An experience with my corrupt, small town government.
Four people came into the restaurant where I work. The group had three scruffy guys and a sketchy, black-haired slut. Each one brought a beer to the table. I didn't ask them to get rid of their beverages because making customers angry means less tip.
Before their meals were up, two police officers came in and dragged the girl out. I wasn't surprised. It was hard to keep from laughing. The look on her face was hysterical. She was just like, "Oh great, this again..." There's something fascinating about a chick who is in trouble with the law so much that she just rolls her eyes like it's no big deal. After it was over, I didn't think much about the incident; just a drug addict getting what she deserves for being dumb.
The next day, a man stormed into the building claiming to be the girl's dad. Staring without blinking once or taking his eyes off me, the father lectured me endlessly about how his daughter is a 17-year-old on probation and that I was responsible for her violating it. I had no idea what he was talking about. "Interesting," I replied, "Our special tonight is a hamburger steak for fourteen ninety-five." Without missing a beat, he stormed out. Later on, a cop came in and forced me out of the restaurant and into his car. I had always thought that being arrested would be embarrassing. It wasn't. Everyone glared at me, terrified. I felt like a real badass. I narrowed my eyebrows and sneered at all the watchers as if to say, "Yeah, and when I come out, you're next."
The officer brought me down to the station to interrogate me. Instead of doing it in one of those cool rooms with a 1-way mirror and minimalistic decour, he did it on the floor of a cold hallway. It sucked. That sure doesn't say much for their budget. I personally think that suspects would be a lot more willing to talk if interrogation rooms had nice earth-tone color schemes and soft leather sofas. If they had provided me with a nice cold beer and a recliner, I'd have gladly talked for hours about everything I know.
The policeman explained to me that girl told her dad that the restaurant served her the alcohol. Total lie. I think that the father called the cops and complained about our service to take out his frustration of having a stupid daughter. Their family is from here and I'm not, so the cop believed him and not me. Since I was the one who waited on her and supposedly served her beer, the officer gave me this:
"In that said defendant did knowingly or purposely or negligently endangering the welfare of children by supplying or encouraging the use of intoxicating substance by a child."
I was brought into a courtroom with a big, looming judge. I could see two red horns poking out his hat. It was very scary. I had no idea what was going on. He talked really fast and used huge words like "herethereforeto." I made him rephrase and restate every question at least ten times. It irritated him, but he shouldn't expect me to understand what the hell he's talking about. There was no way I would allow the man to use sneaky lingo and trick me into answering something in a manner that he could use against me.
After it was said and done, the judge gave me 24 hours to talk with a lawyer and decide how I was going to plead. I never talked to a lawyer. I just sat in my room crying and screaming for the rest of the day.
The sentence for the contributing ticket was 1-6 months plus a minimum $350 fine. After pleading guilty, I was given the maximum. Stupid small town, corrupt piece of trash government. I guarantee that if I were a local, I'd have a fine and nothing else. In fact, it would probably have been dropped. My friend, who was born and raised here, totaled his car while drunk. He practically killed three of his friends and all he got was 10 hours of community service. I get wrongfully accused of serving beer to a minor and got sent to jail for half a year. That is nuts. What a shitty place.
Jail isn't that bad. I shared my cell with a tall, lanky Native American named James Runs Uphill. Luckily, he was new and equally terrified of dropping the soap. Actually, the jail showers didn't have bars of soap, they had dispensers. If an inmate dropped one of those, you know it was on purpose. Everyone knew who to stay away from because the rapists would walk into the shower with a screwdriver and unscrew the dispenser box to make it fall when a small pressure was applied. It really is hard to be incognito with all this technology.
After two weeks, I was released. I said bye to Bubba, massaged my swollen colon, and walked out of there. It's really an awesome feeling to be released from jail. Imagine sitting in school for two weeks straight and finally hearing the bell go off. It's orgasmic. I think everyone should go to jail at least once or twice in their life. I also think everyone should be sentenced to the death penalty once or twice in their life.
They let me out early because the girl's boyfriend confessed to supplying her with the alcohol. She didn't want him to get arrested so she told her dad that I sold it to her. Thanks to him and his guilty conscience, I never did get my manhood taken. Unfortunately, I didn't get anything good out of it either. The government wrongfully accused me of something, embarrassed me, and wasted 2 weeks of my life without giving me anything in return. I might not be so angry if they gave me a new car or a thick wad of cash to counter the emotional stress. No way, they just let me go. That's it. Not even an apology. I'm probably fired too. I haven't called my boss yet because I'm too afraid to ask if she still wants my pathetic ass working for her. I hate this town and everyone in it. They're all a bunch of elitist, shit-talking losers. I'm leaving right now. Who needs a roommate?
Last updated March 22nd, 2004
me@xomfy.com