How the other half live

I sat in a DUI waiting room today. Watching all walks of life scurrying around with the regret of their actions on their shoulders.The room is that shade of gray that can only occur after you combined 40 different other shades of paint.I'm here as a character reference for a friend in trouble. As I sit here in this room, it makes me feel as if I had done something wrong.

I can't be sure but this room also serves as a waiting space for parole officers and drug testing. People go in sweating and come out relieved. Those involved are a motley crew. A group that never learned you should dress up for any official proceedings. Somehow in our society a pair of khakis can get you credibility. Add a polo shirt and the skies the limit.Instead they arrive in ripped jeans, basketball shorts, and the occasional Bob Marley shirt. I'm not going to point out the irony of wearing a Bob Marley t-shirt to a drug test.

I'm waiting for my turn to talk with someone who will assess my friend. She screwed up, she knows it. I guess this will serve as a reminder to her and a warning to others. I'm taken back to a place I can describe as a cubicle hell. I'm asked retarded questions about her drinking and whether or not I think she has a problem. NO I don't. What kind of character reference would I be? She had to pay for this evaluation. Is that all it is? A quick buck for the state. I find this to be Highly Problematic.