Thursday, March 27, 2014


To become a volunteer member of the Osceola mounted (up on horses) posse/patrol it was necessary to fill out a twenty-seven-page application declaring that I don’t do drugs or lie about doing drugs, that I don’t sell drugs or lie about selling drugs, or hang around people who do drug deals or lie about doing drug deals.

There were other questions on the application but for today’s discussion I’ll focus on drug usage: real, implied, or alleged.

After I handed in my twenty-seven-page application I was required to take a lie detector test. There were thirty plus questions. A solid chunk of the questions were about my possible drug usage.

It was a voice stress test. Apparently when people lie, their voice squeaks.

“Have you been in a location where illegal drugs were being used?”



“I had to walk across my college campus and . . . well . . . there was the unmistakable smell of . . . well . . . iguana, that’s what my grandson calls dope; isn’t that adorable?”

The examiner did not smile.

I continued my confession. “Seriously, when did smoking iguana in public become okay? Good grief.”

“Do you smoke iguana?” he began. “I mean marijuana. Have you used marijuana in the last twenty-seven months?”

“Nope. Listen! I’ve never ingested an entire carbonated soda. I think the bubbles are stupid.”

I passed my lie detector test.

Finally, I had to take a drug test to PROVE through chemical analysis of my internal body fluids that I did not, have not, would not SMOKE IGUANA or consume other weirdo drugs.

Sherwood, my husband, supportive as always, was concerned that I might fail my drug test.

“Geez, I don’t know. All those concoctions you take in the morning might mix together to form PCP or something. You might fail your drug test.”

“Concoctions? Vitamin B-12? Glucosamine Chondroitin? The stuff I take so my opposable thumbs will continue to oppose?”

“Is that what that’s for? Hey, give me some,” he said.

I passed my drug test.

And so I was invited to be a member of the volunteer posse, after an interview with three stern-faced, uniformed officers asking probing questions like, “What are some of the qualifications to be a member of the mounted posse?”

Confused for a moment, I said, “Have a horse?”

I think the correct answer might have been, “Not riding a horse while smoking iguana.”

Linda (Saddle Up) Zern

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