The Criminal Chronicles: Vol. One

What was the shock of your life? Imagine it for a moment. How did it feel? Did it hurt? Was it no big deal? Did it make you want to rage or did you find yourself instantly triumphing over the jolt of Fear, a jolt subsequently turning to apathy as a defense mechanism? I know I did plenty of that the other night while I lie naked on a slab of stone with only a rotten blanket and gangster- carved graffiti to keep me company at DuPage County Jail.

A friend of mine, you see, was pulled over by the Elgin Police while driving me and my wife home from Hooper’s Bar and Grill. Evidently, my friend had a suspended license, and I did not know that; after he was removed from the vehicle the officers asked for my ID, and I gave it to them, figuring ‘Hell, I’ll just walk home with my wife…not a big deal. Poor Jeff (name changed).’

Then, there came a hard knock on the passenger side window. That knock was for me. They told me to step out of the car so I complied slightly befuddled and wondering why this young cop was leading me by the wrist around Jeff’s car. Applying handcuffs, he told me I was under arrest for a warrant issued by Carol Stream, and proceeded to empty the contents of my pockets.

“WHAT?” I said. My voice cracked like it did when I was thirteen. The ensuing bewilderment was more severe than the time I slipped under a lawn mower and chopped my left big toe into three pieces. The rage was overwhelming. The police found no contraband because I am clean so I have that to my credit, but my mouth sure did a professional tap dance. Part of me is embarrassed and part of me wants a transcript of the recording from the police vehicle. The entertainment value would be worth it.

The Carol Stream officer taking me into custody from Elgin told me I was ‘going to the ‘Stream.’ I told this officer that (and this is where the White-Boy comes in, I admit) my stepdad was coming with the bail and would be at EPD in ten minutes. The officer said it didn’t matter; the warrant from Carol Stream had to be handled in Carol Stream. I got to my feet without incident and he hand cuffed me again, asking “How does that feel?”

“Like handcuffs,” I said.

He thought that was pretty funny.

After being put into the Carol Stream lockup and throwing ten or so punches at the wall, the officer returned and asked me if I hit my fists on the wall. I nodded, he asked me if I wanted a bandage for my bloody knuckles and I told him no; I have been tested as STD-Free and it felt nice to bleed. I took a deep breath and allowed him to easily transport me to DuPage County Jail. Easily that is, except for the fact that my mouth decided to continue tap dancing. However, after entering the sallyport and being led into County, the CS officer said; “This guy’s good. I like this guy.” I may have entertained him. Well, good. I also shine shoes, in case anyone is interested.

I needed a fucking cigarette. But I knew I wasn’t going to get one. So I sucked it up. A guy who looks like the rapper Kosher made gestures at me from behind the glass separating the convicts from the “innocent until proven guilty”, gestures indicating I ought to attack the cops. I smiled and shook my head and this guy makes a pouty face and performs the gestures again. It was hard not to laugh. I sucked that up, too.

These three institutions locked me up on a trumped-up heroin charge. Granted, I have used; but at the stop the warrant was issued in regards to I was never arrested. And nothing was found on me. I’ve done a bit of FBing about it and have been met with mixed reviews.

OK, let us take things back a few notches. Let us not look at the seedy aspects of life. Let us succumb to the Ostrich Syndrome. Let us forget that bastards like me exist.

Or, let’s raise a flag because this is some bullshit. It is eight years old. I never had the dope.

Enough for now. This is part one of something I’m going to continue with over the course of the next indefinite period (unless I get in trouble, heh) because it is important. The Law should not be able to act as the Sword of Damocles. That is junk, and I am going to fight.

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