Guest Post
Apr. 1st, 2004 09:13 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
pluralThe following is a guest post by ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
plural's friend, the person formerly known as ikilled007, who was banned around November for unacceptable conduct, if you will. The post is NOT an April Fool's post, but a true-to-life accounting of March 30 as told by the aforementioned Buffster. This is the first of a series of "guest posts" his Buffness will make on various of his friends' journals over the next few weeks. The date and journal location of Buff's next guest post will be announced on this journal later. Without further ado:
It was about 1:30am on Wednesday when Crystal told me she was starving. She has very particular tastebuds and often gets cravings for specific foods. Wednesday, she wanted "fast food" -- something greasy, I guess. I insisted we go to the 24 hour grocery store to get some "real food" which I would be happy to prepare for her, but that sounded like too much of a hassle, and she just wanted some Mc Donald's. There is only one McDonald's open that late in the Greater New Orleans area, and it's near a pretty ghetto neighborhood on Claiborne.
We have only one car, and Crystal loves to drive, but she's new to the area (just moved down here December 17th from Cali) and so I usually drive when we're going somewhere new -- mostly because New Orleans can be a very difficult city to navigate if you don't know the roads -- there's a lot of twisting and turning and last second merging across 3 lanes to get where you're trying to go. But last night, she insisted I let her drive, so I gave in.
We got to McDonald's fine and she got her Spicy McChicken Sandwich (or whatever it was) and then we pulled out and headed back home on Claiborne. I guess we looked suspicious -- two whities too close to the ghetto late at night....
When she got pulled over by the NOPD, she told me she had left her license at home. I knew it was going to be a bad night.
The officer asked for her license and registration, we explained that she left it at the apartment and I also informed the officer that I did have a gun in the car, since it was obvious he was planning to search the car anyway. I wasn't worried about that, because it's legal to have a gun in your car in Louisiana, because the car is considered an extension of your home for that purpose, and the gun is registered to me (I bought it new in 2001 -- a Taurus Millenium .45). So his partner took the gun and then they asked for my license since the car was registered to me, and then they went back to their car. I called our roommate and had him find her license and read me the number, which I gave to the officers to help them out.
At this point, I started laughing, because I knew what was coming, and the whole night was about to turn into an Murphy's Law exercise. Crystal was very upset -- she had never been pulled over before. I tried to soothe her, but she remained upset. I told her I was probably going to be going to jail, since I had an unpaid speeding ticket in Kenner -- a 45 in a 35 which I had skipped the court date for -- I do that a lot, partly in protest of the state and its bullshit form of tax collection (traffic tickets) and partly because I have better things to do when I'm supposed to go to court. The ticket was from July of 2003 and the court date I skipped was from September, so there was an attachment for my arrest -- a "warrant."
So the cop called told Crystal to pop the trunk and called me to the back of the car. He put my empty gun into the trunk and then emptied the magazine one round at a time with his thumb into the trunk. Then he told me I was going to jail and not to "do anything stupid." I gave him a funny look like "Am I acting like someone who is going to resist arrest?" I had been nothing but polite and courteous like I am with all police officers, except Billy. He didn't cuff me or anything, just told me to sit tight until the transport got there. I started chuckling, thinking to myself how little issues ignored can bloom into full-blown disasters.
They didn't even search the car or tell us why she got pulled over. And he even let Crystal drive home without her license. The other officer arrived, and I could tell that he felt like it was dumb to take me to lockup for a silly speeding ticket. I never once complained or anything, and he was going out of his way to make sure the cuffs weren't too tight and that I got in the car alright, etc. I told him I had never been in any trouble with the law before and had no idea how the system worked at all, so he explained to me what he could about how lockup works while we drove.
So we get to lockup and the cop puts his gun in the trunk and escorts me to the chuckleheads who are going to process me. I tell you what -- the only thing that distinguishes the inmates from the authority in lockup is the uniform. What a corrupt bunch of incompetent sleazebags. The criminals were not much better.
So the cop hands me off to some sheriff types who uncuff me and ask me some emergency medical questions. Then they spin me toward the wall, frisk me, and steal my cellphone. They moved me into a room for processing which took a about 40 minutes. There was a weird guy in there who was obviously mentally ill -- he was mexican but had spent his whole life in Jamaica -- and he liked to go around waking people up who were sleeping and start conversations with everyone. He spoke Jamaican spanish, if there is such a thing, and no one knew what the fuck he was saying. He pissed off a lot of inmates until finally the cops manhandled him into another room.
The processing began with me getting tagged -- I got an orange tag on my left wrist with my name and a number on it. I learned later that tags were colored red/orange/yellow, depending on the offense. I never did find out what red meant, but I assumed it was for people already in the system or really violent criminals, because only one guy had one, and he was in a orange Orleans Parish Prison jumpsuit complete with ankle bracelets. Orange meant felony arrest or warrant, and yellow meant misdemeanor. My orange band immediately got me a lot of respect and a little fear since only 5 people I was in with had them. More on that later.
After I got tagged, I got my mugshot taken. I tried to make the goofiest expression I could, but obviously the woman had seen it all before and just waited til my face got tired and reverted back to normal before she took the shot. That pissed me off. Then the NOPD stole my cash ($66) and gave me a receipt for it.
Now it was time for medical. I was super polite, as always, and I had the woman laughing pretty good while she went over the list of possible health problems I might have. I considered telling her I was a diabetic, because I remembered that a diabetic woman died recently in NOPD lockup and that the NOPD was going to be treating diabetics with kid gloves. But I decided that the risk of being forcibly injected with insulin was not worth any benefits of being treated with kid gloves and cutting through red tape. So I informed her that my only injury was wounded pride and she asked me why I was there, and when I told her, she told me I should be ashamed of myself, and she threatened to call my parents. That was the high point of the night.
Now it was time to be tossed into a cell no bigger than my bedroom with 50+ other villans. There was supposed to be no smoking, but the incompetents who did the pat downs were, well, incompetent, and some were downright corrupt and actually passed cigarettes and even pot to prisoners. I saw this. Many of the prisoners were actually related to the guards or friends with the guards, and they got excellent treatment, including getting booked much sooner than the rest of us, getting bathroom runs, or getting food (sandwiches) and water. Not that I would have eaten that shit anyway, but I found it amusing that the police are every bit as corrupt as I knew they were. The toilet in the cell obviously had not been cleaned -- ever, and the floor had about a one inch layer of sludge on it, which did not deter the inmates from sleeping on it. I had to give it to some of these nasty motherfuckers -- they were like Green Berets with respect to the conditions they could not just survive in, but actually flourish in. Suprisingly there were no fights for spots on the bench (which wrapped around the cell) and no racism issues. Everyone in there pretty much treated each other with respect.
There were the usual jokes by the clowns who were looking for some laughs -- "Did Blanco call yet? I should be out by now." And then there were the "experts" who had been there before and wanted to share their knowledge of the workings of the "justice" system with the rest of us. There were some white boys in there -- all for DWI, including a coast guard kid who expected (rightly) that he was going to lose rank, and a couple of Tulane kids who seemed generally terrified at the whole ordeal.
For whatever reason -- laziness and apathy if you ask me -- booking was slow as fuck. I got to the jail around 3:20, got processed at 3:45, and didn't get booked until 10:20. In fact, my fine in Kenner had been paid 45 minutes before Orleans booked me.
Big thanks to Sig and Stephen for coming to my aid with that. If not for their on-the-ball, relentless persistence, I would probably still be there.
Anyway, I got to make some phone calls once I got booked (the phones in the cell could only make collect calls, and not to cell phones or most businesses). I had called Stephen at his house (collect) around 6:30 and he had gotten the ball rolling. I called Sig immediately at 10:20ish, and he gave me the good news about the fine.
Well, all I had to do was wait for some "teletype" thing to go through from Kenner to New Orleans and I would be sprung. I saw the teletype machine rattle it off around 10:45, but the uncooperative guards refused to go get it until almost 2pm. One guard told me it could take up to 10 days for it to go through. I laughed and asked him if there was a height/weight standard for being a guard, because he was a little heavy. He told me to fuck off and I told him to do his job and go get my teletype. Apparently, Stephen, a US attorney, called down and made some shit happen, because the guard suddenly became very polite to me and got my stuff and let me out and told me that he was used to dealing with shitbags and yada yada yada -- I told him thanks for his cooperation and he brought me to the checkout point where I picked up my money and then my cellphone and then I got the fuck out.
I called a cab at the Best Western 2 blocks away, called everyone and thanked them, and headed home. I owe sig $168 which I'm gonna give him when I see Stephen and him at lunch.
All in all, it was an unpleasant experience, but an eye-opening one. It's the kind of thing you really have to go through to get an appreciation for. Almost everyone in there was there for a drug related offense, mostly weed. And all the stereotypes about crooked cops -- well they turned out to be true. An investigation of that facility is surely in order. The experience was nowhere near as tough as something like SERE school -- I didn't geat beaten or harrassed or interrogated -- but it was still annoying not to be able to take a shit for 10 hours, and to have to be in a room full of stinky sleazebags that you'd rather not make contact with.
So that was my experience -- almost 12 hours in the lockup. I kept hoping Billy would come through there to drop off a prisoner so he could spring me out of the cell into the waiting area to chill, but it didn't happen.
plural's friend, the person formerly known as ikilled007, who was banned around November for unacceptable conduct, if you will. The post is NOT an April Fool's post, but a true-to-life accounting of March 30 as told by the aforementioned Buffster. This is the first of a series of "guest posts" his Buffness will make on various of his friends' journals over the next few weeks. The date and journal location of Buff's next guest post will be announced on this journal later. Without further ado:It was about 1:30am on Wednesday when Crystal told me she was starving. She has very particular tastebuds and often gets cravings for specific foods. Wednesday, she wanted "fast food" -- something greasy, I guess. I insisted we go to the 24 hour grocery store to get some "real food" which I would be happy to prepare for her, but that sounded like too much of a hassle, and she just wanted some Mc Donald's. There is only one McDonald's open that late in the Greater New Orleans area, and it's near a pretty ghetto neighborhood on Claiborne.
We have only one car, and Crystal loves to drive, but she's new to the area (just moved down here December 17th from Cali) and so I usually drive when we're going somewhere new -- mostly because New Orleans can be a very difficult city to navigate if you don't know the roads -- there's a lot of twisting and turning and last second merging across 3 lanes to get where you're trying to go. But last night, she insisted I let her drive, so I gave in.
We got to McDonald's fine and she got her Spicy McChicken Sandwich (or whatever it was) and then we pulled out and headed back home on Claiborne. I guess we looked suspicious -- two whities too close to the ghetto late at night....
When she got pulled over by the NOPD, she told me she had left her license at home. I knew it was going to be a bad night.
The officer asked for her license and registration, we explained that she left it at the apartment and I also informed the officer that I did have a gun in the car, since it was obvious he was planning to search the car anyway. I wasn't worried about that, because it's legal to have a gun in your car in Louisiana, because the car is considered an extension of your home for that purpose, and the gun is registered to me (I bought it new in 2001 -- a Taurus Millenium .45). So his partner took the gun and then they asked for my license since the car was registered to me, and then they went back to their car. I called our roommate and had him find her license and read me the number, which I gave to the officers to help them out.
At this point, I started laughing, because I knew what was coming, and the whole night was about to turn into an Murphy's Law exercise. Crystal was very upset -- she had never been pulled over before. I tried to soothe her, but she remained upset. I told her I was probably going to be going to jail, since I had an unpaid speeding ticket in Kenner -- a 45 in a 35 which I had skipped the court date for -- I do that a lot, partly in protest of the state and its bullshit form of tax collection (traffic tickets) and partly because I have better things to do when I'm supposed to go to court. The ticket was from July of 2003 and the court date I skipped was from September, so there was an attachment for my arrest -- a "warrant."
So the cop called told Crystal to pop the trunk and called me to the back of the car. He put my empty gun into the trunk and then emptied the magazine one round at a time with his thumb into the trunk. Then he told me I was going to jail and not to "do anything stupid." I gave him a funny look like "Am I acting like someone who is going to resist arrest?" I had been nothing but polite and courteous like I am with all police officers, except Billy. He didn't cuff me or anything, just told me to sit tight until the transport got there. I started chuckling, thinking to myself how little issues ignored can bloom into full-blown disasters.
They didn't even search the car or tell us why she got pulled over. And he even let Crystal drive home without her license. The other officer arrived, and I could tell that he felt like it was dumb to take me to lockup for a silly speeding ticket. I never once complained or anything, and he was going out of his way to make sure the cuffs weren't too tight and that I got in the car alright, etc. I told him I had never been in any trouble with the law before and had no idea how the system worked at all, so he explained to me what he could about how lockup works while we drove.
So we get to lockup and the cop puts his gun in the trunk and escorts me to the chuckleheads who are going to process me. I tell you what -- the only thing that distinguishes the inmates from the authority in lockup is the uniform. What a corrupt bunch of incompetent sleazebags. The criminals were not much better.
So the cop hands me off to some sheriff types who uncuff me and ask me some emergency medical questions. Then they spin me toward the wall, frisk me, and steal my cellphone. They moved me into a room for processing which took a about 40 minutes. There was a weird guy in there who was obviously mentally ill -- he was mexican but had spent his whole life in Jamaica -- and he liked to go around waking people up who were sleeping and start conversations with everyone. He spoke Jamaican spanish, if there is such a thing, and no one knew what the fuck he was saying. He pissed off a lot of inmates until finally the cops manhandled him into another room.
The processing began with me getting tagged -- I got an orange tag on my left wrist with my name and a number on it. I learned later that tags were colored red/orange/yellow, depending on the offense. I never did find out what red meant, but I assumed it was for people already in the system or really violent criminals, because only one guy had one, and he was in a orange Orleans Parish Prison jumpsuit complete with ankle bracelets. Orange meant felony arrest or warrant, and yellow meant misdemeanor. My orange band immediately got me a lot of respect and a little fear since only 5 people I was in with had them. More on that later.
After I got tagged, I got my mugshot taken. I tried to make the goofiest expression I could, but obviously the woman had seen it all before and just waited til my face got tired and reverted back to normal before she took the shot. That pissed me off. Then the NOPD stole my cash ($66) and gave me a receipt for it.
Now it was time for medical. I was super polite, as always, and I had the woman laughing pretty good while she went over the list of possible health problems I might have. I considered telling her I was a diabetic, because I remembered that a diabetic woman died recently in NOPD lockup and that the NOPD was going to be treating diabetics with kid gloves. But I decided that the risk of being forcibly injected with insulin was not worth any benefits of being treated with kid gloves and cutting through red tape. So I informed her that my only injury was wounded pride and she asked me why I was there, and when I told her, she told me I should be ashamed of myself, and she threatened to call my parents. That was the high point of the night.
Now it was time to be tossed into a cell no bigger than my bedroom with 50+ other villans. There was supposed to be no smoking, but the incompetents who did the pat downs were, well, incompetent, and some were downright corrupt and actually passed cigarettes and even pot to prisoners. I saw this. Many of the prisoners were actually related to the guards or friends with the guards, and they got excellent treatment, including getting booked much sooner than the rest of us, getting bathroom runs, or getting food (sandwiches) and water. Not that I would have eaten that shit anyway, but I found it amusing that the police are every bit as corrupt as I knew they were. The toilet in the cell obviously had not been cleaned -- ever, and the floor had about a one inch layer of sludge on it, which did not deter the inmates from sleeping on it. I had to give it to some of these nasty motherfuckers -- they were like Green Berets with respect to the conditions they could not just survive in, but actually flourish in. Suprisingly there were no fights for spots on the bench (which wrapped around the cell) and no racism issues. Everyone in there pretty much treated each other with respect.
There were the usual jokes by the clowns who were looking for some laughs -- "Did Blanco call yet? I should be out by now." And then there were the "experts" who had been there before and wanted to share their knowledge of the workings of the "justice" system with the rest of us. There were some white boys in there -- all for DWI, including a coast guard kid who expected (rightly) that he was going to lose rank, and a couple of Tulane kids who seemed generally terrified at the whole ordeal.
For whatever reason -- laziness and apathy if you ask me -- booking was slow as fuck. I got to the jail around 3:20, got processed at 3:45, and didn't get booked until 10:20. In fact, my fine in Kenner had been paid 45 minutes before Orleans booked me.
Big thanks to Sig and Stephen for coming to my aid with that. If not for their on-the-ball, relentless persistence, I would probably still be there.
Anyway, I got to make some phone calls once I got booked (the phones in the cell could only make collect calls, and not to cell phones or most businesses). I had called Stephen at his house (collect) around 6:30 and he had gotten the ball rolling. I called Sig immediately at 10:20ish, and he gave me the good news about the fine.
Well, all I had to do was wait for some "teletype" thing to go through from Kenner to New Orleans and I would be sprung. I saw the teletype machine rattle it off around 10:45, but the uncooperative guards refused to go get it until almost 2pm. One guard told me it could take up to 10 days for it to go through. I laughed and asked him if there was a height/weight standard for being a guard, because he was a little heavy. He told me to fuck off and I told him to do his job and go get my teletype. Apparently, Stephen, a US attorney, called down and made some shit happen, because the guard suddenly became very polite to me and got my stuff and let me out and told me that he was used to dealing with shitbags and yada yada yada -- I told him thanks for his cooperation and he brought me to the checkout point where I picked up my money and then my cellphone and then I got the fuck out.
I called a cab at the Best Western 2 blocks away, called everyone and thanked them, and headed home. I owe sig $168 which I'm gonna give him when I see Stephen and him at lunch.
All in all, it was an unpleasant experience, but an eye-opening one. It's the kind of thing you really have to go through to get an appreciation for. Almost everyone in there was there for a drug related offense, mostly weed. And all the stereotypes about crooked cops -- well they turned out to be true. An investigation of that facility is surely in order. The experience was nowhere near as tough as something like SERE school -- I didn't geat beaten or harrassed or interrogated -- but it was still annoying not to be able to take a shit for 10 hours, and to have to be in a room full of stinky sleazebags that you'd rather not make contact with.
So that was my experience -- almost 12 hours in the lockup. I kept hoping Billy would come through there to drop off a prisoner so he could spring me out of the cell into the waiting area to chill, but it didn't happen.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2004-04-01 09:04 am (UTC)I'm looking forward to the next installment.
no subject
Date: 2004-04-01 12:51 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-04-01 12:59 pm (UTC)way I heard it
he was quite popular
no subject
Date: 2004-04-01 01:47 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-04-01 05:32 pm (UTC)The story sounded kind of similar to my lock-up story, although I was only in for a few hours in a unisex holding area. It was interesting nonetheless, made me not want to go back, that's for sure. And my lovely arresting officer asked me out on a date! That one I couldn't believe.
Good luck to you