Monday I Wore Cuffs

I was arrested. The why is not important. The fact that I was arrested is the point. I was handcuffed, placed in the back of a police car and hauled to jail like a well seasoned criminal.

Initially everything was surreal. I saw the police car and I heard the officer say, “you’re under arrest”, but it seemed like a movie or as if I was standing close by watching someone else. The officers were nice, not at all like the characterizations I’ve grown accustomed to seeing on television. One officer took me by the arm and led me to the car. I was on the cell phone actually, talking to my girlfriend about my impending fate. The second officer reached to his side for handcuffs and my pulse quickened. I hung up the phone and asked if he was going to cuff me. “Yes maam, it’s a written rule in the state of Georgia. Anyone placed in a police cruiser must be handcuffed. It’s for your safety really.” I answered okay and surrendered my wrist. I thought of my mother and of how she would cry if she saw me being handcuffed. I immediately placed the thought out of my mind. I refused to allow reality to set in.

I sat in the back of the car while the officers stood outside chatting and puffing their cigars. I recalled all the many times I’d seen other people in the back of policemen’s cars as people passed by peering at me through the fingerprint stained windows. I thought of the many drug dealers and users, prostitutes, thieves and violent souls who have sat in the place I was currently occupying. I sometimes wondered if they were innocent or if they had actually deserved the ride. Now I wondered if they were judging me.

I was taken to a near by police station only to be transferred to a larger facility in a neighboring suburb. An officer took me out of the police car, exchanges my handcuffs for leg irons and waist cuffs and placing me into a van. It was more like a cage on wheels. As I stood at the base of the door the reality of what was taking place finally took root. The box was all metal, six feet by four. As the van bounced around on the interstate I slid around uncontrollably. I was honestly frightened. I felt liked a trapped animal.

Once at the jail I was searched, not the cavity search that I’ve made numerous jokes about, but it was aggressive enough. My “mug shot” was taken and I was booked. The holding cell was full of women, all of different ages and races. The cell was the size of a standard bedroom with four wooden benches. There was a toilet in the corner the size of a child’s riding toy. There was no stall. The faint smell of urine and body order filled the air while the floor was sticky and littered with trash. Women where huddled in small groups talking, sharing their confessions of what landed them there. The common question was, “what are you in for?”

Some women were curled up on the floor sleeping and a couple of others were engaging in private conversations, with themselves. I stood at the door. I didn’t want to get too close to any of them. I called my girlfriend as soon as I got my one call and made plans to pay bail. A woman, one I called “the leader of the pack” overheard my phone conversation. When I returned to the cell she had told everyone that I was bonding out, a term used when one chooses to make bail. Imagine my surprise when I was asked why pay all that money when I could serve my 48 hours? I was beyond surprised. I couldn’t imagine anyone choosing to stay there, in that same cell for two full days. The food served was peanut butter sandwiches made with rock hard peanut butter and stale bread. It was served for breakfast, lunch and dinner. If you are allergic to peanuts you get cheese and crackers.

The guards where a mixed bunch. Some treated you with civility while others acted as if they were handling diseased cattle. They spat orders at the inmates, disregarding requests to use the bathroom and having water to drink. They seemed to take pride in the power they held. The luxury of ordering someone to shut up and sit down diffused the atmosphere. You could almost feel the binding energy.

I kept quiet as much as I could. Seeing how these women were being treated began to affect me. Women were asking for toilet paper and sanitary pads and the guards ignored them. Finally I asked how long it would take to be released and I was told to wait and see. I’d been waiting eight hours after being told I would be incarcerated three hours at the most. Ten hours later I walked out of the jail in lace less shoes, a full bladder and an empty stomach. My body hurt but my spirit hurt more. When I saw my girlfriend my eyes welled with tears but they would not fall. I had fought back tears all day afraid of showing weakness. Now that I was safe, in the presence of love and protection I could not cry. She wanted to hug and kiss me but I couldn’t stand the thought of it. I felt nasty and undeserving. I just wanted to leave that place and put the day behind me.

The cuffs left my wrists bruised. The bruises are physical reminders of humiliation I feel internally. I’ve healed fine though. The scars are gone but I’m finding it hard to sleep peacefully. I still haven’t cried but I’m not sure I need to. Sometimes s**t happens and thats just the way it is.

Reviews

[Dustin Chang]

A harrowing story well told. What is it that make us shudder at the thought of seeing a cop approaching? Had some interactions with them(for speeding tickets mostly) but I didn't like the experiences one bit. Must've been really hard.