Micycle goes to jail?!!! *dun dun DUUNNNNNNNNN*

That’s right folks, yours truly spent some time (my first and LAST time) in the Washington County slammer yesterday, and let me tells ya, it was a real treat. I’m such a rebel.

Lettuce go back to earlier that day, shall we? I had just finished a few delicious White Castles and a homemade Mom mocha, chit chatting it up with the parents and Polly (my canine sister) at their fine home in Cottage Grove. I got my good ol’ goodbye kiss on the cheek from Mom, hopped in the Pinto, and was on my way back to Minneapplesauce.

About a block into my journey, I looked in the rearview and spotted a po-leese car behind me with his lights all a-flashing and whatnot, so I pulled aside to let him pass me. He started pulling aside too, and I figured either A) there was a po-leese car behind him too and he wanted to let it pass by, or B) I done something wrong. As soon as I saw him get out of his car, I was pretty sure it was “B”. After speaking briefly with the officer, I quickly realized he was in a very bad mood… perhaps his life of going home lonely to his right hand after blowing his paycheck at the King of Diamonds was getting to him. (As you will read, he assumed I was holding illegal mind-altering toxins, so I guess that means I get to assume some things about him. Yay!)

Guess what, ladies and gentlemen, it’s time to play “Who’s Fucked?” – and if you guessed ME, you have won the game! Now back to our story:

It turns out that I had 2 parking tickets that I had forgotten to pay, and therefore was unknowingly driving with a suspended license. I was asked to step out of the Pinto and to put my hands on the po-leese car to be frisked. “Tackleberry”, as I will call him (an accurate reference for all of you “Police Academy” fans), found 2 AA batteries and a peppermint patty on my person, but nothing else. He told me to get in the back of the po-leese car, and I complied. He then got in the front and that’s where the real fun started.

Tackleberry: Going over to raid mom and dad’s fridge today?
Micycle: Nope, just using their computer looking for a job… it’s a long story.
Tackleberry: Do you have insurance?
Micycle: Amica.
Tackleberry: No you don’t, because I didn’t ask you for it, did I?
Micycle: Umm.. okay..?
Tackleberry: You been smoking some dope?
Micycle: No sir!
Tackleberry: Am I going to find anything in your car?
Micycle: Well, a cell phone, a bunch of trash, and some cigarettes. Feel free to go through it!
Tackleberry: You sure I’m not going to find anything else? There’s no feeling free, because I’m going to go through it whether you like it or not..
Micycle: Could you grab my jacket for me when you’re in there?
Tackleberry: What’s in your jacket? Am I going to find anything in there?
Micycle: Probably some candy.

This went on for a few more minutes, and as I was continuing to kill him with kindness, Tackleberry was absolutely sure I was “high on dope” and was going to find a stash of some sort in the Pinto. He spent the next 10 minutes violating my car and other personal items only to walk back to the squad car with a “DAMMIT! I was wrong, but I’m not going to admit it” look on his face. He asked what my financial situation was, and I told him. “Well it sounds like you didn’t have a backup plan!” he scolded me. I told him I was desperately seeking a job and it’s not that easy right now to find one, to which he wisely said, “Well not me.. if I quit my job today, I could get a job tomorrow!” I bit my tounge hard as to not make the suggestion that maybe he should quit his job then and do something that wouldn’t turn him into such an asshole… but he didn’t seem like the type that would find that amusing.

So, off to the slammer where I stripped down to my jeans, t shirt and socks to be a guest in the deluxe accommodations of the 80th St precinct jail cell. During my stay, I wondered where Tackelberry was.. probably off in a lounge somewhere wishing I would have had some chemicals on my person so he could have had gotten a bigger buzz out of busting me. Thinking that maybe he should have had the peppermint patty in my jacket tested for traces of PCP. I also wondered what was going through the minds of Moms and Pops. Me? In Jail? For parking tickets?

I looked over at the 1-piece stainless steel toilet and found it ironic that it was indeed quite stained (with a name like stainless, one would think it would be free of stains.) I had to pee quite badly, but hell if I was going to insult my pee by putting it in that thing. I contemplated singing the blues, and wondered if a wee little mouse would enter my cell to befriend me. I could teach it tricks and feed it bread crumbs, just like Mr. Bojangles in The Green Mile.

Tackleberry eventually came to let me out. “Mom’s here to bail you out.” He watched me put my belt, shoes, watch, and jacket on, scolding me all the while about paying my tickets on time. I didn’t say one word, because he didn’t deserve a response, but in my head was saying Yeah yeah yeah, I know, fucker! And maybe you should work on that personality a bit.

Out back into the free world, and no drivey drivey for me until my court date on the 17th. Yeah, I done screwed up and it’s my own fault in the end, it will be resolved, and I’ll get on with life. But I’ve learned 2 big lessons out of it: 1) Pay your tickets on time. And 2) It’s really quite fun to watch steam come out of a crabass power-hungry po-leese officer’s ears when he realizes he’s not making you scared or mad.

Thanks Mom and Dad for the support and help… I loves you boaf. I owe you big time for bailing me out of jail (I never thought I’d have to say that!) I will refrain from smart-mouthing in court so you can get all of your money back.

And as far as you go, Tackleberry: Fine, do your job and pull me over. I take full responsibility for being naughty. But fuck you if you’re going to pull attitude on me like that and try to push my buttons… it might work on some people, but not this fella.

🙂 Smile! You’re crabby, therefore your life sucks!