January 25, 2011
things (by javier chavez)[of course they take your belt and shoelaces.  they’re dangerous, you see.  it’s one of those few, odd television things that are so very true.  what happens is you wait a lot while the arresting officer writes out a report.  it can be the worst, this waiting.  not really, i don’t know why i said that. then, it’s the booking.  fingerprints and mugshots.  and more waiting.  handcuffed in a room full of people who’ve also done terribly stupid things and you start to imagine if anyone is a killer or serial public-masturbator.  but you do know which ones are the prostitutes, so how about THAT?  then, if they’re going to hold you for more than a few hours, a battery of questions regarding your health, what you did, your medical needs, who to contact in case of emergencies, would you like to contact anyone.  these things are a bit scary because it tells of what’s coming even if no one has told you the words ‘you’re going to jail’.  then more waiting.  finally, you and a bunch of you’re little criminal friends (i’m sure you’ll’ve made some by then) get escorted into the proper jail for your clothes.  all of you naked, all of you wearing city jail-shoes later, all of you assigned a bed in a probably-overcrowded room.anyway…it’s the leaving jail part that’s a little more sad than everything else, relatively speaking.  you’re handed back all of your things they took and they give them to you, in my experience, in a little innocuous plastic bag.  and you’re off through a solitary door, into, usually, an alley facing off a main drag of the city.  and you walk home.  or i walked home a couple of times.  and my sad little walk is reminder that doing things for the sake of doing them isn’t the best thing to do.the police, they throw away your lighter and cigarettes, incidentally.]

things (by javier chavez)

[of course they take your belt and shoelaces.  they’re dangerous, you see.  it’s one of those few, odd television things that are so very true.  what happens is you wait a lot while the arresting officer writes out a report.  it can be the worst, this waiting.  not really, i don’t know why i said that. then, it’s the booking.  fingerprints and mugshots.  and more waiting.  handcuffed in a room full of people who’ve also done terribly stupid things and you start to imagine if anyone is a killer or serial public-masturbator.  but you do know which ones are the prostitutes, so how about THAT?  then, if they’re going to hold you for more than a few hours, a battery of questions regarding your health, what you did, your medical needs, who to contact in case of emergencies, would you like to contact anyone.  these things are a bit scary because it tells of what’s coming even if no one has told you the words ‘you’re going to jail’.  then more waiting.  finally, you and a bunch of you’re little criminal friends (i’m sure you’ll’ve made some by then) get escorted into the proper jail for your clothes.  all of you naked, all of you wearing city jail-shoes later, all of you assigned a bed in a probably-overcrowded room.

anyway…

it’s the leaving jail part that’s a little more sad than everything else, relatively speaking.  you’re handed back all of your things they took and they give them to you, in my experience, in a little innocuous plastic bag.  and you’re off through a solitary door, into, usually, an alley facing off a main drag of the city.  and you walk home.  or i walked home a couple of times.  and my sad little walk is reminder that doing things for the sake of doing them isn’t the best thing to do.

the police, they throw away your lighter and cigarettes, incidentally.]

9:03pm  |   URL: http://tmblr.co/ZLraZy2l3LJd
(Notes: 3)
  
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