My Life as a Career Criminal

There is something intriguing about one's first trip to jail. I suppose it can be considered a rite of passage for all young men, something all should endure for the sake of experience. In the least, it very well may scare you enough so that you never return. As for myself, the experience was pretty decent. Being a dumb kid from Texas, I think my time in a New York City jail went about as well as could be expected.

My Friday night was nothing short of incredible; my friend Dean comes into town, and 5 hours later, we are both sitting handcuffed in a squad car. The officer who arrested me was frustrated that I was more concerned about my cell phone breaking--which was a result of him slamming me into a wall--than I was about being arrested. That got things off to a rough start, but hey, I was mad--that phone had Tetris! An hour after that, we were thrown into a community cell with 6 other real criminals, one who appeared ready and willing to make us men, in a non-traditional, rather painful sort of way. My other cellmates were pretty damn jovial for being locked up. They passed the time by continually telling terrible jokes. I soon felt forlorn at the confiscation of my belt and shoe laces, as death would have been a welcome reprieve from Cellmate Comedy Hour. And then there was the toothless inmate who spouted philosophy at all who'd listen. I didn't mind; it's not often you meet a man who thinks he's a direct descendant of Jesus and has holy blood. But we both declined repeatedly his invitation to taste it, with only a slight hesitation after he told us it tastes like wine.

The process of fingerprinting and mug shots was pretty interesting. I didn't really know what to do during my mug shot, but I knew I wanted it to be memorable--something to send out as a Christmas card some year after imbibing too much holiday cheer and eschewing all regard for social prudence and respect for in-laws. I closed one eye and snarled at the camera. Dean smiled as big as he could. Different philosophies, both odd enough to cause annoyance to the nonplussed cops.

At one point, the guards came by with cigarettes and egg sandwiches, which they dished out to each of us like military rations. However, I don't smoke, and I rarely eat egg sandwiches, let alone ones tossed onto a disgusting jail floor like they were feeding pigs. So anyway, after eating two egg sandwiches and smoking a couple cigarettes, the cellmate bonding really kicked in. Dean and I, of course, had to appear more criminal and ferocious than we truly are to fit in with the drug dealers and violent men. Rather than discussing our actual offense, which was rather trivial, we spoke of grand theft auto and assaults. It was at this point that, interest piqued, two of our fellow prisoners brought up their amateur boxing careers, ended prematurely by years of prison time. This made us quiet down a bit, hoping neither of us would meet an untimely demise at the hands of Mike Tyson in the corner.

Being only slight menaces to society, Dean and I were released after about 6-7 hours, while the other true thugs stayed behind, awaiting transport to a federal pound-me-in-the-ass-prison. Before being issued our citation and court appearance ticket, we asked for copies of our mug shots, since nothing says "I love you" like a life-size mug shot given to your mom for Christmas. We assumed these would be public record and handed over to us, but we were merely disregarded and kicked out onto the front steps, with no idea as to our location.

Per our cellmates' request, we headed straight to the nearest bar and knocked back a few in their honor, also cleansing jail and fatigue from our bodies with the antibacterial and analgesic effects of alcohol.

Jail was a pretty good time; honestly, I never knew I could spend a night in jail without pissing myself or being knifed to death. We got food, drink and drugs; that's a typical night for most. If only the locale had been nicer, I'd have no complaints at all.