Nice aim.

To answer your question: yes, people try to cheat. This doesn't bother me as much as you might think, other than the fact that it ends up wasting five or ten minutes of everyone's time. The sad truth about pre-employment drug testing (or any drug test which gives you time beforehand to prepare) is that they aren't so much testing for drugs as they are intelligence. Anyone with even passing knowledge of how the process works (for example, anyone who reads my blog) can, with the slightest bit of reasoning, work out how to cheat.

So, whenever I come across a cheater, I'm a little disappointed. The process can't catch the people who cheat successfully (how would we ever know?); we only see the people who didn't bother putting more than four minutes of thought into how they were going to sneak one by us. It's the equivalent of watching some numbskull uselessly pushing against a door that is labeled "pull".

Stupid Name not only didn't have a good plan for cheating -- if that were the extent of it, he wouldn't really be noteworthy. What made Stupid Name extra special was that he actually managed to botch his already-doomed-to-fail plan.

The collection started smoothly. Stupid Name seemed eager to get the thing over and done with, and I was eager to be rid of him and move on to the nine people waiting in line behind him. I'm finishing up his paperwork as he's in the bathroom when I hear the curious sound of liquid hitting the floor. Not the tssssss of a careless man peeing on the floor, but rather the kssssshhhhh of someone spilling the contents of a bottle.

Stupid Name opens the door and pokes his head out. "Hey dude, you got a mop or somethin'? I missed the bowl."

I tell Stupid Name that I'll take care of the mopping afterwards. He opens the door, steps out, and sets a half-full cup on the counter. His shirt has a huge wet spot on it starting at his collar and ending just above his gut. There's an enormous puddle of urine on the floor of the bathroom about two feet away from the toilet. Why, it almost looks as though someone were standing with his back to the commode, pouring liquid from one container into another, and spilling it all over himself.

Before I can point out to Stupid Name why this is unacceptable, he offers up this useful information: "Sorry, I kinda peed on myself."

Explaining to Stupid Name why I won't be taking his sample is actually none too difficult. He's pretty embarrassed by the fact that he screwed up. The odd sound is enough to merit a second collection. Stupid Name packs his things and leaves the office.

Oh, and his sample was colder than room temperature. Which means even if he weren't a moron and hadn't botched his flawless scheme, I still would have caught him. Dude was foiled from both ends. Once he's gone I set about mopping up his mess, then call the next person waiting. Going to be a long-ish day.

Just now I've been informed that Stupid Name is back, willing to try again. As soon as we get permission to do a witnessed collection from his employer, he'll get his chance. I haven't seen him yet but I hope he's at least changed his shirt.

Weird look.

One of the up-front girls notified me over our inter-office messaging system that Mr. Quiet's collection would need to be witnessed. Apparently his first sample came back far too hot and, upon delivering this information to Mr. Quiet's would-be employer, they requested that someone watch him pee to make sure he didn't try to get away with anything the second time around.

I felt bad for Mr. Quiet because he didn't seem to me to be the type who would attempt to cheat on a drug test. He was very polite and soft-spoken, was not the least bit combative or nervous, and didn't ask any strange questions about loopholes. He didn't set off any red flags. I quickly decided that he probably just had the bad luck of running a high temperature. Not common, but it happens.

I stood behind Mr. Quiet in the bathroom as he went through the motions. Ten seconds in, however, he discontinued the process claiming he just couldn't go. This was definitely strange... even if you didn't feel the urge, you'd give it more than ten seconds, right?

I put Mr. Quiet's paperwork in the "not ready" box and instruct him to drink as much water as he needs. It's pretty early in the afternoon, so there's no hurry; he can sit there for hours if he wants, or leave and come back, or pretty much anything really. Ball's in his court.

Fifteen minutes before closing, I get called back up. Mr. Quiet's ready. In the middle of putting together a last-minute overnight order for one of our clients, I told the up-front girls to go ahead and take someone ahead of him, and that I'd be up in five minutes. When I made it up to there, the collection-in-progress was only halfway done, so I stood nearby and waited patiently for my turn.

From where I stood I could look into the reception area and out through the window into the waiting room. I watched as someone dumped $1.50 into our soda machine, skimmed over a couple waiting on an immigration physical, and to Mr. Quiet sitting in the corner. I gave him a polite nod.

Another minute goes by, and Mr. Quiet approached the receptionist. I couldn't hear what he said, and in fact didn't even know he had stepped up until I heard the up-front girl say, "Huh? Speak up sweetie, I can't hear you." Mr. Quiet glanced nervously at me, shrugged sheepishly, and said "I'm sorry man... it's nothing personal... just... I don't know what to make of that look." Then he turned back to the up-front girl and reinforced his point: "Didn't you see? He just gave me a really weird look. Like, really uncomfortable. Can someone else do the test?"

The up-front girl looked at me, stupefied. She didn't know the answer to the question (of course) but I did: "Sir, I'm the only male collector on duty today. It's me or no one."

"Can I come back tomorrow? I'm sorry but I'm just real uncomfortable."

"I'm pretty much the only male collector who works here, sir. You'll have to get in touch with your employer if you want to arrange to go somewhere else." That's actually only a half-truth: the president of the company is also certified to do collections, but let's be honest, nobody actually expects him to. If Mr. Quiet wants this drug test done, he's really only got the one option.

By now, the collection-in-progress is done and I retrieve Mr. Quiet's sheet. He follows me back, apologizing the whole way, repeating "I just really don't know what to make of that look... you know?"

A brief aside: Mr. Quiet's complaint about a "look" might not be completely unwarranted. I wasn't convinced he was a cheater at first, but his shabby performance during the first witnessed test didn't exactly win him any points with me. If the look on my face said "this guy is a scumbag cheater" when we locked eyes for one magical moment as I as scanning the lobby, well, you'll have to forgive me. More likely, Mr. Quiet was looking for any semi-legit opportunity to duck out of a drug test he knew he'd fail, no matter how flimsy the pretense.

So we went through the whole song and dance, the "empty your pockets please", the "you understand this test is to be witnessed", the whole nine yards. And again, he gives a shoddy ten second showing where he doesn't even pretend to try to urinate, then gives up. "I can't do it," he says. "I just can't do it."

Mr. Quiet elected to leave the office and return the next day, pending permission to do so from whatever hapless company thinks it wants to employ him.

The next day Mr. Quiet returned. His employer had given permission for a second witnessed test. However, this time when he saw that once again I was the only person available for the collection, he raised a small fuss about how he was assured it wouldn't be the guy who gave him the "weird look." We certainly assured him of no such thing. Perhaps his employer did, not knowing the circumstances, but in any case these assurances did not match reality. He left without even filling out the paperwork.

The next day (today) I learned that Mr. Quiet couldn't be witnessed because he had kidney stones. Now, I'm of the opinion that the man was just trying to duck a drug test by any means necessary. I admit that I could be wrong, and that the poor guy just doesn't want some other dude watching him pee. Maybe he gets stage fright really easily. But again, making excuses doesn't help his case any. After today's visit it seems Mr. Quiet finally gave up the fight and his prospective employer passed him over for one of the fifty guys standing behind him for the same job.

Sorry, Mr. Quiet. Don't leave it in the microwave so long next time, eh?

I enjoy watching people pump money into the soda machine because I'm the guy who stocks it and profits from it. *clack* *clack* *rumbarumba* *THUNK* -- Thanks for the twenty-six cents, mister!

The predicament.

Mr. Greasy hikes up his way-too-baggy pants and asks me, "Hey, is that my piss?"

Just about to drop Mr. Greasy's sample into the baggie with his paperwork, I freeze. "Excuse me?"

"How do I know that's my piss?"

Sigh.

Pulling the sample bottle back out of the bag, I point to Mr. Greasy's initials and explain: "You initialed here stating that this was your sample."

"But you coulda switched it with someone else's."

"Sir, you watched as I poured your urine into this bottle and sealed it with the sticker. That's when I asked you to initial the side of the bottle."

"I wasn't lookin'. I was over there."

Alright, let's play games. I love games. I always win.

I collect as much calm as possible, and mutter, "Okay. I will discard this sample and we will do another, more secure collection."

Mr. Greasy tries to object as I pitch his bottle of urine into the garbage can.

"Yo, what didja do that for!?"

"There is doubt as to whether it was actually your sample. I can't in good faith send it to the lab to be tested. We're going to have to do it again."

"Dude, no, it's cool, I trust you."

"Sorry, nothing I can do at this point. If there's any doubt at all about whose urine it is, I can't send it up and risk some kind of problem."

"God damn it, man. So I gotta drink more water and sit there another hour?"

"If that's what it takes, yes. Please have a seat in the lobby."

And thus was Mr. Greasy defeated.

Make no mistake, this was not a simple honest case of someone having doubts about their drug test collection. This was a punk kid who knew a guy who knew a guy who snuck a positive sample through by claiming his urine had been switched.

Let's rewind a bit look at how this could have went down, shall we?
"How do I know that's my piss?"

Sigh.

Pulling the sample bottle back out of the bag, I point to Mr. Greasy's initials and explain: "You initialed here stating that this was your sample."

"But you coulda switched it with someone else's."

"Sir, I couldn't have done that. This is definately your urine."

"Well, dude, if you say so."

A few days pass, and Mr. Greasy's sample comes back positive for THC. One of our data girls gives him a call, goes through the whole spiel, and then...

"Well, I told the guy when I was there that I thought he switched my piss. So that wasn't mine."

The seeds of doubt thus sewn, we'd have no choice but to offer the guy a retest. Which of course was his original intention, anyway. Because like I said, he knew a guy who knew a guy who got away with it.

This is one of the red flag things I have to be on the lookout for when doing collections. I actually find myself wishing sometimes that people would have a little more imagination when they cheat. Sneaked-in sample? Ho hum. Guy scribbles all over the wrong places on the forms? Been there, done that. Lady insists on using her own personal "hand sanitizer" instead of our soap and water to wash her hands? Give me a break. It's like everyone reads the same "1001 Ways to Cheat on a Drug Test" handbook.

Mr. Greasy drank about nine cups of water and sheepishly did a second collection in about an hour. When I said "secure" I meant "secure". I gave him stump-dumb instructions along the lines of "I will now pour the sample into this bottle. Please watch as I do so. Now please watch as I affix this sticker over the top of the bottle..." I then read the form to him and underlined the exact portion for him to sign. He was not happy that I left him without any wiggle room.

I wonder if Mr. Greasy had gotten away with it, and passed his test, and got hired on at the car dealership he was applying at, if he would be as attentive to his job as I am to mine. Maybe he's the type who gets high on his personal time and doesn't let it affect his job at all. Or maybe he's the type who would have snuck off to the break room every chance he got to toke up.

Maybe he's not a user at all, and just thought it would be fun to see what happens when he indirectly accuses the drug test collector of switching his sample. Or maybe, just maybe, he honestly couldn't tell whether or not I had made a switch. Maybe he had a legitimate gripe.

Somehow, I doubt it. I've been doing this so long now I can spot 'em a mile away.

We're two people down in the office today, and on top of that I'm hopped up on DayQuil. Whatever Mr. Greasy's deal was, I was in no kind of mood to put up with it.

"But it's only a drug test...!"

If you love to read long court summaries where a drug test collector gets himself raped through the ear, you're going to totally dig this:

http://tinyurl.com/rcawu

Basically, here's what happened. This woman goes in for a DOT drug test, is found positive for THC, and then walks away with $120,000 in medical expenses, emotional distress and lost wages. Why? Because the collector screwed up.

The collector admitted that his office did not carry a copy of the DOT regulations, did not secure the bathroom before the donor went in, did not instruct the donor to wash her hands and failed to add a bluing agent to the toilet bowl.

Whether or not the woman's story about the collector mixing her sample up with some other donor's sample is true is completely irrelevant. Point is, admitting the first couple blunders before a jury is just giving credence to anything else someone else wants to pile on top of it.

This is the reason I'm a total nazi about following the collection regulations. This is why everyone empties their pockets, washes their hands and reads the form. One little slip-up and my company is out $120,000

Note that I'm not disagreeing with the verdict; heck, if I saw an opportunity to cash in on a slipshot drug test collection, I'd gobble it up.

Sued, or whatever.

I wasn't really sued. That isn't the right word for it. I don't even know what the official term is for it. Point is, the matter would have involved lawyers and courts, and had it stuck I would have been fired and maybe found liable for damages. Emotional distress or somesuch. I'm not exactly sure.

The reason I'm not sure about any of these things is that the whole thing never came to fruition. The grievance fizzled away without much ado at all, and the guy who filed it just sort of vanished.

The story is pretty interesting though, even though I didn't get thrown in jail or fined $5000 or lose my job.

I was handling a stream of collections for my offices's biggest client. This would be the one who insisted I open at 7:30 am, whom I've complained about here on several past occassions. Mr. Nervous was there waiting for his name to be called... and Mr. Nervous had a secret -- he had a little bottle of urine squirrelled away on his person.

Maybe it was deep in a secluded pocket. Maybe it was tucked in his sock. Maybe it was up inside his... yeah. Point is, it was there. And he was afraid of getting caught. And that's why he was nervous.

Also in the office this morning was my girlfriend. The routine was pretty simple: she would drop me off at my office at 8am and be at work on time herself by 8:30. The difference was, this morning I had to be in at 7:30 and it was too early for her to go clock in. Generally on these mornings she would just hang out at the office with me for twenty or thirty minutes and then take her leave.

Mr. Nervous stepped up to do his drug test, and the missus was sitting in my lobby nodding off. The stage was now set.

In the proud tradition of idiots who don't know how to properly cheat on a drug test, Mr. Nervous had neglected to warm up the urine sample he bought to give me instead of his own. As a result, the temperature strip read that the contents of the sample cup were way too cold. I pointed this out to Mr. Nervous and he started to put up a little fight, until I mentioned that I would have to call his employer for authorization to do a second test.

A second, observed collection.

I made Mr. Nervous wait until the five guys behind him were taken care of. During this period my girlfriend kissed me good-bye and left my office. Soon Mr. Nervous and I were all alone, I placed a call to his boss, got authorization to do an observed collection, and we were good to go.

An observed collection is exactly that: the guy gives a second sample, except this time I get to watch. Lo and behold, this time Mr. Nervous's sample was not only plenty warm, but smelled completely different. I made a note on the first form that the first sample was cold and send both samples to the lab.

Time passed, as time does.

I heard the good news from my boss. She called and asked, "Hey, when your girlfriend is in the office, she's in the back, right?"

Keep in mind that my boss and I have the kind of relationship where, had I lied and said "yes" she would have taken my word for it and that would have been the end of it. We also have the kind of relationship where I don't bother lying to my boss.

"Not usually," was my answer, "she'll usually hang out up front with me."

"Is she there very often?"

"Just on my early days, she'll stay here for about a half hour before it's time for her to be at work."

"Have you ever let her do a collection?"

"Absolutely not!"

This is the kind of place where I can usually think up a witty little joke to liven up the employer/employee banter. But the accusation is just so alarming that nothing but an outright denial is the only thing that will suffice. I remember years ago when I used to work at an ice cream store sometimes my friends would show up at closing time and help mop the floors. They did this for two reasons: I would get out of work earlier, and they would get free ice cream. It was a mutually beneficial arrangement and, besides, the worst thing that could happen was they could do a pisspoor job of mopping the floor, and I'd have to redo it.

There would be no benefit, mutual or otherwise, to allowing my girlfriend to do my job for me. It wouldn't get me out of the office any faster and even if I did have the authority to offer her a free drug test, I doubt she'd want one.

"Absolutely not," I repeated. "That's ridiculous. Who said that?"

"Do you remember doing a collection that came back cold?"

"Yeah, for [company x]. I called [company x's supervisor] and got permission to do an observed collection."

"Okay, well, he's filing a formal grievance against you. He said you denied his right to privacy and that your girlfriend saw him pee."

Thank you, good-night.

"...wait, what?"

"He said your girlfriend saw him pee."

"And that caused his sample to be cold?"

"I don't know, but that's what the complaint is."

"It's ludicrous."

"I know."

"From now on I won't let any of my friends hang out here, in the back or not."

"No, that's not a problem, I just wanted to make sure you weren't letting anyone else do collections or anything like that."

"What, does this guy think my girlfriend has x-ray vision?"

"I have no idea."

"Okay, well, should we be worried about this?"

"Nah, it's no problem. But you'll probably get a phone call from him."

"Fun."

Several hours later, I actually did get that phone call. Mr. Nervous sped through his monologue as quickly as possible without pause for breath. I would have bet a hundred bucks his lawyer was sitting next to him saying something like, "You have to call him and confront him with the charges, or legally nothing will stick." It was pathetic.

It went a little something like this:

"This is Mr. Nervous, I'm notifyin' you that I'm filin' a grievance against you, because your girlfriend was there, and you have been notified that my lawyer will be present."

I tried to reply, but he hung up.

I never learned where his lawyer would be present. Nor did I ever hear anything else about this entire situation, except to exchange a few lines about it next time Mr. Nervous's ex-supervisor came into my office to pick up his forms.

Apparently, the case against my girlfriend having fantastic super powers struck Mr. Nervous as far too difficult to make. So he dropped it.

Make no mistake, Mr. Nervous's old employer has strict policies concerning employees who try to cheat on a drug test. Strict, but not complicated: cheat, and you're fired. Period. The punishment for cheating is actually worse than if you'd actually failed (in which case you go to rehab, but keep your job). That said, Mr. Nervous was undoubtedly fired.

Now, as I understand it, if Mr. Nervous was going to make a formal complaint against me, his employer would have had to take it seriously. The matter would have had to have been persued all the way to court if need be. He could have fought for his job. This actually happened to me on one occassion a few years back. But no, Mr. Nervous decided against that. He decided to lodge his complaint as a private citizen, which means his employer didn't have to go to the mat for him. Of course, that means they would have gone to the mat for me instead.

Part of me really is really disappointed this whole matter just kind of... went away. I was really hoping the guy would try to push the matter. I was hoping for a court battle. I was hoping we'd get the chance to show his signature on two separate forms stating that both the urine that came back negative and the urine that came back positive were his urine. I was hoping we'd get to call the other guys in the office that day as witnesses... guys who had nothing to gain by sticking up for Mr. Nervous but everything to lose.

I was hoping the guy would call a local news station to try to kick-start a telling exposé on the drug test industry.

Alas, none of those things happened.

I've thought a bit at the mental process that goes into the things Mr. Nervous did. What was going through his mind? "Uh oh, I did a few lines the other day and now I'm going to fail a drug test. I'm going to be fired. I know! I'll make up an insane story that nobody will believe about the drug test guy and get him fired too! I am a criminal mastermind!"

Pathetic.

For the record, my girlfriend actually does have x-ray vision. However, she uses her powers only for good, like any self-respecting superhero.

Flimsy little strips.

It can be uncomfortable -- even absurd -- to know that sometimes a crucial element in your life rests on something so tiny and flimsy as a temperature sticker. A piece of paper which changes color when it warms up. Essentially, a series of tiny mood rings glued to the side of a plastic cup. It's ridiculous.

But, there it is.

The job of the temperature sticker is to give a handy visual display whenever a sample is too hot or too cold. The idea is that the inside of a human body is of a certain temperature, and anything that comes out of the human body will likewise be of a similar temperature. If it's too cold, it means the sample was likely sneaked in from outside. If it's too hot, it means the cheater was at least smart enough to spin it in a microwave first.

Or, it could mean the temperature sticker is acting up.

A call from my boss. "A guy is going to come in for a DOT test. He already walked out on one collection because he says the temperature sticker was broken." That's bad news. Walking out on a DOT collection means you could lose your commercial driver's license -- and therefore your job. My boss continues: "I told him to go over there and do another collection. I don't know if it will do him any good, but it's not like he has anything to lose at this point."

Make no mistake, this guy is already screwed. That other lab, whomever they are, have to report a cold sample for any DOT collection. The specifics aren't important; basically what it means is that the lab has to file some paperwork saying that So-and-so refused to take a drug test. The cold sample will be sent to the lab and scrutinized. Maybe it's unfair, but this guy is now in so much more trouble because he tried to cheat and then refused a retest than he would be in had he just gotten caught with pot in his system.

Let me put it this way. A positive result might have gotten him fired, but he could then go find work in his field elsewhere. A refusal to test means no more license -- which means no more getting hired anywhere.

The way I understand it, when you get a commercial driver's license your name goes on a list. Your employer by federal law has to drug test half his employees every year. Now, these test results are randomly audited. If a file gets pulled and looked and it says So-and-so refused to test, that employer gets a call. If So-and-so is still working there, the employer gets slapped with a hefty fine. It's not in an employer's best interests to go to the mat for you on this, and it's been my experience that they are not sympathetic.

When So-and-so shows up, I can tell right away he's not going to try and pull anything. He's had a long conversation with my boss. He realizes exactly where he messed up and now he's got the look of a chased deer in his eyes. He asks lots and lots of questions. He asks if I think it's fair if I lose my job because of a drug test. Which, of course, I do. And anyway it doesn't apply to me. For one, I don't have a commercial driver's license and for another, I don't do drugs.

He asks lots of other things. Oh, the other guys didn't make me wash my hands before I went in. Does that invalidate the test? "Well, no. It just means different companies have different procedures."

The other guys asked for a list of medications. Why haven't you? "Well, I don't have any medical training. Maybe their collector did."

He asks if he can be present during the actual test. "You'll have to call the lab and ask them."

And finally, he asks about the flimsy temperature strips. He asks what percentage of them don't read correctly.

"Honestly," I reply, "I've never seen one not work."

And that's the truth.

Tiny, stupid little pieces of black paper. But they're perfectly reliable -- at least in my experience.

I know sometimes people come in here and break the rules. And they get away with it. And I don't mind that. But sometimes people come in and the rules break them instead. Even giving this So-and-so guy the benefit of the doubt... let's say that first strip was broken. He still walked out. He still slipped up. He's still out of luck.

He'll lose his job and probably his license, all because of a little strip of paper that changes colors when it warms up.

If you don't know the difference between a DOT drug test and a regular drug test, don't worry. That just means you probably will never have to take one.

Coffee.

First thing this morning is a phone call. It's an adventurous one. It's from Mr. Coffee.

Mr. Coffee came in for his drug test some time ago and asked lots of questions. Generally this is the sign of someone looking for a loophole to slip through. I believe in giving absolutely concise one-word answers to questions like these, and then directing them to call my bosses for more information. Questions of this nature include "Does x show up on a drug test?" where x is anything from poppyseed muffins to aspirin to coffee.

Yes, we've all seen that episode of Seinfeld. And yes, it's got some basis in fact. It is possible for perfectly normal, legal items to show up as illegal drugs on a drug test. However, if the smart scientist guy from our lab is right, it's also possible to discern the difference between an innocent bagel and black tar heroin. As a rule, no, the things you eat and drink cannot provide a false positive.

Coffee, however, will not show on a test. That's just absurd. Everyone in America would be failing every drug test they took if coffee provided a positive. Even the harshest 10-panel tests I do collections for don't look for caffeine. Heck, the amount of Pepsi I drink on a daily basis would cause me to fail my own tests if that were the case.

Nonetheless, Mr. Coffee insists that our test screwed him because he drank a lot of coffee that morning.

He begins, in his best politely annoyed voice: "Hi, this is Mr. Coffee. I was in for a test about a month ago for a job and it said I was positive."

"All the test results go back to our main office. I, in fact, never see them. You'll have to call them for more information." I begin to provide the phone number, but he cuts me off.

"Yeah, I already called them right before calling you, they said to call you since you're the one who did the test and you're the one who said coffee doesn't show up."

Coffee? Surely this gentleman is kidding.

"I find that odd, sir, as the main office doesn't open until 9:00 am, and under no circumstances would they have directed you to me." It's 8:06 am. I haven't even had my first Pepsi yet.

"But you're the guy who did my test."

"Actually, I don't do any testing here, and I never see the results. You'll have to call the main office after nine for more information."

"I read that coffee shows up on a test and I just want to know why you lied to me."

Coffee? Surely this gentleman is kidding.

"I don't know where you read that, sir, but it's false. Coffee doesn't provide a false positive. None of the tests I do here check for caffeine."

"Oh, so you do do the tests there yourself?"

Whoops. My bad.

"No, sir, I misspoke. I do only collections here, not tests. And I never see the results. And coffee does not appear on drug tests."

"I read it on the internet, and you need to stop screwing with me. I lost a job because of you!"

Internet? Obviously this clown is kidding.

"Can you tell me the address of the article?"

"What?"

"I want to read the same article you read, about coffee providing false positives on drug tests. Hold on a second, I'll open my laptop."

"I don't have time for this. I lost a job and I couldn't even get my kid a Halloween costume because your test is [expletive deleted] up and you would rather screw around on the computer than do your job."

"Once you tell me the address of the site where you found the article, I can work from the same information base as you. I expect it's from a peer-reviewed scientific journal?"

"...it was on an anti-drug test website alright? I don't have time for this, you just want to screw around. I don't believe that I lost a job and you don't even care. I should have you fired so you know how it feels."

Anti-drug test websites. Ah yes. I know them well. I wonder if he read the one that sells the dehydrated urine or the one that sells the fake penises?

"To be technical, sir, you didn't lose the job. You can't lose a job you didn't have in the first place. And I doubt I'll get fired from mine -- I don't drink coffee."

As Mr. Coffee jumps into his next string of excuses and obscenities, I watch a woman clamber up to my door from the parking lot. I have to end this phone call. And I was having such fun, too.

"Sir, I have to go. Feel free to call the main office to ask about your results and have me fired. Bye-bye."

I hang up on the guy mid-sentence.

My next free moment, I dig through my paperwork and find Mr. Coffee's collection. It was for one of my Gold Service clients, which means I have his pre-screen results sitting here. Of course, I don't have the official lab results -- just the ones from the little eyedropper kit.

Non-negative for marijuana and cocaine.

Must have been some coffee. Juan Valdez would have been proud.

I imagine if you were to inject pure caffeine directly into your blood stream, it could foul up a drug test. Of course, you'd also be too dead to care.

Number one question.

When someone meets me for the first time and I explain where I work, the first question they ask me varies depending on their own personal drug use.

Those who have partaken of recreational drugs very recently usually ask if I can give them any pointers on cheating their way through a drug test. And yes, sure, I will. It's really not difficult and anyone with a basic level of education and intelligence can puzzle it out for themselves without too much trouble. A popular variant of this question would be to ask if I, personally, will help them cheat -- and that's a big fat resounding no sir buddy... but that's neither here nor there.

Then there are those who make use of their favorite drug from time to time, but either have not done so in the past few days or, failing that, at least don't have a drug test looming over their heads in the future. Free of the most pressing concerns, they like to ask how long drug [x] stays in your system. This question has no easy answer and reflects a variety of biological and lifestyle elements that I'm absolutely unqualified to decipher. In cases like these I can usually make up any old number and the inquiring party will be satisfied.

The question I am asked by people in no danger of potentially failing a drug test is, "So does anyone ever really try to cheat?"

Short answer, yes.

This is the story of my favorite cheater of all time, Mr. Duh. Nobody believes it when I tell it. Nobody believes someone can be as stupid as Mr. Duh.

The most popular method of cheating, as you would imagine, is to sneak in someone else's pee. In the halfhearted spirit of counterbalancing this, I ask everyone who comes in to empty their pockets to ensure they don't have anything stashed in their purse or jeans.

Now, that alone stymies more people than you could imagine. But as a second line of defense, every collection cup comes with a handy temperature-sensitive strip that shows me whether or not the pee falls inside the acceptable threshold of 90 to 100 degrees Fahrenheit. Keeping it in that temperature range is crucial if you're trying to slip in your boyfriend's pee instead of your own.

I don't know what temperature Mr. Duh's sample is, but I do know it's well below the 90° mark.Standardt procedure at this point is to act all surprised, pretend the cup is broken, and pour the sample into a second cup with a second strip. When the second one comes back cold too, I make like I'm taken aback (it's very,very important to never accuse someone of something, even if they're guilty as sin) and request a second sample.

Mr. Duh says he can't go again, and would it be okay if he came back tomorrow? I don't really have a good reason to say no.

Mr. Duh doesn't come back the next day; he's back in ten minutes flat, doing the pee-pee dance, and no sooner has he stepped into my lobby does he blurt out, "I'm ready to go right now, man! And I heated it up this time!"

There's an awkward pause as Mr. Duh very quickly realizes his error. Then, with nothing more than an "Aw, man," he departs, never to be seen again.

If you read this post closely enough, congratulations! You now know how to successfully cheat on a drug test. Use this knowledge for good, kiddies.

Freedom fighters.

There are lots of websites out there that will help you fool me.

Lots of them. Go ask Google; he'll tell you.

All you could ever want to know about passing a drug test (short of not actually doing drugs, of course) is at your fingertips, just one query away.

Small packets of bleach crystals you can hide in your wallet. Tricks on keeping a sneaked-in specimen the proper temperature by utilizing a condom, a rubber band and a piece of tape. Dehydrated urine, guaranteed clean, right off the shelf. Quick-result one-panel test kits. And for those pesky observed collections: prosthetic genitalia.

Go ahead. Look it up. Thousands and thousands of people want you to put one over on me.

Thousands of websites, each with a different product to peddle, each flying the Constitution as their banner. "Drug testing is an invasion of privacy!" they bellow. "The government should have no right to your bodily fluids!" And while you're at it, here are some helpful products to ensure you cheat successfully.

Because when it comes to drug testing, these freedom fighters are more preoccupied with passing their next test than actually changing the laws they consider unfair or unjust.

I can think of at least three good reasons that the "violation of your rights" arguments are totally bogus. Observe:

First, nobody's forcing you to do anything. While there are extreme cases where the contrary is true, for the most part you can not be forced to take a drug test. Especially not in the case of employment; if you don't want to drug test to get a job, don't work there.

Second, the argument is consistant with the popular non-smoking mantra: "Employees are entitled to smoke-free establishments so no employer has the right to allow smoking in his place of business." Flipped to drug testing: "Employees are entitled to their illegal drugs so no employer has the right to allow drug testing in his place of business." If your hang-up is personal rights, it's hard to argue the second without also arguing the first. Something tells me the anti-smoking people and the anti-drug test people don't have much of an overlap.

Third, consider the company that makes the little plastic wang to help cheat on observed drug tests. Or the company that sells instant "clean pee powder". Do you think these guys really want the big evil laws to go away? Do you really think these guys are praying for legislation to come and rip their livelihood out from under them?

And yet, I catch them all the time. Cold samples. Lame excuses. The distinctive odor of bleach. When they're actually here trying to pull off whatever-trick-they-read-on-website-x the story isn't "Drug testing is unconstitutional and I believe it is an invasion of my privacy," but rather "Well I have to go right this minute because my aunt is waiting in the car and she doesn't have an anklebone and I have to be with her so I can help her out of the car and we have an appointment in ten minutes."

I cannot remember one single applicant using the "big evil law" argument against me. They all just want to cheat and cheat fast.

I am, of course, not saying you shouldn't smoke dope. I don't disillusion myself to the point that I believe I can dictate what others ought and ought not do with themselves. Grown adults have to be left alone to make decisions for themselves, including the decision to partake of illegal substances. These decisions, however, have consequences; if you plan to shoot up regularly, you had better plan to work a job that doesn't drug test.

In the meantime, I'm here in the trenches dealing with your over-microwaved samples, your easy-to-conceal pills that dissolve instantly on contact. Use whatever excuse you like. If pretending to be a freedom fighter helps you get through your day, rock on.

You'll only end up here, after all.

(For the record, the story with the amazing ankle-boneless auntie was an excuse by an honest-to-goodness cheater. So that gives you a taste of what I'm up against.)