Drugs and High School

Julia and Talia's story

Fear and Loathing in the Parking Lot
There it was: a new red sports car, gleaming and sleek, the top invitingly down. Mr. Salinas wished it were his car. He wished he could be driving it down the coast highway along about now. He also wished somebody hadn't taken his parking space—again. Parking is at a premium around his school, and that's why every space in the faculty lot is assigned and numbered. But how could a school guest know he wasn't supposed to park here? Unless, of course, he actually bothered to glance at any one of the dozen or so posted signs directing him to the visitor's lot. Still, there was nothing for Mr. Salinas to gain by giving over to his road warrior alter ego. Instead he would be philosophical; he would be the understanding citizen of the school community. Besides, he figured that was what he got for going off campus for a late lunch.

In any event, parking well is the best revenge. He prowled the student lot, hunting for a space. He got lucky and found one. After he stepped out of his car, though, he discovered that his good fortune came at a price. He saw something he wished he hadn't. To be precise, he thought he saw something.

There they were, Julia and Talia, getting out of a car. These were students of his, and he would have said he got along with them. From his vantage point forty or fifty feet away, it was obvious that they were enjoying themselves—his colleagues in the English Department might label that an example of understatement. Their voices were strident and their laughter slightly manic.

Wait a second. Was that the scent of marijuana wafting through the parking lot?

His choice was a tough one: confront them or keep moving. He didn't have any proof that they were smoking marijuana. Besides, he told himself, he hadn't chosen law enforcement as a career. He was a teacher. Perhaps just a couple of sophomores with a case of the giggles, right? Even though he had doubts, by this time he had pretty much decided to go the enlightened path of least resistance. So he kept his head down and moved along. The trouble was, nobody would accuse Mr. Salinas of being very Zen about anything.

At that moment Julia caught him looking at her. He must have been studying her more intently than he realized. She froze. Her jaw dropped, her eyebrows rose, and her cheeks flushed the color of the school mascot, which was the devil.

"Oh, hi, Mr. Salinas," Julia blurted out.

Talia swiveled her head past Mr. Salinas and seemed to be scanning the parking lot for the nearest boulder to crouch behind.

He said hello and together they walked back toward the main school building. The girls were jittery, and they vacillated between chummy chatter and clunking, self-conscious silence.

"What were you doing off campus, Mr. Salinas?" asked Talia, in the spirit of slightly forced friendly conversation.

He answered in a kindred spirit.

About one heartbeat later, Julia asked, "So, where have you been, Mr. Salinas?"

All right, he thought. There was no question now. Besides, he was sure he smelled something not sold at the cosmetics counter. His role was becoming more and more complicated by the second. The three of them marched farther, grimly. He finally asked them to stop, peered into their camouflaging sunglasses, and asked if they had just been smoking dope. Julia histrionically protested her innocence—"Are you crazy!"—as Talia looked down, studying her shuffling shoes.

He scratched his head: "OK, ladies, follow my train of thought. Once I started walking through the parking lot I smelled the pot, just as I observed the two of you sauntering back to main campus in an intensely cheerful mood. Nobody else around and when I got close to you I could smell it on both of you. Yet when I ask you about this, Julia, you deny it and call me crazy, and, Talia, you look like you ate the canary. Tell me what conclusion you would draw?"

"I don't care what you think you smell," insisted Julia, "and you can draw whatever conclusion you want. I didn't smoke pot! And neither did Talia either. Right, Talia?" Talia shook her head dubiously, in mournful accord. Then Julia added, "You know, this is America, innocent until proven guilty, not the other way around."

If he kept up this questioning much longer he would be late for class and probably wind up too frazzled to teach coherently. So he told them they would be talking again. "Tomorrow, my room, lunch time, be there."

He hoped that when that time came he would have something to say. As he went through the motions for the rest of the day, he found himself harking back to this incident and imagined ways to deal with the problem—that is, to deal seriously and professionally with two students he liked.

On the one hand, he was tempted to tell the vice principal of his suspicion and let her deal with it. But without proof he knew there wouldn't be much she could do. But the main reason he didn't go to the vice principal was that, given his knowledge, the kids, and their reaction, he saw no usefulness in escalating this into an official disciplinary inquiry. If they had admitted they had been smoking dope, of course, he would have advised the administration. But as it stood, everything was a he-said, she-said blur.

But then again he didn't want to let them get away with this either. It was simply too important to ignore. That wouldn't teach anything. And that wouldn't work to anybody's advantage, especially his. After all, by smoking marijuana on campus they were being bold to the point of stupid, careless to the point of reckless. Kids usually don't do something that doesn't make a lot of sense—unless it makes a kind of sense. And kids usually don't get caught by you unless they want to, or need to, get caught by you.

After talking with his wife over dinner about what had happened, he passed a restless night. As he thought about his own two-year-old daughter and about being a parent himself, he wondered what he might find helpful in a situation like this—if it ever came up, say, in about fourteen years. That train of thought gave him an approach that he thought just might work.

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