If you know me well you ask, "Which time?"
My first arrest occured on March 3 of 2003. (Wow, 3/3/3) I'm certain of the date because it followed the "moving out" of my husband of five years by only a few days.
If you think about it, that's really a very vulnerable and difficult time to be arrested...just after a spouse has moved out. In fact...finding oneself in an arrest situation is never really a day at the park. Have you been arrested yourself? Bad feeling.
I had retired to my couch on that Monday evening with a chilled Zima...actually two, because it was my intention to drink them rather quickly. I wasn't in the most presentable condition. I was wearing my trademark lounge wear ... lounge pants and a concert tee. I had my hair in a pony tail, but it was falling down. I had cried all of the makeup off that I'd begun the day with and had black trails of mascara streaming from my eyes...not unlike Pricilla when she got off of the plane from spending Christmas with Elvis in the movie Elvis and Me. After a while it had seemed pointless to try and "freshen my face" as with every page in Dr. Phil's book my eyes welled up with tears and the salty little flood would start again.
As I reclined on the couch, vigorously reading in search of a way to 'fix my marriage', there was a loud knock at the door. Louder than just loud really. It was the kind of knock that makes you jump straight up in the air. Not to mention that the coccoon I had built on the couch was a mere 5 feet or so from the front door.
I assumed that the knock surely must be my husband, realizing the err in his decision he must have come back to talk things out. I started for the door and then realized that he had a key and wouldn't be knocking as if he were a total stranger.
I called him quickly to see if he happened to be on the front patio and he wasn't, he was right at the Executive Inn where he'd become a resident over the weekend. By this time the front door knob was rattling and I assumed that I must certainly have a prowler on my hands.
I quickly brought 'the husband' up to speed, hung up the phone and dialed the police. They advised that they would send someone right over, so I carried the phone with me to the bedroom closet. Just as I began to squirm into the corner and wait for the police, the phone rang shaking me from the situation assessing I was doing in my head.
"Mrs. Jackson, this is dispatch...I have an officer posted at your front door..."
I felt an overwhelming sense of relief for a split second, but it was shortlived by the realization that only about 45 seconds had transpired between my initial call and the "call back". I mentioned that and asked her if she was SURE there was an officer at the door.
Trusting her certainty I tip toed to the front door, still a bit afraid that the officer would be hanging gutted on my front porch and a terrible nightmarish "through the house chase" would insue with the mysterious ax wielding door knob rattler.
Upon asking who was there, I was greeted with, "Paducah City Police, m'aam...please open the door." As I pulled the door from it's dead bolted resting place I was nearly gleeful to see a dark uniform and a badge....that would soon change....
"Are you Kimberly Jackson?", the officer asked.
Simmering over with appreciation for this night in navy blue armor I assured him that I was and asked him to come in. He seemed a bit apprehensive, but breached the door way.
I showered him with words of relief that he'd come to rescue me from the crazy ax wielding mad man on my stoop, asked him if he found anyone lurking around and offered him a Coke.
He didn't budge... "Is your birthdate 6/13/74?"
I stopped half way to the kitchen...
...I'm fixing the man a Coke and he hasn't even told me he wanted one...
.
"Yes, but what difference does that make for a prowler?"
Officer: "Mrs. Jackson, I'm afraid I have a warrant for your arrest..." He was calm and subdued as I think any good officer should be until they're in danger and have no choice.
"You're sh*tting me?", I was absolutely incredulous.... surely he MUST be mistaken, I mean... I'm not "the type" of person who would be arrested?!?!
Officer: "No, m'aam I'm not. I do have a warrant for your arrest and I am going to have to place you into custody and take you down to the station."
(yes, they really say "take you down the station"...lol)
It was at that moment it hit me that I was on my own. I'd always had a husband to take care of the difficult stuff. I had no one but this cop to baby step me through the arrest process, of which I had never been a part of and was terribly mortified to be taking part in now.
I did what everyone SHOULD do when they're about to be arrested. I was honest and compliant. I told him that I was totally cool with going down town, I'd never been arrested before and didn't really know what happens next. By this time I was hyperventilating, but only slightly and asked him how much I would have to pay to 'not have to spend the night in jail'.
Officer: "Your bond is $120."
"I don't even know what bond is, does that mean if I take $120 with me I can fill out some paperwork and come back home?"
Officer: "Yes, m'aam."
Here's where it gets interesting. When one has never been through a procedure before, one has to take it from scratch, ask questions and go with the flow. I've seen "Cops" and everything, but he wasn't chasing me through a 'thicket', my pants were fully intact with no boxer shorts hanging out of the top, there were no weapons and not once did I speak so much as one word about anyone's baby-daddy.
My next question (as I'm still standing in the door way to the kitchen in red plaid lounge pants with mascara streaming down my face, though I've stopped hyperventilating at this point): "I have cash in the house, can you watch me get it so I can take it with me and avoid calling anyone?"
It wasn't especially 'late to be bothering people', but only two days into the seperation I still hadn't shared with anyone that said separation had occured. I felt to jar someone from their tv watching to tell them that I was being arrested and due to the separation didn't have anyone to bail me out might be a bit inconsiderate.
The officer followed me to the desk drawer and not only watched me pull the money from it's hiding place, but suggested that I take an extra twenty for a cab; as well as remove my house key from my key ring and stick it in my pocket. Now, THAT'S a community servant!!
(Let me place a disclaimer here...my "cash reserve" is now a jar full of change that I keep in my apartment, there's never more than forty bucks in it..it wouldn't be worth the effort of getting in the door. Just felt I should point that out.)
Things started to move a little too quickly for my comfort zone as he informed me that we needed to be "heading downtown". Normally, I would've taken great offense to such a remark, but since he had the gun and the badge I did nothing more than inform him,
"I can't go like this!! In my pajamas?!?"
Officer: "Yes, m'aam, that's the way it works."
"Listen, if you have to watch me change clothes for me to be able to not go to jail in my pajamas, I have no problem with that. It's bad enough that I'm about to be taken to jail (hyperventilating ever so slightly again), but I can't go to jail in my pajamas for the love of God!"
As the officer stood in the hallway that emptied into the bedroom, I thanked him profusely for breaking the rules by letting me change clothes and everything.
As I walked into the hallway from the bedroom I asked him (quite seriously, really..),
"Can I take my make-up bag?"
If I could have a picture of any one person's face on earth after asking them a question, that's most certainly the moment I would choose.
Officer: "Mrs. Jackson, I'm going to handcuff you and arrest you. You won't have any hands free to carry a make-up bag or anything."
Keep in mind, that my way of getting through a situation that I'm unfamiliar with is to logically reason my way through it with a series of questions and debate.
"You're gonna photograph me when we get down there, are you not?"
(Yes, I was dead serious..lol)
Officer: "Yes m'aam."
"Well, I need to at least brush my teeth and put some lipstick on. I've been on the couch reading Dr. Phil and crying all night. I can't go looking like this!!"
After only about ten seconds of hesitation, he conceeded. Ten seconds doesn't sound like a long time, but to me ... standing in the hallway, feeling like I was trapped in a run-a-way episode of Springer ... it was.
He stood in the hallway and watched me as I brushed my teeth, washed the trailing mascara from my face and put on a dab of lip gloss, but just a dab. As I was about half way through the brushing of the teeth, I heard another voice enter the living room.
Finally, the officer for the prowler has arrived .... It was all starting to click together for me as I stood there brushing my teeth as if it were any normal day in the life of me. While brushing, much the way folks have their rushed morning conversations, I said,
"So...there's no prowler? That was you trying to get in my door?"
Officer: "Yes, m'aam."
As I turned to spit (I didn't bother gargling or flossing as I felt they he was being quite generous with the allotment of time as it was), I heard the second officer say, "What the f*ck's she doing?"
To which officer numero uno replies, "Brushin her damn teeth man..."
They both stood in the entry to the hallway as I emerged from the bathroom and informed them that I was ready and we could now "go downtown". I asked them if they needed to "cuff me" and Officer 1 informed me that they did need to and they would do so outside.
(That never made much sense to me. I found it humiliating enough that I was being arrested, but to be handcuffed in front of my aging nosey neighbors who were now certainly sitting at their windows with popcorn was a bit too much!!)
I locked the house and we walked out to the street. The first cuff snapped down onto my wrist. I was amazed at the way the clicking sound carried in the night air. It seemed much louder than when I had heard handcuffs click in the past...it's amazing the audible difference between recreation and real life...
.
As he was about to place the second cuff on my wrist, my phone rang. I realized that I had not yet called my estranged husband to let him know that I didn't have a prowler, I was in fact being arrested. I turned to the officer and said, "Oh, that's my husband. Can I answer it just for a second and tell him what's going on?"
He looked at Officer 2, who at this point was looking for Alan Funt to step out from behind a tree and say, "SMILE...you're on Candid Camera...". Officer 2 chuckled and shook his head, "She's brushed her teeth and changed her clothes, let her answer the damn phone."
"Go ahead...", he said rather disgustedly.
I answered the phone and speaking a mile a minute explained quickly to my estranged betrothed what had transpired.... To which he replied, "You're kidding me!!" He was in disbelief and truthfully, who wouldn't be at this point? Right?
I reassured him that I was "so not kidding" and told him that the officer was right there if he wanted to speak to him. I handed the officer the phone and they chatted briefly...
"Mrs. Jackson has advised me that you all are having some personal issues and rest assured she has money to bond herself out as well as money for a cab. You can come down there and pick her up if you want, but she has the details under control."
As he hung up the phone he advised me that I could put it back in my pocket, but there would be no more answering of phones until I was released from custody. I quickly spun around so he could finish cuffing me and we could get on our way.
Officer 2 wished me well and went on his way ... more than likely to go to whereever it is that officers gather to share their stories of the evening and Officer 1 carefully put me into the back of the cruiser.
The seat was the hardest plastic I'd ever felt. I hyperventilated and cried on the short drive to "downtown", as I wondered what the purpose was in having such an uncomfortable seat. He reassured me that it wouldn't take long to get through the booking process and I would be home much sooner than I thought.
It was all SO surreal. As we pulled into the garage of the police station, he explained to me what would be happening next and tried to reassure me and calm me down a bit. The next twenty minutes was a total blur. The booking, the mug shot, the trail of female prisoners who were herded through and taunted me as they went by....
Officer 1 stayed with me throughout the entire process. I've been arrested since then and I know now that it's not the norm, he was just a nice guy who saw a person who was frightened to death and wanted to help as much as possible. I ran into Officer 1 at a local Mexican restaurant about three weeks later and we had a shared a good laugh.
To answer the multitude of questions I have received about the pic I put into my "Best of the 90s" photo album a couple of weeks ago, that was obviously NOT this arrest. Your first clue should be that there's someone there taking a picture, not to mention the fact that I look relatively happy...though incredibly dorkish in those glasses, I hated 'em.
As for yourself....Do you have entertaining arrest stories in your database of life experiences? I'm sure the class would love to hear them!!
Originally Posted On Myspace in Oct. of 08:
http://blogs.myspace.com/index.cfm?fuseaction=blog.view&friendId=102222733&blogId=443695696&commentID=1504283
((The reason for the warrant is explained in the comments...I totally forgot to explain that part))
