It was a dark and stormy night…well, not really, but it sounds good. Anyway, I lived in Stead back then, (North of Reno) and I worked in Reno, doing the graveyard shift at Reno Air Reservations. I woke up from my afternoon nap, a wee bit scared because I had had a very realistic dream in which I got pulled over on the 395. It should be mentioned that my truck was rather illegal, because I couldn’t afford to re-up the registration at that time. I also had a ticket and a failure-to-appear on my record, but we won’t mention that either.
I had no choice about driving my truck to work because the bus didn’t run at that hour, so I just did what I had to do, and got ready for work. I happened to be dressed very nicely that night, because I had a meeting or something, and I headed out the door to work. Greg had already gone to work on the bus, because the timing worked out for him.
So there I am, just past the spaghetti bowl and onto the I-80, when those flashing lights are seen in my rear-view. Shi*, SHI*, SHIT! How in the world could I talk my way out of this one? I pulled over, and blatantly broke a standard rule, by getting out of my car. I was looking rather festive in my holday sweater…did I mention that it was the Christmas Season?
To make a long story rather short, the cop, who had no sense of humor AT ALL, quickly determined that my car was illegal, and rather than making me park it, which is what I expected, he impounded it! To make matter even worse, he checked my record, and discovered the FTA on my record. That was when he cuffed and stuffed me. Yes, you heard me right, he cuffed and stuffed my holiday dressed self, and took me to the cop shop.
At this point, you might think that my story is over, but this is where it gets good! So there I was, sitting in the area where they keep all of the “criminal element” and slowly sinking inside, because I knew that my husband could’t afford to spring me, it’s a weekend, and they aren’t going to turn me loose because I already have a Failure-To-Appear on my record.
To make matters worse, there was a woman there, who made meth addicts look rather nice, and a fellow who looked like there wasn’t a bottle or drug that he wasn’t good buddies with. They kept looking at me sideways, and finally the woman came over to talk to me. It was probably at this point that the brain gerbils first infested my head, because believe me, my brain was spinning, thinking to myself that these were the prize denizens I would be housed with that weekend in the jail.
It was at this point that I finally realized that the best defense is a good offense, and as my meth-crazed buddy asked me how a well-dressed person like me had happened to get snagged by the cops, I pulled a page from Arlo Guthrie’s “Alice’s Restaurant”.
I calmly intoned that I had murdered my “first” husband and that the police had finally caught up to me. You see, I had hopes that by making myself appear dangerous, that most of the people in the clink would be inclined to leave me alone, and from all appearances, it was working! Go me! Ms. Meth Queen quickly moved over to the Drunkard, and not-so-sotto-voce, informed him that I was a murderer! OMG! The prison deals were dancing in their heads!
It was at this point that the booking Sargent called me over to his desk, and let me know that they were releasing me on my own recognizance, and I walked right out of that facility. I never did hear what happened after I left there.
But I must say, listening to that album was the best 18 minutes I ever spent in my life!
