It was three days before Thanksgiving and ironically, my liver probably looked like a torched ham.
My vision was blurry, but I could see the microwave clock blinking from the couch. ‘Oh, Fuck’ I said out loud, KNOWING that I was probably late for class, based on the amount of light streaming through my living room window. I quickly jumped to my feet and ran to the bathroom. As per usual, I fell asleep bottomless on my pleather sectional. The sound of my perspired ass cheeks unclenching themselves from the imitation leather was my regular, all too familiar wake up call letting me know I had, yet again, blacked out and disregarded my academic obligations.
My sociology professor was actually a push over, but I’d missed the past five classes and, at this point, I was almost positive that even if she were replaced with Jesus himself; he’d tell me to fuck off and retake the class next semester… Of course, this is me pretending that Jesus exists, and we both know he doesn’t. Anyway, Where was I? Ah, yes. I was rushing my little ass off. I had three minutes to get there and I was at least ten minutes away…
Now, at this point in my story, if you’re religious, you’ll either stop reading OR you’ll continue reading and then fucking hate me when you’ve finished. I genuinely hope for the latter.
I pulled into the parking lot where my class is held. And, what the fuck? What’s happening? Usually this parking lot would be packed, but this day was different. One lonely scooter sits at the very back. I swear to God a fucking tumbleweed rolled across the concrete. I was incredibly confused. It genuinely crossed my mind that I might’ve been left behind in the rapture. (which would make sense, especially after my recent anti-christian statement.) But, no. I realized quickly that the recent time change had definitely happened and I was ACTUALLY an hour EARLY for this stupid class.
“I should get McDonald’s breakfast.” was my instinctual first thought. And that’s what I was going to do. I pulled out of the vacant parking lot and started toward the nearest fat ass capitol of the country; which again, ironically, was across the street. I pulled up to the stop light that served as the official barrier between me and the egg and cheese biscuit my hungover ass was feverishly craving and noticed a
cunt cop car, directly behind me. “keep it cool, Chris.” I said to myself.
Let me catch you up: I’m an idiot. I’d been driving on a suspended drivers license for months. I’d received my first DUI earlier in the year, but I didn’t think I would be a police target driving a goddamned baby blue Hyundai Santa Fe and I definitely didn’t think I’d get caught driving illegally on my way to a fast food restaurant. BUT, that’s how my life goes. I genuinely believe that my blinker stopped working whilst innocently turning into McDonalds ONLY to ruin my life a little more.
(blue lights) I park. A pig comes to my window.
“You didn’t use your blinker, do you know that?”
“I totally meant to use it” (tears forming)
“Can I see your license and registration?”
I’ll skip to the part where I’m in the back of a squad car.
To be completely honest, I’d been arrested enough times to know that, most likely, I’d probably spend a few hours in “the tank” and then phone a friend to get me the hell out of there. Stupid. I was wrong.
“You’ve used up your ‘driving on a suspended license and getting away with it’ chances, buddy.” the formerly bullied highschool student said, while smiling at me through the rearview mirror. “You’re going to spend Thanksgiving in jail. You’re on a four day hold.” (in police person terms this means I’d been caught too many times driving illegally and THIS time I WASN’T getting out of it). I swear to God he grew horns and laughed demonically into the air.
Three hours passed before I was told to “follow officer ‘vendetta driven butt-plug’ so that I could be dressed out.”
Being “dressed out” actually meant being stripped of my human clothes, checked for lice and humiliated. I’ve tried to mentally block out most of this terrible experience, but being the brave, humanitarian patriot that I am today; I think it’s only fair to explain in vivid detail the happenings of serving four days of hard time.
To Be Continued…