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."
"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.