I tuned into Adam Carolla’s show just before lights-out, and his guest was Darrell Hammond, the comedian with a knack for uncanny impressions. Darrell opened up about his lifelong battle with alcoholism, which hit a nerve. Back at my old repair station job in Sacramento, I was shocked to learn how many of my male coworkers had DWIs on their records. Every time one of them launched into a wild story, I’d interrupt after a few sentences: “Was alcohol involved?” The answer was always a sheepish, “Well, yeah.” I stopped asking. To those guys, I must’ve been a snooze, no cigarettes, no booze, not even a coffee addiction to spice up my personality. Just a straight-laced man that they barely tolerated.
Darrell’s story took a wild turn when he shared a harrowing tale from the Bahamas. My wife and I had vacationed there, so I could picture the scene vividly. A shady guy approached Darrell, who’d already had a few drinks, and offered him cocaine. Darrell, his judgment fuzzy, said no. But this guy wasn’t taking no for an answer. He tailed Darrell into a bathroom, barging right into his stall. Now, Darrell’s a small dude, and I’m thinking, Man, that’s a bad spot to be in. I’ve never been a public drinker myself—not because I’m a saint, but because I’m always ready for combat. At my height, I secretly hoped some drunk would try me. Never happened. Maybe my towering frame scared them off. The closest I came to throwing hands was in Paris when some Iranian guys hassled my wife over subway tickets, crowding into her personal space. I charged in, yelling, ready to end them—my mindset’s not “fight,” it’s “obliterate.” A cop stepped in just as I closed the distance, saving those guys from a bad day. Paris is crawling with police, thank God. If some creep followed me into a bathroom stall? Let’s just say they’d regret it.
Back to Darrell. The guy in the stall pulls out a little gram spoon of cocaine, shoves it under Darrell’s nose, and says, “Sniff it.” Shockingly, Darrell did! I’ve always been wary of street drugs—who knows what’s in that stuff? One more reason to say no. But as Darrell left the bathroom, cops were waiting. They nabbed him and the dealer in a sting that reeked of a setup. The jail? A nightmare. Filthy cells coated in a thin layer of feces, air so stale it choked you. I could picture it all too well from my own week of jail operations training at the Sacramento Sheriff’s Department—the most revolting experience of my life. Strip-searching inmates? Not fun. The stench in those cell blocks? Indescribable.
Darrell got slapped with a $2,500 fine and was released, thanks to his dad bailing him out. The dealer? Walked free, no fine. The kicker? Outside the courtroom, Darrell saw the guy joking around with the same cops who arrested them, laughing like it was all a big prank. Total setup to fleece him.
Darrell’s story is a gut-punch reminder: stick to the straight and narrow, or life’s waiting to pounce with its dirty tricks.
Published by Editor, Sammy Campbell.