My name is Matthew Kurtz and I am currently a 28-year-old from sunny, Las Vegas, Nevada. To my amigos, I am known as Kurty, Kurtzy, Kurtz, Matty, and previously known as “Dirty Kurty” (back in the ol’ high school days, Go CHS Bulldogs!). Anywho, I write blogs for my entertainment and to simply get several thoughts and views out about life, sports, girls, drug addiction, my dreams and just some funny crap I see around Utah. There are so many hilarious stereotypical Mormon behaviors around Utah County which I indulge in myself, so it’s okay to make fun of. Sorry, I meant to say funny mannerisms of the members of the Chruch of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, I got you, P. Nelson.
To commence, I’d love to simply tell a little bit about myself and tell a crazy, funny story about drugs and cops from my past.
I think myself a spiritually, religious man and that is principally due to me being an overbearing idiot at times in my personal life and occasionally teasing with death. On the light side, I have lived through these near-death experiences, but in all fairness, I definitely shouldn’t be alive. Due to these experiences and the faith of my family, I have come to believe in a Higher Power which I call God. To this day, I positively believe the big man upstairs has pulled me through death and hell for a greater purpose which I have yet to truly understand.
Enough of that, let’s get into this story. I guarantee it’ll be worth it.
PS: I like to be explicit in each of my experiences to make it more raw and authentic. Although I don’t talk completely about the drugs I used to indulge in, I like to be as sincere as possible with my emotions and mental travails at the time.
When I was a recent post-pubescent, dumbass 20-year old I had a serious serious roll-over car accident. FML. Picture this, the year is 2011, BYU Football got smashed by the school up north (haven’t beat those fools in red since), I got cut from the BYU soccer team after being highly recruited the year before out of high school, my drug use had become rampant and on the increase, I consistently discarded school to get high and party (yes, BYU does party), but conversely, I elected to put my mission papers in to serve a 2 year religious, LDS Mission. In short, I was not doing anything in my life besides party, but “chose” to go on an LDS mission. Unfortunately, I went on my mission for all the wrong reasons. I will talk more on this point later, but it was not right and very odd for a drug addict/dealer to be going on a mission while still breaking the civil law of the land and other moral agreements Christians make. RIP. Anyway, I knew my life was progressing nowhere at the time, but I did desire to go on a mission to get everyone off my back and a lot of my homeboys were going. I am perpetually a dupe for the boys. I do remember I had the impression that a mish would be a better look for me than working through rehab.
Anyway, my mission papers were in at the time the car accident happened and I was just waiting for my call in the mail to learn where I would be living for the next 2 years of my life. Here is where we get toward the story, just wanted to build up the dilemma and lay a little backdrop for ya’ll.
Through 2010-11, I used to drive back home to the good old 702 of Las Vegas to pick up a bunch of drugs at a much cheaper price than Utah. Once I secured the bag, I would then drive the loot back up to Utah to sell at double the rate, even at a wholesale price. Used to be a real OG, I know. To this day, I wouldn’t consider myself a drug dealer, but just irregularly sold drugs to a select few of the homies back in the 801. Sadly, I didn’t follow the “10 Crack Commandments” and stayed getting high on my own supply so this process did not last long. But tbh, I was just trying to get some money to buy more and more narcotics.
Proceeding with the story, for this particular Vegas trip, I let my family know I was coming down and spent some quality time with them. Most of the time when I went to Vegas, I just wouldn’t tell the fam and go wild in with the boys. Sidebar, I remember when I was in Vegas during this time I took my driver’s license photo and looked so faded it was sickening. I utterly hated looking at it. My license also had developed bumps over the years from crushing substances, and I always regret it immensely when I had to show someone in authority my picture. The look was terrible. But on the flip, the license was good when I got pulled over high because I looked “normal” haha. Happily today, I have a new license with a sober picture that I am proud to show anyone. Anyway, after raging in the joints of Vegas for the weekend, I finally picked up a lot of drugs and commenced my drive up north. The plan was obviously to get blasted on my drive back to Utah, sell the rest when I got back up north, and then rinse and repeat. For this occasion though, I remember I plucked up hella.
As I recall, I remember I left Vegas around 10 a.m. after picking up the dope. I promptly got high and was feeling suitable for the road. I remember I would drive 30 minutes and then pull off for a “break” in my car to get high. I unquestionably cringe just thinking about how dangerous driving under the influence was and despise myself for placing others on the road in a serious situation.
In summary, the beginning portion of the drive took me around four hours to solely drive to St. George, Utah when usually, the drive is a meager hour and a half-length. Ya boy was taking way too many “breaks”.
As you may understand, drugs can make you remarkably lethargic. Drugs, combined with the weekend rager I just indulged in led to my demise. As I left St. George, I found myself constantly nodding off from the potentially lethal combination of drugs and lack of sleep. This concoction is not desirable for driving or for anything. But you know what, how do you think old Dirty Kurty resolved this concern? With added drugs of course. I frequently used more and more and more and continued the drive back to the “happy valley” of BYU. I had no mental brakes whatsoever.
After I crossed St. George, the last thought I recognize having was that I still have a long way home, but I am extremely thankful that the speed limit just changed to 85. Hell ya, I can now go 90. The night was coming quick, and your boy was going 90, nodding off and straight swerving on the highway. So cringy. As I was going 90 on the I-15 northbound right out of St. George, I nodded off for one last time.
Heres the picture; I was in the left lane of a 2-way northbound road separated by a median of grass and a small ravine thing. Regrettably, I nodded off long enough for my left two tires to go off into the dirt median approaching the left. Suddenly, I yanked the wheel back right and overcorrected which sent me swervin’ to the right side of the highway. Not cool, totally lame. My car went sideways and spun off the road going about 90 MPH. Again, hella lame. I went off the right part of the road and straight into a channel. I remember thinking in my last thoughts while my car was rollin’ sideways just saying, “please don’t roll, please don’t roll.” Strangely enough, the car rolled one and a half times landing on the roof. Excellent one God.
I woke up from blacking out with around 5-10 people pounding on my window asking if I was okay. I was taking up some child toys to my sister back in Utah that my mom had given me and one lady was freaking that I had a baby on board. She was wrong, I did not have the sticker, therefore, no baby. Idiot. Jk. Thankfully, by the grace of the homie God, I had my seatbelt on which I surely know saved my life. I didn’t use to always wear my seatbelt, but now always ride with a seatbelt in my whip anywhere I go.
Sidebar, my mom had given me some eggs to bring back to college and one had directly cracked on my thick ass noggin’ from the roll. I remember as I woke up from the wreck, I immediately felt the back of my dome and believed I had a huge gash due to the stickiness of that despicable egg. Happily, it was just an egg straight to the dome and I was all healthy. Now, when my friends call me an egg head, it just hits differently with me.
My first thought after recovering consciousness was, “get the drug paraphernalia, I ain’t going to jail, not today, nuh-uh.” I had a lot of paraphernalia in the car and still had the drugs I was going to sell still being in my pocket. Due to the car being on the roof, I was a little dazed but was able to undo my seatbelt and quickly fell to the roof of the carolla. I quickly found a few of the items I used to use the drugs and stuffed them in my pockets. I was unable to find everything, so needless to say, Dirty Kurty was genuinely uptight. I had all these strangers straight up yelling at me to get out of the and car and trying to smash the windows to get me out, so I obeyed the strangers without completely grabbing everything and initially just shaking. I remember I finally got out of the car and immediately started to cry like the baby I was. More like balling tbh. I started to pace around the car and was freezing out in the cold, Utah November night, but was comforted by some good pedestrians with a shirt and friendliness. All I recognize is that a nice stranger told me to say a prayer and so I did.
After a short while of this awkward stress, an ambulance came to my rescue. The EMTs put me in the back to check out my body for any oddities. I remember the crew put me in this ridiculous neck thing but I insisted I was okay and I truly was. Miraculously, I had no harm done to me whatsoever. While in the ambulance, I looked out the window and saw that the cops had already come. Shit, I thought I was absolutely done and headed straight to the big house to do some real hard time. I can recall looking through the ambulance window and seeing the cops examine my car and I just knew. I thought without a doubt the police officer would find the paraphernalia leftover from the wreck that I did not have time to grab.
Now let’s remember, I had a TON of drugs in one pocket and wadded up paraphernalia in the other. While in the ambulance, the crew gave me the option to go with them or stay and wait for a tow and the police. After a short while of thinking, I decided to stay. When I was thinking and in the ambulance, I remember thinking I should just go to the hospital and get some pity before I go to jail. Damn, what a horrible, stressful time in my life. But still, I chose to stay. I got out of the ambulance and started to approach the copper on duty. The dude finished his search and had begun to talk to me near the ambulance. I remember thinking as the officer approached to talk that I should just turn around and put my hands behind my back because I thought my ass was toast. Miraculously, he didn’t arrest me but told me I needed to only fill out a report and I should be good to go after the report was completed. The officer led me to his police car and I got in the front seat of the black and white. Afterwhich, we started to chat.
Flashback a titch. Earlier, while I was balling my eyes out after the accident, I had overheard someone say that I must have blown out a tire and lost control of the vehicle which led to the accident. While talking to the 5-0, I went with that story and that my tire had blown out. As I looked at the cop and told him that, the cop simply said, “that is not the case, all four tires are intact. You need to tell me what happened.”
I started to cry. Maybe it was serious, maybe I was putting on a show, I don’t know for real. I just knew I had to throw every card out I could think of. I told the officer I had a long night and that I was tired from the little drive from Vegas. I do not recall the specifics as to what I said, but knowing myself, I am sure I pulled the BYU student/missionary card to gain some sympathy from this older policeman. (Utah has a high percentage of Mormons, so I guess I just assumed he was so I could get some pity.) I finally just told the officer I was tired and nodded off which led to the accident. I was trying everything to keep myself out of jail.
The officer seemed to accept my word and rolled with the punches. To this day, I think he knew, I believe he just didn’t do anything because I didn’t injure anyone else. I’d for sure be in jail if I endangered another human being, which still haunts me at times. So cringe. While I was filling out the paperwork in the front seat of the police car, I saw another police cruiser pull up behind the wreck and stoppage of traffic. This time though, I could see big lettering on the excursion. K-9 Unit. My mind went numb. I thought this dude knew and once again, I am headed to jail.
Remember again, I had all of this crap in my possession, even when I was in the police cruiser. The officer in the car I was with, politely excused himself and went to talk to the other K-9 officer. I didn’t know what to do. I thought for sure I was done for. The officers were going to get the dogs, search the car, and find the drugs. I was petrified and stunned. I saw the officer I was talking to earlier start to again approach the police cruiser where I was seated. Again, I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know if I should run, or fight, or just chill. Fortunately, I chilled. The officer once again entered the vehicle and simply said, “sorry, that was another officer directing traffic.” What a miracle and what a relief. I couldn’t believe it.
After this occurrence, I continued to fill out the paperwork and finish my statement. I saw on the paper that the report asked for my car insurance. I didn’t know the insurance off the top of my head, so the officer gave me a flashlight to go attain the insurance information from the crumpled car sitting on the roof. I used this as an opportunity to collect what I had earlier left behind. Paraphernalia. I scanned the car and thankfully obtained the rest of the goods. After again filling my pants and jacket, I returned to the cruiser, finished the paperwork, and the officer gave me some good departing counsel on life. To this day, I genuinely believe the officer knew I was straight up high as a kite, but he didn’t want to influence my future negatively. I truly, truly believe that and am eternally grateful for the compassion of the police officer. I would love to get my hands on the report today and see what I said and see who the officer was so I could thank him. After the simple counsel from the cop, he instructed me to wait for the tow truck driver who would then give me a ride to Cedar City just up the road. So just like that, the homie officer left and I was in the clear.
Shortly after the officer departed, the tow truck driver mounted my car and we continued to Cedar City together. By this time, my parents were already on their way up to rescue me once again from my many adventures. After arriving in Cedar, I was dropped off at a local hotel to wait for the fam. Sadly, what do you think I immediately did in the local restroom? No, I didn’t flush the drugs which just caused this mess, but I used more as I waited for my folks. My parents arrived after a few hours and I continued to hide the fact that I had drugs in my possession. They asked me why it took me so long to get to Cedar and I just told them I spent some time in St. George with a friend. I continued to lie and dig deeper and deeper to hide my pain. To this day, my Mom doesn’t know but I always knew my Dad knew. I believe he found a lighter, but we rarely talk about this time in my life.
What a wild story right!? I tell this not to flexhow wild I was, I wish I didn’t have a lot of these experiences, but I write these to show the compassion of God and that each individual has a genuine purpose in life. For me, I have fortunately learned so much from this experience and many others like this. For one, I am a lucky bastard because this is a truly unbelievable story. Shortly after this experience, I went on to serve a full 2-year mission for my church and like to think I changed multiple lives. If I didn’t change any lives, I know the service changed mine for sure. Life is still crazy, but I am glad I am here on this earth still loving and living life.