Free at last, free at last…
One whole week in jail.
That’s why I haven’t been updating the blog, for anyone out there who’s been wondering (if anyone is out there wondering, thank you). That’s 168 hours of my life, gone to complete and utter…nothingness. I just don’t feel anything about the last week. Well, let me be more specific. I do feel like an asshole over how I made my mom feel. I do feel angry about the fact that I was even in jail in the first place. I do feel relieved to be out of the clink. But when I think about the actual experience, the hours spent in the relatively same routine for seven straight days…nothing. Maybe I’m just blocking the whole thing out because on some level I can’t handle the fact that I was actually imprisoned. Maybe I really don’t care. Either way, the whole thing was a fucking farce, on top of being a temporal black hole.
But I’m getting a little ahead of myself.
This all started when I was driving home after dropping my friend off at his parent’s house. Not ten minutes away from my place, I passed a car that was pulled over on the right side of the road with two cop cars behind it. As I passed, I stayed in the right-hand lane, but slowed down to ten miles below the speed limit, and immediately one of the cops shot onto the road and pulled me over. So Lady Bacon walks up to my window and informs me that a new (at the time) Florida law says that if you pass a cop who’s pulled someone over, then you have to move to the furthest lane (traffic permitting) and drop 25 miles below the speed limit; since I didn’t, she decided that I deserved a ticket for going 15 miles over the “de facto” speed limit. Some of you might be wondering what happens with that particular law in a 25-mph zone; I have no idea. Anyways, I’ll be honest: me and my friend had been smoking in the car, and he was nice enough to give me what probably weighed out to .5 grams of weed. Once that cop came up, though, she smelled that shit immediately. Long story short, I ended up handcuffed in the back of her car with a court date, where I was given probation.
Fast forward a few months. I’m at a court date for my probation, and a judge essentially tells me that since I haven’t finished my community service, my only choices are 60 days in the slammer, or 90 days with work-release. Only thing is, I DID finish my community service; I just didn’t have the proof for the last eight or so hours. Didn’t matter to the courts, although they did show me some mercy; since this was the only thing I’ve ever had on my record (apart from a few speeding tickets), the judge only sentenced me to ten days, which ended up only being a week after working as a “trustee” got my sentence shorted.
So what did I do with my time? Well, I was supposed to work (either in laundry, or the kitchen, or whatever), but I was labeled as an “extra”, which means that they only called on me whenever they were short in other areas. They were never short, so I didn’t work. Instead, I ate crappy prison food, slept on a lumpy plastic mattress that was about six inches too short, and worked out. Oh, and I learned how to play dominoes, so I’ve got that going for me. Like I said, the whole time was one unfeeling, monotonous length of blah.
But that’s over now. I’m out, breathing the fresh air and spending time with my family. Yeah, they’re disappointed in me (my mom was crushed, which was easily the worst part of all of this for me), but I think we’ll be able to get past this. I’m just trying to figure out my next move. But rest assured, I’m back, and I’m damn sure not going back to jail.