House Guest Part 2

Stories from the Pokey . . .

Me, having never been in jail or a cell of any kind, asks what it was like.

"Well, the bitches who checked me in were certainly full of attitude."

Yes, one would expect that the people checking you in (it's called "processing" for those of us who haven't been in the pokey) wouldn't be overly welcoming. After all, it's not the Ritz. You're IN JAIL.

"The first one was totally rude and asked me 10,000 questions so I just made shit up after a while."

"What's the highest level of education you've completed, Miss ______."

"Um, I have my MBA in English."

Yes, she really did say that.

Then B was asked to sign the documents admitting her to the pokey.

"Ladies, I can't see this document because my glasses are locked up in my car. So, unless one of you lets me use your cheaters, then I'm not signing anything."

Processor 1 looks at Processor 2: "I told you."

B is put in the general population holding cell. There were, by her description, lots of "rough looking, really skinny women." Yes B, We call them Crack Whores (CW for short).

A skinny CW sits down next to B.

"The Hef Officer coming for you."

"I'm sorry?"

"The Hef Officer coming for you. They gonna stick you."

"No one's sticking me with anything."

"Uh huh. They gonna stick you to make sure you don't have the TB. I'm not sayin' you has it, but they gonna stick you to make sure you don't get it from anybody in here who might have it."

Next, B meets a woman who's a yoga instructor on the outside. The yoga instructor does a yoga move which B copies while saying, "yeah, yoga!"

Immediately, the officer on duty throws both B and the yoga instructor in the drunk tank for disruptive behavior.

At 4:30AM, the inmates are given bologna sandwiches. Another inmate sits down next to B, who is now back in the gen pop cell (see? jail lingo!).

"You gonna eat that?" she says, staring pointedly at the sandwich in B's hand.

"Nope, here you go." B wisely hands over the tube meat and bread.

Sometime after 5AM, B's ex-boyfriend arrives and bails her out. Fast forward to my house and the long afternoon of drinking and shopping that commenced.

I really do feel sorry for the girl because she's very nice and it could have happened to anyone who has a few drinks and then blows through a stop sign while a State Trooper happens to be hiding around the corner. Of course, I think she might have been a bit argumentative, which could explain why she was given two separate tickets, minutes apart. But whatever. She's good fun and is welcome back at my house any time!

But watch out: the Hef Officer might be coming for you next.

House Guest, Part 1

What do you do when a friend asks if someone can stay with you whom you barely know? If you're me, you say, "yes" . . . and then have a great story to tell.

No names here, since the person in question is very nice, but I told her I was going to write about our time together and she didn't object, so . . . here we go:

"B" was due to arrive at my house late afternoon last week. She was coming to Atlanta to be re-certified as a __________ instructor. I texted her at about 4PM, asking what her ETA was since I was in the throes of final clean-up in my fur-filled house. "Stopping in Macon to cool off. No AC in car. See you 5:30." was the reply.

"Great, see you then," I replied. "May be closer to 6" came just a little while later.

When B arrived, she was red faced and sweltering from the heat of the ride. What I didn't know at the time was that the red face was also the result of her stop in Macon. Three quick liquor drinks and she was back on the road to Atlanta. No lie!

We spent the first night chatting with my Aunt Athena on the deck. B had an early start the next morning with her ____________ class, so we were in our respective beds by midnight. The next morning, I invited her to join me and some college friends for dinner at Fritti. She wanted to see her ex-boyfriend, so she'd join us later at the restaurant.

Dinner was great, catching up with Breck and Martha on family and friends. B joined us and we were there until about 10PM, when I walked down the street to the Albert and B went back to see the boyfriend at his restaurant one more time.

I texted B at 11PM, letting her know I was home and to use the key I'd given her, no worries about the alarm system or the dogs (my back-up alarm system). No response, so I figured she was hanging with the ex.

Next morning, B was supposed to be leaving for home, but by 9AM I still hadn't heard from her and was getting worried. I sent her another text message, telling her my work schedule for the day. No response. I was just about to call our mutual friend when the phone rang. It was the other B, the one who'd asked if B could stay with me in the first place.

"I was just about to call you. What's going on?"

"She got arrested."

"Shit. Is she okay? Does she need me to post bail?" (like I've ever done that before!)

"Her ex-boyfriend bailed her out, but her car is impounded and her phone is in the car which is why she doesn't have your number."

"Ok, well I'll hang here and try to get in touch w/ her at the boyfriends (whose number she'd just given me)."

"Sorry about this. It figures that something would happen while she's staying with you. Really sorry."

"Don't worry! I'm just glad she's safe. I was getting ready to start calling hospitals."

Three hours later, B rolls in. She is red faced, swollen and dirty. And who can blame the girl? That's what any of us would look like after spending the night in the pokey.

B's first words: "God, I need a drink."

Next up: House Guest Part 2: Stories from the Pokey