I was held for a few hours for being a passenger in a pickup truck with Ontario plates in Wisconsin. A county sheriff on the interstate wanted money, supposedly because we were speeding, but in fact we were driving slightly under the limit. Eventually we coughed up another person’s credit card number and were released, but we cancelled the transaction once we were out of the state. That was my first taste of police corruption.
Not an arrest, but a prisoner and I were forgotten for about an hour in a cell below the courthouse when the police turned off the lights and went off shift. Eventually one of them clued in and came back for us.
Jeez, we have a lot of goody two-shoes around here. 
I have been arrested once and spend one night in jail for aggravated assault with theft in communion (that is : not by yourself, but with multiple people), which is really pretty bad.
I was young, stupid and doing all sorts of things people shouldn’t do.
I actually confessed but was later released for lack of evidence.
(one of my fellow-perps denied everything and eventually got to bear the brunt).
It was actually quite a horrible crime, but I didn’t see it that clearly when I was doing it.
It has taken me years since then to forgive myself, but I now have a new, fresh and clean karma.
Maybe, but consider also the possibility a lot of folks are going to be of a mind that responses here really aren’t all that good of an idea.
Tomcat, I wrote out the story yesterday just as you’d suggested but sorry friend, after sitting on it for a day I just can’t convince myself submitting it is a good idea. Tell you what though… I’ll include just a bit of it; the very end.
<Massive snip>
The next day, unemployed, a tad hungover and sore as all get out he was taken to court. Advising the prosecutor he’d like to plea bargain with the judge, he was taken to that individual’s chamber. My friend is I think a relatively likeable sort, friendly and usually in good humor and he hoped the judge would be somewhat lenient. However, when the Judge’s first words, accompanied by a stern glare were “Son, we don’t take kindly to <edited for content>”, friend’s heart did sink as if encased in cement.
But then, as the Judge was looking at the report, a strange look came over his face. He glanced at my friend, back at the report, then looked my friend in the eye and with a bit of a wistful look on his face repeated my friend’s unusual last name. The look on the Judge’s face became even more melancholy and he began telling a story. He said he’d been on the way to ask a girl with that same last name to marry him years before. Driving over to her house though, his trip was interrupted by a flash over the radio that Pearl Harbor had just been bombed. Sadly, he stopped, turned the car around and went to his enlistment office. The Judge, quieter now, lamented that he never got to see that girl again, never got to ask her to marry him.
He was silent for a few minutes and my friend was not eager to interrupt. The Judge then turned, instructed my friend not to go with 200 yards of that bar for six months, fined him several hundred dollars and, fairly confident my friend knew he’d made a big but one time mistake ushered him out of his office, hand on his shoulder. Said friend paid his fine, <edited for content> and hasn’t been anywhere near that bar or a single shot of tequila in twenty years.
When I was 17, I was “detained” by the harbor police and “interrogated” by an FBI agent for having “three-fifths of a bomb” at an airport terminal. It lasted about a couple of hours. They took a “mugshot” of me (actually just a polaroid for their files). The FBI agent and the captain were pisssed off. The other officers tried to hide that they thought it was funny (because I was wearing a disguise). I was just annoyed.