There has to be more to the story. Anyone with even a half decent lawyer should have been able to get something like this dropped by agreeing to take drug counseling classes or at least greatly reduced. Obviously this was reduced somewhat- he didn't go to prison over it (I assume, at least), but I had so many friends get caught in college it became a bit of a joke. We used to take bong rips in the wooden thing surrounding the dumpsters in the parking lot that was in the middle of three dorms in a U shape. I can't tell you how many times we'd be doing this when the cops would make their rounds through the parking lot, we would just end up chatting with them and hope they wouldn't go looking for the weed. A few times they frisked us, and told us we were lucky we ditched the joint, because they weren't going to bother searching for it. The one time we actually got caught, caught, not just 'we know what's up, but we're not gonna pursue it,' the cop looked in my buddies pack of cigs. He'd just gotten one of those cigarette rolling machines and had rolled himself a whole pack of joints for some stupid reason. He had gone to get one out while the cop was there but realized he didn't have any actual cigs on him. He tried to hide the mistake, but the smell was obvious. The cop asked to see them and when he looked at them he started asking if we had any prior charges and stuff. At that point none of us had, so he just took our names and confiscated the weed. After that we just started going down by the lake and smoked behind the boat houses or under the bridge. We still saw the cops once in a while, but when we did we'd toss whatever was on us in the lake. The only one of us to actually get a charge back then (this was long before the one even started dealing) got caught down there alone and instead of dropping his bowl in the lake he threw it in the woods on the other side of the road. They saw him throw it for fucks sake, the cherry was apparently glowing and visible in the dark so they had a good idea what had happened. They stopped, talked and smelled him, no doubt and charged him with possession and tampering with evidence or something like that. He only got probation out of that, but I think he got quite a fine, too.
Maybe my school was more lenient about drug use. I know in my nutrition course I showed up for an exam having eaten way, way too many Ativan. I kept thinking it wasn't working so I kept taking more. I had been really anxious about something and sleeping terrible, so the campus doc gave me a bunch of them. I was okay when I got there, but shortly afterwards it really hit me. I kept hiccuping over and over and I couldn't stop it. The professor asked if I was okay, and in front of the whole class I announced, 'yeah, I've just had way too much valium, I'm a little messed up, I'm sorry.' The whole class burst out laughing as she was handing out the exams. My wife was sitting next to me and kept hitting me. I felt bad (or something) so I went as fast as I could. I think I was the first or second one finished, and she laughed when I gave it to her, and asked if I was just giving up on this one. I told her something like, 'no, I thought I'd make it easy for you to grade and only use the right answers' or 'nah, this one can just be your back-up answer key, there won't be a difference.' (I don't remember, two people told me what happened, but they disagree on the ver batim). So I went and waited in the hall for my wife, who took maybe another half hour. I was so messed up that it took her and two friends to help me walk back home. I was apparently an ass the whole way, too, copping a feel on two of them and saying some pretty mean things to the other. Anyway, next week the prof put up a graph of all the exam scores, because she graded on a curve. She asked me to stand up and take a bow because I took the only perfect score.
In another class I routinely discussed the effects of various drugs on my writing, though that was a one-on-one thing, not with a whole class present. It was interesting, actually, to consider my writings, especially my poetry, as a reflection of whatever substance they were written under.
Bet you can guess at least the class of substance I'm writing this under, lol. I was having a hard time getting to sleep and now I think I heard a mouse in my walls. Oh God... I hate nothing more than mice and rats. Last year we had three get into the upstairs walls somehow, and my wife had to empty the traps. If there are mice in here again, it's going to be hard to sleep for other reasons. It's and old house, there's been lots of remodelling and the inside is very nice, but it's not surprising that a few mice may make it in every once in a while. Oh damn, yes, I definitely heard a mouse scratching in the wall....