a night in the slammer.

and yes… this really happened.   

Monday night i was enjoying a glass of pinot on the couch.  watching a little gossip girl and chatting with rooms when there was a knock at the door.  initially when she asked who was there and had the reply “raleigh pd” we weren’t shocked.  as we know an officer or two.  

 

however, when the man who identified himself as officer karthur ” i’m officer karther.  k plus arthur.  arthur with a k in front.  karthur.” it was immediately followed by… ” i need your roomate to come downtown with me.”  ummmm come again…. 

 

thank god for the wine…

 

so there i was.  i threw on some jeans and a hoodie and walked outside. got cuffed and put in the back of the police car.  and it was time to start embracing the experience.  you know how i am when faced with traumatic scenarios i put on my game face.  i mean just imagine how entertaining jail could be.  to be honest i was excited.  even more so because on the back of the metal blockade between me and karthur was a bumper sticker that read “cops are your friends” which also got me.  imagine how pissed you are if you got like busted in a drug raid and read that.  amazing!

 

one might ask themselves why i was arrested.  failure to appear for a speeding ticket.  (yes i’m aware i should have gone. sadly i forgot.  and was planning on taking care of it next week)  but i mean… don’t these people have better things to do.  like arrest people for drugs.  or maybe murder! 

 

so i walk into the police station and sit down.  only to be fingerprinted and yes… have a mugshot taken.  (which i tried to find online last night to no avail… DAMN IT.  i’m going to frame it for everyones christmas present)  and then searched.  and i better make it into the slammer!  

 

and by searched i mean.  a huge black woman running her hands over every part of my body.  and making fun of the fact i couldn’t fit anything in my jeans they were so tight.  umm… thats because thats how designer jeans are supposed to be… and people that wear them shouldn’t be being SEARCHED! 

 

i was walked to a holding cell and looking through the glass realized that there would be me… and six ridiculous black women in the cell. imagine my face.  this was about to be incredible.

 

and i walked in.  and sat down next to the drunk one ( if i was going to be in jail i was damn well hanging out with the alcoholic (duh)  and what a great choice.  not only was she shitfaced.  but she was hilarious.  i did however immediately notice that she had like 12 more pieces of paperwork than me.  i sort of wondered what those sheets of paper meant in the back of my mind… but was too scared to ask…. have no fear because she was about to explain.

 

each sheet was an individual charge….  which she read to me…

 

“publixxxxx disturrrbbbbans.  dannnggg itttt.  drrruuunnkkk and dizorrrdlllyyy.  noooiiissseee viiioollattton.  daaannnnggg itttt.  ressssisstingggg arrreeeest.  daaannnggg itttt.  atttemptttinnng to stabbb someonnnne with aaaa kitzennnn kniiiiifffffe.  (ummm did she just say try to stab someone with a kitchen knife….)

 

i lost it.  i was laughing my ass off.  here i was. me in jail.  in a cell with a woman who tried to stab people when she was drunk.  and she was just half of it. 

 

to my right was a big black woman with a tattoo that said “brown sugar” on her arm.  next to her was a woman who had been arrested while at her hair dressers getting her braids done.  and only the front half was done.  so the front of her hair was like super long and braided and the back was like a 3 inch long afro.  hilarious.

 

to my left.  next to my newly made drunk attacker friend.  was a woman who was like 50.  curled up in a ball with a woven hat made of like yarn in twenty different colors.  as well as a denim jumpsuit and tube socks.  (yes… i said tube socks… after i said denim jumpsuit)

 

and then there was me.  in a billabong hoodie and rock and republics.  i was so out of place that every cop that passed immediately yelled in.  ma’am we gotta get you outta here.

 

thank god i knew my favorites were bailing me out…  if i hadn’t the whole experience might have been more detrimental to my emotional well being.

 

regardless of knowing i was bailed out.  i was inclined to ask the other people (who had obviously spent more time in jail than me) what it was like upstairs.  in jail rather than just a holding cell.  up where you have to rock the orange and white jumpsuit with orange socks and orange sandals.  to which they said…  “if you go up there.  don’t look at anyone.  don’t talk to anyone. keep to yourself.  lay on your mat.  don’t watch tv. don’t play cards. and don’t take a shower… the frisky ones are in there.”  ummm the frisky ones… that is not okay. 

 

the drunk lady then commented on how boring the decor in the cell was.  to which the chick with half her weave done said… (and a missing tooth…forgot to mention that ) said… “bitch this is jail.  it ain’t the fucking marriot.”

 

and the drunk one’s bail came through courtesy of her boyfriend.  she started saying she’d rather stay in jail.  and did drunken impressions of him yelling at her. (including his stutter) and followed by the comment… “how is it that a man can lay dick so good and stutter… shit ain’t right.”

 

i know… you like me are speechless.

 

i had to go sit at a little desk on the other side of the glass from my bail bondsman.  and pick up the phone.   like they do in law and order.  (my god i was living my favorite show!!!)  and then thank god i was free. 

 

into the arms of my bestests who brought me home and gave me wine.

 

most incredible experience of my life.  i wish i could include pictures….

 

the chick with the hair half done and missing tooth would have been priceless.