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1:34 p.m. - 2004-10-18 *For the record, this entry is a little long. But every single detail and word was necessary in re-creating my experience. Except for these footnote thingies. These are just for me. Because my court date for my little run in with the law* is on Tuesday, I had to start collecting funds for the �restoration cost�. Basically, the State just wants their money back, so I need to come up with it. Pronto. *I fought the law and the law did indeed win. I could only come up with half, or rather, $1400. Because of this, I will now have to ask for an extension at my court date. You know, so I can have some time to sell my kidney for the other half. A repercussion in paying only half is that I had to go downtown to get �booked�. You know, in case I�m able to sell that kidney for $10,000 and just decide to blow this joint. Apparently, they consider me a flight risk. Which is funny. Cause if I could afford to start a new life in a new country, I would have by now. My attorney said saying that as a defense wasn�t a good idea. My summons paperwork stated that I needed to go down to the Pima County JAILHOUSE* to be photographed and fingerprinted. Notice it said photographed. Not mug shots. This is cause I haven�t actually been arrested. I�m going in and being released on my own recogsignance (sp??). It stated I was in fact supposed to be released. Which I was, but the 5 hours it took for my release, was the most educational, infuriating, and disturbing experience. Ever. *Jail. House. As in Elvis. Only without the Rock. Let�s take a look at each hour shall we? Maybe then we can appreciate our fine judicial system and the many people who graciously work for the state to protect us from evildoers such as myself: Hour 1, or 5:00pm I learned after 35 minutes of standing outside that door, that the term �a few minutes� was on a different time scale to these people. I was growing impatient, although, had I known what was in store for me inside, I would not have been tapping my foot so impatiently. During these �few minutes�, a Hispanic girl (cause that�s all that�s around there) came up and informed the speaker box that she was there for the same reason as I was. When a male officer opened the door to let us both in, he said we would have to wait for a female officer to come get us. First, um, couldn�t they tell I was female on the speaker? And second, um, why do I need a female officer? Hour 2, or 5:55pm *As in A REAL FUCKING CELL DOOR. I was told to wait for my name to be called. I sat on a bench made of cinderblocks and saw five windows, much like the DMV, with five girls who were experiencing just another day at work. There were a few other people waiting with me, a couple drunks, who stank like no one�s business, and a girl who was brought in behind us in handcuffs. She couldn�t have been more than 20. I immediately guessed shoplifting. Turns out it was drive by shooting. Oh. My. God. Some one please show me the door to the reality room, cause this can�t be it. Before my name was called, I noticed the officer had given my purse to one of the girls in the window. She proceeded to go through it. I don�t mean just looking for something that shouldn�t be there. I mean, calling the other gals* over and literally rifling through it. She opened each thing of make up and showed it around to the others. She opened my wallet, took out my credit cards and passed them around. She would glance up occasionally with a smile to me. I was growing angry and my attitude was rapidly going from willing participant to downright pissed customer. Which is funny if you think about it. Cause you know, I wasn�t a customer. Get it? *Does anyone still use this term except me? Her hand then fell on something that triggered every facial muscle to contort into a frown. She slowly pulled out my Zippo lighter. Everyone around her gasped. You could hear it through the Plexiglas. I stood up and began to walk over to let her know there was no fluid in it. It was new. I was yelled at by three officers to sit down, and they rushed toward me like I was trying to make a break for it. You know, like I was gonna get enough steam to run right through that cinderblock wall. Cuz I can ya know. Hour 3, or 6:00 pm I was finally called and all they did was scold me about the lighter (yeah, I was gonna try to burn these cinderblock walls from the inside), told me they had to throw it away (what the fuck for???), and then verified my address. I waited all that time for them to VERIFY MY ADDRESS. As I rolled my eyes and headed back towards the officer to �escort� me to the photo-op area, I walked through the metal detector and set it off. I looked at her. She at me. I said that there was no way I had anything on me, she had patted me down hadn�t she? She �escorted� me to a back room where she patted me down again. As she was doing this, I noted that everyone who had walked through that detector had set it off. Everyone. Could that just be set that way so that they could pat you down again? I turned around when she was finished with an apparent irritated look on my face. She began to speak, and here�s the conversation that took place: I removed my pants. I was glad I had normal underwear on. Seriously. If I had been caught during a strip search with a thong on, I�d never shop at Victoria Secrets again. Cause they need a disclaimer for that shit. Her: Now remove your shirt. I removed my shirt and looked down and saw I had a clean bra on. Thank the Gods! She then had me lift my bra from underneath and turn it up. You know, cause I have MASSIVE* cleavage and could easily hide a butcher knife under there. *No. Not even remotely close to the truth. I got dressed then and she appeared to be just glaring at me. Maybe it was cause all my underwear garments were VS and all my clothing was from the Gap.* I think my entire ensemble was probably worth more than her weekly paycheck.** *I�m a consumer whore. I know this. Shut up. Hour 4 & 5 will conclude tomorrow. Commence blinking. Tune in! |