In 2001, I was on probation for felony drug possession, which meant I spent a lot of time urinating on command for a man named Norman Coldiron -- for real. He was born to be a probation officer.
I'd laid off the hard drugs and was toking the occasional reefer when Norman popped me with a drug test. An hour before peeing in the cup, I sucked down a bag of pectin. I eavesdropped as Norman went over the test results with another officer: "Cocaine is negative; PCP is negative; marijuana is [incomprehensible]."
Norman appeared, arms folded across his grandfatherly plaid button-up shirt. "Young lady, have you been smoking marijuana?"
My heart made a hard thunk in my chest. I did not want to go back to jail. "No," I lied.
"Your results for marijuana came back inconclusive." For whatever reason, Norman was satisfied with that result, but said he'd drug-test me again, and soon.