At first I thought I’d start part two of this saga with a moment of reflection, kind of a “how I got here” flashback sequence, but then I realized that would be un-copacetic to the narrative. Here’s why, when one is sitting along side the road, in the pouring rain, with red and blues strobing in one’s rear view mirror, and the silhouette of one of Washington’s finest growing larger in said mirror, one does not take time to reflect. There are only two words running through one’s mind, the word “Oh” and a word that starts with an “F”, ends with a “K”, and has a “U” in the middle (no, not fire truck), and these words run on a loop in one’s mind like “Smells Like Teen Spirit” played in Seattle from the early nineties, until I put a drill bit through my ear. Well, whatever; never mind.
“Can I see your license and registration?” “Of course you can officer, here you are.” “Do you know why I pulled you over?” I have no idea why cops ask this question. Does this tactic work? Optimal scenario: “Do you know why I pulled you over?” “The dead body in my trunk I suspect”, replies the driver. “No, you ran a red light, but I’d like to see that body.” Even if I thought I knew why an officer pulled me over I wouldn’t say. Here is one problem with society today: people think they know more than they do. Of course I don’t know why you pulled me over unless you tell me why. Long story short, I said “no”. Upon saying “no” the officer informed me that he had witnessed me doing nothing wrong, but was stopping me on account of a call that a concerned citizen had made. Suspicion of drunk driving…sounded like something I’d do. He asked me out of the car, asked me to do some roadside tests, of which I passed none. He then asked me to do a Breathalyzer test, but I was ready to be in a car; I was wet and miserable it was clear my car was no longer an option, so I declined the breath test and he put some bracelets on me and me in his car. He was a nice guy, he called my friend Chad who came with my friend James and got my truck and took it home for me, and even tolerated my inquiries about why one would ever become a cop (this is a concept that eludes me to this day). At any rate, after what seemed like hours sitting in the back of his car, we headed to the Kitsap County Bed and Breakfast.
First up on the agenda, a breathalyzer test, which I passed, or failed…I got a .3 something which was high. So, I made the cut-off and was booked. If you’ve ever been booked into county you know there are a lot of ridiculous questions for which a smartass anti-establishment minded person like I has little patience. I became indignant around the time the booking officer asked me whether or not I wanted to be designated as an Hispanic or non-Hispanic. I told him that I didn’t care one way or the other. To which he answered that I had to care. I then replied that I didn’t have to care, and that I didn’t care, and that he could call me whatever he wanted because I wasn’t a racist. This displeased the man, who skipped the question and went on to the disclaimer to which he wanted me to agree, that stated basically, that I wouldn’t hold the county jail responsible for any injuries I acquired while in their custody. To which I answered, “What the fuck are you planning on doing to me” (brilliant). His answer to this was succinct, “Alright in the tank!” Then he put me in a cell, I’m guessing to sleep it off. It is a tough thing to fall asleep in a jail cell, I imagine if you were drunk enough you could fall asleep anywhere, Ironically, I was drunk enough to be admitted but I wasn’t drunk enough to sleep there. It was a rough night. That is the gist of going to jail…it was less fun than I made it sound, of this I am certain.