Why? How long? What was it like? Was it better or worse than you imagined it to be?
This probably belongs in IMHO, actually.
Well…long story there.
It sucked, but not as bad as it could have I guess.
Why do you want to know?
I did 12 hours in what is commonly called the “drunk tank” when I was in college 20 years ago. It was a large jail cell with 2 huge picnic tables. The officers gave you a pen so you could carve your name into the table. It wasn’t so bad. I don’t know if you would consider that actually being in jail though. It was only 12 hours.
And, I had to bail my wife out of jail once when she pushed a state trooper over the edge, if you know what I mean. That was a little embarrasing as I was a patrolman in a small town at the time. I still was laughing my ass off as we walked out of the county jail building. She was terrified over the experience, but not so terrified that it was the last time I had to bail her out. Last year she slapped the clerk in a bakery thrift store and got arrested for d.c…
Sigh.:rolleyes: I wouldn’t have her any other way, folks.
When I was a little kid, about 6, my uncle was the county sheriff where I live. My mom took me to “see where he worked.” There just happened to be an empty jail cell at the time so he opened the cell door and told me to go on in and check it out. Being the rather young dummy that I was, I walked right on in. He slammed the door right behind me. I was locked in. Of course he opened the door back up within a couple of minutes, but while I was in there it made such an impression on me that I would not even consider committing a crime.
Besides, I’m not that into “free love”, if you get my drift.
While I was in college I went to court to fight a traffic ticket - I lost. Didn’t have the money to pay the fine and they threw me in the holding pen. I asked one mean looking SOB if he had change for a dollar so I could make a phone call. He said “I’ve got a dime mutha.”
They marched us out of the holding pen and into the paddy wagon to take us to the county jail (Deetroit Mich). I tried to explain to one of the cops that this was a big mistake. He jammed his nightstick into my ribs and said “shut up mutha”
To make a long and very gruesome story short - once you’re in the criminal justice system you’re nothing but a piece of meat. Avoid this like the plague if at all possible. I almost enjoyed free love while holding my enginering text - this would have been one very real pain in the ass.
1980, Ft Morgan, Colorado.
It would be cool to say that it took three cops to subdue me during a bar fight, or I was arrested after a high-speed chase only when I ran out of gas, but none of that actually happened.
I was on leave from the Air Force, riding my motorcycle home. It was my second night out from Tacoma, it was dark, raining lightly, and I had enough money left on me for gas and food for one more day (which would get me home), but not a room. I pulled up to the station and asked about parks that allowed camping, or a safe spot to crash under a picnic table, and there was none, but the officer offered to put me up in a cell. Well, the alternative was rather wet, so I went for it.
One-man cell, inch and a half of foam rubber on a steel shelf, and the clang of that door shutting and locking was all too real.
So I guess the answers to your questions are:
Yes (and no)
Better than the alternatives
It was just what I thought it would be
I definately do not need to do that on an official level, ever again.
We definitely need the story behind that one!
Did he grab her buns?[sub]Get it? Ha! I kill myself![/sub]
Have you ever been in jail/prison?
*How long? *
*What was it like? *
Hard to describe in a few words
Was it better or worse than you imagined it to be?
It’s a living
I once spent a total of about 45 minutes in a holding cell on a charge of intentional damage. That 45 minutes scared the shit out of me as a 19 year old. You are in a steel cage 1x2m with no way out and NO way to control what is going to happen to you. As there was quite a crowd of us and we were fairly harmless the cops gave up unlocking and locking the door while we were processed and just left it open while we wanderd around.
I won’t describe the state of the toilets.:eek:
For the record the charges were thrown out of court.
Reform school at age 13… I was an angry teenager with a taste for chemical substances. It was not fun. I was remanded there for various reasons. The remand condition meant that the length of my stay would be determined by my behaviour – I quickly realized that behaviour meant observed behaviour and was out in 3 months.
Do I regret it? No. Looking back, I believe that applying that realization was the first time I used reason as a way of dealing with a problem in my life – there’s nothing quite like discomfort to get the brain working…
I ain’t been a saint ever since. But I’ve been careful, mostly, or at least pragmatic enough about laws, morals and ethics (very different critters, all of 'em) to know when to stop trying to save face and concentrate on saving my ass.
4 times, never more than 12 hours, shortest time was probably 4 hours.
Public Intoxication (hadn’t had a drink all day, case of small-town cop fucking with me because he was bored)
Warrant for failing to (forgetting to) attend Defensive Driving class
Possession of Drug Paraphenalia (pot pipe)
DWI (plead down to Reckless Driving because the breathalyzer test was obviously tampered with)
I moved this to IMHO because that’s where it BELONGS.
This message has been brought to you by the Committee to Re-Elect Lynn for Lord High Executioner.
I’m sure this isn’t what you’re talking about, but, yes.
I go to jail once a week (give a seminar on job seeking), have also gone to a prison to testify in a hearing.
You never forget the sound of the jail door.
To get to the part of the jail that has the classrooms, I go through a ‘cage’ (two large steel doors controlled remotely by a jailer), that has a metal detector in it. I have to wear a badge that says ‘visitor’. I used to keep dropping that thing til one day the jailer kept me in that ‘cage’ for a significant period of time. I don’t drop it anymore.
(aside to Lynn - Have I mentioned yet, how often I’ve voted for you to be re-elected Lord High Executioner???)
Once upon a time…
This could be a long story, so get comfortable.
Right before I moved to MA, I was visiting my parents to sort of “tell them goodbye” before I left. Nevermind the fact that I saw them again a week after I moved. I was living in Chicago and my parents live on a farm about two hours south of there.
On my way home after our visit, I was about ten miles from their home, going about 75 in a brand new Trans Am on a country highway. Sort of hard for a state trooper to overlook. So, he pulled me over.
He gave me the old, “Do you know how fast you were going?” routine and then took my license and registration back to his car to check out my criminal history, of which there is NONE.
Except that there isn’t “NONE.” He comes back to my window and says, “Ma’am, you’ve got an outstanding traffic violation.”
To which I replied, “No, I don’t.” I’m terrified of the police and had I been pulled over before, I surely would have remembered it and paid the ticket promptly. I KNOW I don’t have any outstanding traffic violations.
Of course, he insisted that I did, so I asked him, “Well, how do I clear it up?” His answer?
“Step out of the car, Ma’am.”
So I did. And by now, I’m positively terrified. Apparently, you get ARRESTED for outstanding traffic violations. Arrested. And the really fun part about this is that when he ran my license and got a positive back on a warrant, it signaled every car in the area. So three other cruisers show up and the men in them don’t know if I’ve got an Uzi in the glove compartment, or if I was going five over. They just know there’s a warrant. The three other troopers are going through my purse, and asking me questions like, “Is there anything in the car we should know about?” And I’m sobbing and trying to answer their questions.
“My [sob] mom [sob] just [sob] gave [sob] me a [sob] chocolate [sob] egg.” [sob, sob, sob]
They dump the contents of my purse out on the trunk of my car and go through it and say, “She’s clean.”
Meanwhile, officer friendly is putting HANDCUFFS on me. I’m serious. HANDCUFFS. For a traffic violation. And I’m trying to explain to him that I never did anything wrong in my life and there’s no WAY I forgot to pay a ticket. But he’s just smiling and nodding like he’s already heard this thirty times today. Which I’m sure he had.
He puts me in the car, still crying my eyes out, and he now has more information on exactly what the traffic violation is. He tells me it’s a speeding ticket from 1992. I was being arrested for an 8 year old speeding ticket, which by the way, I never received. I asked him why no one contacted me between 1992 and now to try to convince me to pay up.
He has no idea. He only knows that it’s YOUR responsibility to clear these things up if you’re ticketed.
He drags me, still in handcuffs, into the county jail where I am fingerprinted, photographed, and unable to pee in privacy. You know, in case I’ve got a weapon stashed in that chocolate egg or something.
Now comes the really fun part. Had I been in or around Chicago, I could have called a friend and said, “There’s been a screw up, come and get me.” But that’s not the case. I’m two hours from any friends who would do that for me. So I’m left with a choice. I can call my parents. Or I can call my grandparents. Or I can spend the night. Spending the night involves an orange jumpsuit, so I reluctantly decide that calling my parents and asking to speak with my mom is probably the best course of action.
I tried my best to explain to her where to come and get me without using the words “arrested” and “jail.” A little hard to let her know where to pick me up without using the word “jail.” In any case, she came and wasn’t upset at all. In fact, she was laughing her ass off and reminding me about a long-ago deal I made with my folks. They paid my way through college and always used to tell me, “You don’t owe us anything now, but if you ever get arrested, you’re going to owe us 50 grand.”
The whole thing was thrown out of court when the judge found that he couldn’t produce an original ticket. It probably also helped that my dad (big fish, little pond) had a talk with him beforehand. Though, I’m certain that the fact that I’d never BEEN ticketed probably was all the help I needed.
Yes, in May of 91. 4 days becasue it was a holiday weekend.
Worse, not becasue anything Bad happened, but becasue it was Jail.
The fact that you can’t leave was the worst.
First time: Burg. of a Building
My and my friends decided it would be a good senior prank to use the master key I had scammed to go in to the High School at night and re-wire the P.A to do the morning anouncements from the bathroom. We hid a tape recorder in the celing of the bathroom and it would play our message from there. We got caught, and I spent the night in jail and got a felony arrest on my record to boot. Charges were eventually dropped.
Second time: Agg. Assault with a Deadly Weapon:
spent the night, found not guilty. Was not allowed to even go to bathroom. Kept in cuffs all night. Really sucked.
Third Time. Tickets. just boring, no big deal.
When I was about 8 the school took us to the Monterey Jail.
I saw a ball & chain in each room & a metal bench.
For a solid year I visited my son in prison twice a month. There was a strict dress code to follow, and we had to go through a metal detector each time. He looked pale and pathetic and I felt like my insides had been ripped out every time I saw him. We would sit in a room under constant supervision and he was allowed to eat stuff out of the vending machines. This was the highlight of his week.
My Christmas shopping for him involved sending a box of food–very strict rules and it had to be less than 30 pounds. I was also allowed to send him a box of clothing once.
Just FTR, he was sentenced to 2 years for aggravated robbery because he went to a party with 2 other 17 & 18 year olds and a couple of them decided to rob the people at the party. Because my son was 18 and didn’t try to stop them–even though the guys had guns—he was charged with the crime as well. He didn’t plan, participate or share any of the proceeds of the robbery but he was considered guilty because he was/is strong physically and in good shape.
I am relaying the details of his ordeal in the hope that it can help others make better choices. You are judged by the company you keep, and you can be sent to prison even if your family has money(we spent $10,000 on his defense), even if you have no prior record and oh yes even if you happen to be innocent.
I unrepentedly rejoiced when I read that the ringleader–who was 17 at the time of the first crime and is now only 20—was recently arrested for conspiracy and attempted murder when he tried to do a nearly identical crime with another unsuspecting accomplice. I hope he rots in hell for all the grief he has caused his victims, his family, his friends, the justice system and anyone else who has had the misfortune to come in contact with him. The only persons who have profitted by knowing him is the lawyers.
Every day I pray for God to make me a less bitter person with regards to this subject. I pray for peace, guidance and acceptance and I’m trying Lord, I’m trying but it so hard and I am so bitter …
This bitch at a bakery store kept screwing with her. Charging more than what was on the price tag and then insisting it was her right to charge whatever she wanted regardless. Then she would refuse to take coupons from my wife saying “I don’t have to take coupons from anyone I don’t like, and I don’t like you!”. This crank really had it in for her. It’s a nice store & we like it and it’s in the neighborhood, but whenever this particular clerk was working it was a miserable experience. It got to the point that if my wife saw her behind the counter she would not go into the store. I said that was rediculous and complained to the manager about the poor service & bad attitude we received from this clerk. Well, that did no good because the next time my s.o. went in that clerk was working there and really gave my wife an earfull. CRACK! Mrs. Bites slapped her across the mouth as hard as she could. 90 minutes later I got a phone call from the police. $260 fine.
And the best money we ever spent!