My First Post, My First Arrest

I feel like I should have done some sort of "introduction" post here, but I think its better to just... post a real blog entry. Its more honest, less indulgent, and gives you a better sense of me.




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I was fucking arrested earlier this week. Fucking. Arrested. Cuffs. Lights. A fucking cell.

I'm a Jew, we don't do well in jail, so this was somewhat agitating to me. I was going to write a nice, gentle, pithy post, but fuck it, profanity seems to fit the situation perfectly. Besides, I was on the inside. I came out a changed man, darker, edgier. I was going to shank the biggest guy I was incarcerated with to earn respect, but I was alone in my cell and I think it would have done little for my street cred to shank myself.

How was the illustrious author arrested, you ask? Was it because I finally snapped and hunted down some idiot on the internet who uses “u” and “y” instead of “you” and “why”, killing him by ramming his keyboard down his throat? Did I get arrested by pressing my bare rear end against the window of a Democratic Congressman? Did I get caught trying to induce a suicide cult for the lulz?
No, I say, none of those expected outcomes. Indeed, I was arrested due to the power of Red Tape.

I was driving. It was a nice day. I had music playing, and was passing a town I never had any interest in visiting. Suddenly, behind me I see lights. The fucking blue and red of “You gon' get legally raped” in the rear-view. This officer had been hovering behind and to my left for a mile, hence my pulling up to let him in. Officer of the law needing to merge, me being a good citizen, doing my civic... fuck. He's pulling me over. Fucking goddamn cops. Note the immediate change.

As an aside, I've found that one's respect and like of law enforcement officials suffers a dramatic change when one is being pulled over.

SO.

So.

The officer helpfully informs me that I was 'too close to the person in front of me'. The fact that I did so because he was acting like he wanted to get in behind me went unremarked upon as he was too busy being more helpful in explaining how it was one of the “Fatal Five” or something.

I swear to fucking god, that’s what he called it. The Fatal Five, sounds like a fucking comic book villain team. “The Tailgater faces off with Spider-man! Next month! THE RETURN OF THE FATAL FIVE”. Jesus H fucking Christ on the handlebars of a tricycle peddled by Shiva.

So anyways, after telling me about the FATAL FIVE with the seriousness of explaining to me why I was being arrested for plowing through a pack of preschoolers, he asks me to step out of the car.

Then asks me if I have any “weapons”. I decided my snide wit was not a factor, but was now quite agitated. I knew, right now, I was going to be arrested for some reason or another. There was two officers now there, and even though he'd told me it was going to just be a “warning”, he was acting like I was going to get cuffed.

It was, to say the least, fucking surreal. I had apparently done nothing wrong, but I was being checked for weapons and my car was being searched. The fuck? Looking back, its clearer to me now, that I was likely going to be ticketed for something, they just hadn’t found a good reason yet.

I never really thought about it at the time, given the whole “Don't want to piss the cops off” thing, but fuck fuck fuckity fuck. Its feeling like they were fishing.

So, I sit down, he runs my license.

Its apparently suspended.

I was unaware of this. I tell him this. Indiana never told me of this, no one informed me, what the fuck?

This is also where he tells me when he pulled me, he smelled “marijuana”.

Ooh fucking BULLSHIT.

Bull.

Fucking.

Shit.

Shit.

Fucking.

Bull.




Oh well, Mr Officer replies.

And on go the cuffs.

Fucking.

Handcuffs.

FUCKING.

HANDCUFFS.

For something he keeps telling me is “making him feel bad” and “I wish I didn't have to”, which I think may be BS because again, they were treating me like John fucking Dillinger from the start.




Now comes the most bizarre part of our sordid tale.

He starts discussing payment options. Not a bribe, obviously. He's talking about bail.

But this is what he goes immediately to. Not things I can do. Where I'm going. Where my car's going. No, how I can “pay”.

I'm being told they accept credit cards so I can purchase my freedom. I'm panicked right now. Its surreal. Its fucking wrong. I'm being cuffed for a bureaucratic oversight, I'm being arrested, and the cop wants to discuss my “payment options”.

FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK.

This would be my mental state at this point.

So I'm brought into the County Jail (FUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCK) and there's two officers who obviously don't give a shit if I live or die. A few phone calls later, bail is set up, I'm going to get out...

And then I'm put in a cell til my “payment clears”.




WHAT?! I HAVE THE MONEY! YOU'RE GETTING IT! WHY THE FUCK!

So there I am in a tiny concrete room without a working sink, with a solid metal door without a window so I have absolutely no view of the outside, and two mattresses that smell like hot bum and sick, and they won't let me take my laptop or a book.

So its just me, two mattresses, and my clothing. Minus my belt or shoes since I may try to kill myself, being a criminal.

Criminals are like that. So basically in the eyes of the state troopers, I've gone from a cheerful, if surprised, college student being pulled for a minor infraction to a tough, nasty criminal type who may try to harm myself or others given access to shoelaces. A haze descends, I'm feeling it. The Man is oppressing me. Soon this becomes the only world I know, the outside is scary, I can never be out, I'm inside, I'll always be inside, I'll...

Oh shit, they're opening the door. Right as I start to pee.

Gee, thanks.

Fuckers.

So without further ado, I am deposited outside, without even being told where my car is. The next 3 hours are spent wandering a town, getting a ride from a sweet little old lady, getting my car from impound from a dude with 3 teeth, and figuring out how the FUCK I'm getting home.

And that's the story of my first arrest.




P.P.S. In the interests of brevity I have left out a single thing that was a constant through this entire experience: The fact that in the back of the squad car there was a dog. Barking. Like fucking crazy.

The entire.

Fucking.

Time.

Posted in: FML, Nonfiction, Personal