I don't like people who leave loaded guns on coffee tables in homes where children play, and I don't like drunk drivers. Both acts just reek of a selfish disregard for the safety of others.

It was light out, maybe 10 p.m. on Springfest Friday. I was headed to my cabin off Goldhill Road and stopped at the roundabout. This time last year, the roundabout wasn't quite finished and had a stop or yield sign at the intersection heading out Goldstream Road. I was behind a small blue SUV. It was kind of a long wait, but the SUV finally began to pull away. It began to weave slowly along the road, moving from almost all the way into the ditch, barely staying on the asphalt, to having the centerline passing through the passenger side. It became very clear the driver was seriously fucked up. I bet the driver, outside the car, could have barely walked.

A red car hit the brakes when he saw the SUV swerve into his lane, setting up for a head-on collusion. I hit the brakes too. I figured the other driver might need my lane to get around the blue SUV. But the SUV swerved back and the red car passed him. The blue SUV continued to drunkenly swerve along. I turned off at Sheep Creek. Feeling angry and helpless, and with the faith of every lapsed Catholic, I said a prayer that the blue

SUV would get home safety or at least wouldn't kill anyone.

Unfortunately, my story doesn't end here. About 7 p.m. on Saturday, I was driving home the headed toward the Agricultural Farm. The driver in front of me was in a huge ancient green sedan. There was a lot more traffic that Saturday than on Friday. I noticed that every time a car passed the green sedan, it swerved toward the ditch. At first I was in denial; no way was I behind my second impaired driver in less than 24 hours. But the swerving happened four times on a mile. My Dad, a professional truck driver, had told me that swerving away from on coming traffic was a classic sign of a drunk driver, so couldn't dismiss it either.

I don't carry a cell phone but I wished I did during those minutes behind that first drunk or high driver. I seriously considered stopping at the farm to see if there was a phone. At home, I still seriously considered calling. If I had it to do other again, I would, because I spent the rest of the evening worrying.

But after that second driver, I made myself a promise that this time next year I would write my story to the Sun Star.

Recently, Drunk drivers have killed children biking along the road, their own children, and themselves. I hear we have new DWI patrol in Fairbanks and the campus police assured me they would be out for Meltdown. So do Fairbanks a favor, have a great Case Day, get totally trashed for Meltdown, and try to avoid killing yourself and becoming another college statistic: Don't drive drunk. Crash on someone's couch, have a designated driver, call a cab or a friend, or hell, pack a winter sleeping bag and sleep it off in your car.

This year I will call 911, because I am sick of worrying that you are going kill someone. Finally, if the driver of the blue import SUV with the gold rush plates reads this, you were far, far too wasted to drive and you are damned lucky you didn't kill anyone.