Seventy-Two Hours

Well I decided not to run. Thank God nobody noticed when I went down to Espresso Bay on Friday morning and searched for Amtrak tickets then rethought my decision and decided to go back and at least see what my probation officer had to say. It turned out my P.O. decided just to give me a seventy-two hour detainer and take me out of the transition house, which is about the best thing that could’ve happened. Well except the seventy-two hours in jail.

I went into the jail at about 1500 (that’s military/jail time). They put me in a holding cell with a couple other guys— one seventeen year old in after he overdosed on “lean” (aka liquid codeine), one old guy who was in for a DUI, and a twenty-one year old in for missing a court date. It was cold as hell in there and I just wanted to lay down. So I did, and pulled the age old pull-your-tee-shirt-over-your-knees move to at least keep some warmth on the cold, hard concrete. After a bit an officer came in with some blankets. After a little longer, I got a mattress. 

At about 0130 I was booked in and transferred to the infamous “drunk tank”, the worst place in Traverse City that I know of. There was a guy there also from the transition house who was obviously high on something. He was waddling around mumbling to himself. In the morning I was woken to the highon clapping and giggling. The sergeant escorted him out, never to be seen again… The rest of the day I spent in and out of sleep, listening to people’s conversations. It’s amazing the gossip I’ve heard in jail. Seriously, it seems everything there is to be known about the scum of this town, I’ve heard at least two or three times.

Sunday was excruciatingly boring. Just listening to more conversations. I started reading the Bible, I was going to read the Gospels. Then we got some more books. I read a couple of chapters of a CJ Box novel. I really couldn’t get into it. Then I picked up a John Grisham book. If I was staying for longer I definitely would’ve finished it. It wasn’t like his usual courtroom dramas. It was called Calico Joe, and it was a baseball story. It reminded me of a story I just listened to by Stephen King, which wasn’t a horror story like his usual stories, just a good old American baseball story. I knew I wouldn’t finish this book either, and there’s an age old myth in jail that says if you don’t finish a book in jail, you’ll come back to finish it. 

Today started out with impatience. It’s weird that you can be locked up for months, even years, and accept it, but the day you’re supposed to get out, each minute, second, moment you have left, you really cannot wait. 1500 came around, and I saw out the window that they had my stuff ready to go, but the officers shot the shit for like an hour. Finally they came and got me at four o’clock. Outside, I saw my probation officer who told me to come see him in the morning. I picked up and deposited my check. I went over to my parents’ house and called around to different hotels. I proposed the idea of borrowing their pop-up camper, but my Aunt has it her parents’ cabin over on Lake Huron. If I can get it in the next week or so I’ll live in that over at Traverse City State Park. In the meantime I’m at Day’s Inn, drinking Coors, and watching The Office. I’m glad I didn’t abscond.