marked patrol car at 10 a.m. with a flat tire and the rim kicking up a rooster tail of sparks as they ran a red light in the center lane…and off I’d go.
The great equalizer. The bringer of death in some cases, but humility to all, is just a few beers or whiskeys away, so be mindful of the beast. And know that if I’m making you recite the “Two All-Beef Patties” song while leaning backwards, you’re probably about to go free and I’m just screwing with you. But if you’ve made a parent grieve, there’s a padded room and an annoyed nurse with a clipboard that literally has your name written on it waiting for you.
Behave. And be safe.