Copied with permission from that friend… Hopefully he’ll finish it soon. This all occured about three weeks ago.<br/><br/>[b]Chapter One[/b]<br/><br/>So I got out of jail this morning (Thursday) at 12:30 am.<br/><br/>I went to court on Tuesday morning at 9 am, fully expecting to serve some time. I had spoken with my boss, who was pulled over five years ago in the same county going 120 mph. He was given a day in jail, a $1000 fine, and his license was suspended for 6 mos. I figured that I would receive a very similar punishment.<br/><br/>I did not get a lawyer. The judge was probably in his fifties. He was in a good mood, but you could tell that he was a stickler for the law. He gave the court a run-down of normal punishments and exceptions, clearly stating that any speeding tickets over 100 mph (could have been ninety – can’t remember now), first offense or not, carry a mandatory jail sentence.<br/><br/>So finally my name is called, and I walk up to the judge. He asks me if I understand the severity of the charge, etc, and also asks me if I have a lawyer. I say “no,” and he then asks me if I have money for one and if I want a court appointed attorney. I stated that I wanted to represent myself. He asked if I understood the repercussion of my choice, and I then had to sign a waiver.<br/><br/>The officer told his story to the judge, stating that I was in the right lane with no other traffic in sight, and he clocked me with his stationary radar doing 106 mph. The officer told the judge that I was extremely cooperative and polite, and that I told him I was travelling to my grandparent’s house and attempting to make up some lost time. The judge asked if I had anything to add. All I said was that I realized it was a very dumb choice and that I was not thinking about the consequences of my actions. He flipped through a date book and said that it had been over five years since they clocked someone going that fast in Shenandoah county. I’m guessing he was talking about my boss’ ticket of 120 mph back in 2000. Doh.<br/><br/>So then the judge proceeds to sentence me. First he says that I’d have to pay $990 in fines and court costs. Then he said my license would be suspended for 6 mos. Finally he states that I will be serving thirty days in jail (WHAT THE FUCK???), with 26 suspended (WHEW!!!). That worked out to four days, in my head, which was still way too long. The judge then added that I’d only be serving two days. Evidently you get a day of good behavior for each day served on petty offenses such as this.<br/><br/>As I’m being escorted from the court house to the jail by Aunt Jemima, I ask her if I will be in a cell by myself or with other people. She says that I will most likely be alone for the first seventy-two hours because of tuberculosis screening. So I thought I was in the clear. I’d have my own little cell all to myself where I could read and sleep the whole time. I still wasn’t sure exactly when I would be getting out. I didn’t really care, though. At this point I had resigned myself to the fact that I’d be serving a substantial amount of hours in this shithole. I really wasn’t nervous or anything. It was sort of surreal.<br/><br/>Yeah, so this was real jail. Not some bullshit holding cell or anything. I had to turn in every single item on my person, excluding my undies. I was then given a yellow jumpsuit (super stylish) with orange shoesies. Yayyyy. I got my recycling bin full of presents, including a toiletry baggy complete with a tooth brush, and “Maximum Security” brand (rofl) tooth paste. What appeared to be a manual for my jail experience was also included in this nifty package of goodies. I was asked millions of questions by a short, plump, female officer, with more red hair on her arms and face than I have on my entire body. Finally she asked me if I had tuberculosis. With a grin, I told her that I’d recently been exposed to many infected individuals and that I was highly susceptible. Bwahahaha… she didn’t buy it, but then again, I didn’t expect her to.<br/><br/>I asked when I’d be getting out and, I swear to God, it looked like a scene from the Keystone Kops. It was now about 11:00 am on Tuesday morning. Half of the officers were saying that I’d be getting out on Thursday sometime, while the other half were convinced I’d get out Wednesday at midnight. Finally, they figured it out and I was to be released the next day at midnight. That was a relief – only one night at this backwards dump. So then they handcuff me, making sure to tell me that it was “nothing personal.” Okay, thanks.<br/><br/>I was walked down to my single cell, which was furnished with a metal platform and plastic matress, stainless steel (and clean, might I add) toilet/sink combo, a single small shelf above the commode, two coat hooks, heavy iron bars, and a single hole for a food tray. Drawings of Jesus covered the cement walls. Awesome. I made my bed, organized my many posessions, and read my jail handbook (rules, daily schedule, etc). A prisoner in an orange jumpsuit and a hair-net brought me lunch: some mystery meat, mashed potatoes, whole milk, and bread. Yumm. I ate it up and slept for a while – but not too long…<br/><br/>The guy in the cell next to me, Tim, was a talker. He felt like he could “open up to me.” He showed me a picture of his pregnant wife and told me that the place was making him crazy. There was absolutely nothing to do in this jail. I’m not saying that convicts should be given the amenities of a hotel, but they never got to do anything. The guards/officers were lazy and the place was overcrowded. I had read in the jail handbook that the prisoners were allowed to work out at a gym once a week, but that wasn’t the case. Tim had been asking over and over to go to the library, and hadn’t been taken for over a week since he arrived from the Harrisonburg jail (because of overcrowding there, too). He was a pretty funny guy. Kept calling up to the “front desk” and asking for a nurse, saying that he was in pain. She would come down and he’d just ask to go to the library. LOL! He was going to be serving a year in jail for who-knows-what, and didn’t know if he could take it. I told him to stay positive and tried to cheer him up. That worked for a while, until I hear “LASTNAME, pack up yer shit – yer movin’” on the intercom. Fucking great.<br/><br/><br/>[b]Chapter Two[/b]<br/><br/>I need to take a step backwards, for a second, and say a few more words about my newfound friend, Tim. He was starving for social interaction with anyone. He told me that he writes over ten letters a day, but that he hardly receives any in response. He asked me if I had friends “on the outside” who would be interested in writing him. I told him that I wasn’t sure, but that I’d ask around when I got out. Then he asked if I would pass on a message to his ex-girlfriend, C.C., telling her to write him or else he’d go crazy. I said “sure,” so he gave me a little piece of paper with her name and cell phone number. He gave me some old novel called “Grand Jury” and asked me what types of books I was interested in so that he could pick me up a few at the library when someone came to take him. Ha, poor guy.<br/><br/>At some point before I was moved from my cozy cell, I started dozing off in my metal bed. Before falling asleep, I hear the nurse come down to check what the hell is wrong with Tim. He says that he needs his meds. She asks if he remembers that he stopped the meds after moving from the H-burg jail because he said they weren’t working. He told her “yes,” but that he needed them again because “the voices were coming back.” Woah! I’m wide awake by this point, listening in on their conversation. “Which voices?” she asked Tim. He told her that a young boy was telling him to hurt himself. She gave him some pamphlets on depression and said that she would come back in a half hour to forty-five minutes and take him to watch some educational videos with her.<br/><br/>No more than ten minutes later I hear “FIRSTNAME… FIRSTNAME… you awake?” “Yeah, what’s up Tim?” I respond. He asks me if I heard what the nurse said and I told him that I was half-asleep but that I heard a bit of it. I finally realize that he wanted me to confirm her promise: that she would be back in just over a half hour to take him to watch videos. I assured him that’s what she said, but he just kept bitching that the nurse had lied to him. By this point he was convinced that it had been over an hour when, in reality, it had only been about ten minutes. There are no clocks to be found in the Shenandoah county jail.<br/><br/>Hair-net guy came to give me dinner: fish sandwich, tater tots, 2% milk, and two slices of good ol’ reliable white bread. He stopped to chat for just a second, asking me what kind of magazines I liked to read. A few minutes later he came back with a big stack of ’em: ESPN, Reader’s Digest, People, Cosmo (bwahahah), U.S. News and World Report, etc. Sweet.<br/><br/>After I finished eating, the nurse finally came back to see Tim and told him that she wasn’t going to be able to watch the films with him just yet. She said that she would come back the next morning and do it then. She did say that a younger guard named David was going to come by in about a half hour to take him to the library. Ha, sure. Tim was not a happy prisoner. Some loud noise came from his cell; I think he kicked the shitter. So I kicked the shitter too and yelled over to him to confirm his suspicion that the situation was utter BS. The support made him feel good.<br/><br/>So now I’m back to where I left off last time. I hear “LASTNAME, pack up yer shit – yer movin’” on the intercom. Fucking great. I take the sheets and cover off my bed, fold them up, and place them neatly in my recycling bin. It was much easier than packing a regular suitcase. “Maybe these bins are really the way to go,” I thought to myself. A guard, stomach bulging, head held high, bottom lip packed full of dip, comes to pick me up about fifteen minutes later. Evidently he wasn’t very scared of me, because he forgoes the hand-cuffs this time around. I could make a break for it, but for some reason I decide not to. I ask him where he’s taking me and he says that I’m going to Cell Block 1. “How many people are in there?” I ask him. “Twelve,” he responds.<br/><br/>There are six cells inside of Cell Block 1, each with two inmates, and only one empty spot. The fat-lipped guard does not help me find this empty spot. I walk down the line of cells, peering into each one, being sure not to make extended eye contact with any of the prisoners. At this point it came to my attention that tattoos are mandatory in jail but, evidently, I was not given the memo. Finally, some of the inmates help me out and tell the guard that I don’t have a matress, if you want to call it that. He grabs me one and I start to setup camp on the top bunk of my new home. I met my cell-mate, Big Red, the only black man in Cell Block 1. He was an older man with greying hair who reminded me of “Red” in the Shawshank Redemption. I, in stark contrast, was one of the youngest and definitely the whitest mofo in the place. I shook his hand and introduced myself, and it turned out to be a good match. Perfect.<br/><br/>After situating my belongings, I walked around the communal area for just a sec to see how things worked. There was a single shower (that I didn’t get near), a metal table with some dominos and tattered playing cards, a communal toilet/sink, and a television and remote control. The inmates enjoyed watching many of my favorite shows, including American Chopper, Megamachines, Maximum Exposure, and COPS. Oh my God, the commentary while these guys were watching Cops was absolutely priceless. Hahahahahahah! “RUN BITCH RUN!!! DON’T LET THOSE MOTHERFUCKERS CATCH YOUR ASS!!!”<br/><br/>A few guys asked me what I was in for, and when I said “speeding” they about lost their shit. They couldn’t believe that the judge was putting people behind bars for speeding. Many more questions came after they realized I was pulled over for doing 106 mph. “Which asshole pulled you over? Ah yeah, that rookie trooperfuck Miller, eh? He’s a cocksucker.” Hmmm, trooperfuck. I’ll have to remember to use that one next time I’m face-to-face with The Law. It was at this point that I received my nickname of Speedy. It kinda felt like camp or something; weird.<br/><br/>It was now 7:00 pm. Meals are served early in this place; I was finished with supper by 4:45 pm and was already starting to get hungry again. Oh well, I wouldn’t be getting anymore food until 6:00 am the next morning. I was getting bored; lights out wasn’t for another four hours and I’d read practically every magazine that hair-net guy had given me. At some point I sat up in my bed and looked out of my cell bars, only to meet eyes with a pretty hard looking Mexican dude. He had a very complete and decorative set of tatts – nice. As he’s walking by my cell, he says to me “what’s up, Vato?” I just nod and respond “not much man,” before laying back down and trying to get some sleep. Sleep makes time go by faster. It is a good thing.<br/><br/><br/>[b]Chapter Three[/b]<br/><br/>I open my eyes to see a naked woman with decent size jugs. It appears that bored convicts like to draw on the cell walls in their spare time. To the right of the pornographic graffiti was a very well drawn heart with barbed-wire through it. I’m guessing that barbed wire is the first thing these guys learn how to draw in jail, because it was all over the place. The heart was topped with an ornamental crown and was dripping blood from its wound. On the opposite wall was a bizarre smiley face, sticking its tongue out, smoking a joint. Very intricate marijuana leaves were drawn on either side. On the back wall I remember seeing “POPOS COCKSUCKERS” and drawings of flames. There were graffiti signatures drawn all over the cell, including one from Tim “Crush” Smith. I am so glad that I wasn’t in jail in June of 2003, as I may not be telling such a comical story. I thought about leaving my mark on the cement canvas but, for some reason, “Speedy was here” just didn’t fit in with the other decor.<br/><br/>I tried to go back to sleep until lights out, which was still three hours away, but I kept dozing off and waking up. Finally, Big Red comes into the cell and says “it’s that time!” I don’t know what the hell he’s talking about, but his body language seems to indicate that I should be leaving for some reason. I quickly hop down off the bunk, almost busting my ass on hard metal and cement in the process, and head into the communal area, still a bit groggy from my nap. Red starts tying a sheet up to the bars in front of our cell and I realize that he’s preparing to “pinch a loaf,” as they say in the Shawshank Redemption. I hear multiple flushes, each one sounding like a 747 taking off right next to you. The flushes were methodically spaced out, mind you. These convicts have perfected the art of courtesy flushing and I was taking notes.<br/><br/>Upon re-entering the cell, I was happily surprised to find no detectable odor of any sort. I guess jail food is easy on the stomach. Again I tried going to sleep (yes, I do enjoy sleep), but it was no use; I simply could not make my eyes close for any longer. I tried to think of any activity that normally puts me to sleep. There was no church in this jail, so I could not go to mass. I did have a book that Tim gave me, though, called Grand Jury. I could read more of that to fall asleep! Brilliant. This book was about a shooting in a town in southern California, near the Mexican border. Evidently a racist cop shot an unarmed Mexican kid three times in the back as he was running away. Ronald Billie Woods was the officer’s name. God, it was boring as shit. The cover said that it was riveting, or something to that effect, but I strongly disagreed with that cover. No matter, the book had served its purpose: I was out.<br/><br/>The next thing I know, the lights are all turning out and the cell doors are shutting. These are heavy iron doors that close solidly onto a heavy iron frame. There is very little play in the whole system, so this is extremely loud. I was turned around on my bed so that my head was where my feet should be, which is also right next to the iron bars. The resulting shock was just about enough to make me soil my new yellow jumpsuit. I remember seeing Big Red wearing earplugs when he went to bed. I was starting to look up to the old man. Speaking of Red, I hear a rhythmic rustling down below. No good. This is not what I signed up for. “Can’t he at least wait fifteen minutes after lights out to be sure I’m asleep?” I think to myself. Reluctantly, I peer over the side of my bunk to see Red doing push-ups on the floor. I had never been so happy to see a man doing push-ups before in my life. It felt wrong, but oh so good.<br/><br/>When Red was done with his set, I sat up and started to turn around in bed. I wanted my head to be as far away from that door as possible. Red noticed me and told me to wake him up at night if I had to take a piss. He said that he would turn over in bed so I could have some privacy. “Nah, it’s cool Red,” I told him. “I normally hold it until morning. I wouldn’t want to wake you up anyway. Thanks though.” So he laughs and jokingly says “don’t worry about it man, you can wake me up. It’s not like I’m gonna kill ya or anything!” Heh, great. How reassuring. He drops down and does a few more push-ups while I finish turning my bedding. There was a “pillow” in my original cell, but nothing to be found in this one, so I wrapped my towel around my shoes and that did the trick. It was like sleeping in a shitty hotel, but not really at all.<br/><br/>After Red was done with his pre-bedtime exercises, it took me a good half hour to fall asleep. All of the inmates were surprisingly quiet, all of them except for Red. He got up at least three times in the first hour to pee, making sure to flush the jet aircraft after each session. Once Red’s bladder was empty, I finally managed to doze off and ended up sleeping quite well. I only woke up two times, which is odd because I’m a very light sleeper. At some point during the middle of the night I sit up in bed to see the fat-lipped guard walking through the communal area in front of our cells. I guess the guards do a nightly check to make sure all of the inmates are alive and accounted for. Ah, that made me feel so safe. I closed my eyes again only to wake up shortly before breakfast, freezing my ass off. I dismantled my pillow, putting my shoes on my feet and wrapping my towel around my head. Perfect.<br/><br/>CLANK CLANK CLANK CLANK!!!!!! The cell doors all flew open and the lights were shining brightly. It was 5:30 in the morning; the sun wasn’t even up yet. I mean, what the hell? Really, do all of the inmates have some pressing meeting to attend or something? After fifteen or twenty minutes of waking up, breakfast was served. Eggs, bacon, and my favorite: white bread. Hell yeah! I wasted no time spreading the butter on the bread with my spoon (an aquired talent) and shoved the entire thing in my mouth. I quickly scarfed down the eggs and bacon, which warmed me up substantially, then placed my empty tray with all of the others to be picked up by hair-net guy. I was optimistic this time; I thought I had won, but I was sorely mistaken. No matter how fast I eat in this jail, I have absolutely nothing on the other inmates. They inhale food faster than a Dyson and never leave even one crumb on their plates.<br/><br/>As I’m concentrating to keep my food down, I look around and see everyone retreating back to the cells. Evidently all the inmates sleep for another hour or two before actually waking up, so I follow suit. I climbed up the ladder to my bunk and proceeded to wrap my towel around my head again. I laid down, closed my eyes, and enjoyed the peace and quiet. CAWOOOOOSSSSCCCHHHHHH!!!!! Christ, Red’s bladder must be the size of a pea.<br/><br/>To be continued…