Ahh, Now I Get It

Precious has returned home to me, amazingly enough, with no huge hiccups to bitch about. Sure, I needed to finish securing the trim on the inside of the rear hatch and the plastic wire that used to secure the gas cap to the little gas cap door no longer does; however this is miles ahead of what I went through a bit under a year ago when I last got her back from Paradise. Yesterday I even installed my replacement CD changer that I was finally able to find online for a mere $615 – keeping nothing but original parts on Precious can be expensive at times... Now that I’m able to once again eject my disc cartridges, I spent last evening creating another 12 discs of random music from my rather extensive collection of what I guess one would refer to as oldies – you know … your late 70’s thru early 90’s rock that, not too long ago, was considered “garbage” by our parents. You know you’re getting old when you hear a song from some group on the radio and complain about their “new stuff” not being as good as their older, far superior tunes then take notice that the station you’re listening to is billed as “the best classic rock in the greater L.A. area!” and the new tune you just berated is over 20 years old! What can I say? I knows what I likes and I ain’t about to buy that this modern, cookie cutter, electronically pitch-enhanced, American Idol inspired bullshit that the music industry is trying to justify as actual music is anything but the crap that it is. Hmm … perhaps I am getting a bit crotchety in my mid age…

But that’s neither here nor there … I got my car back. I’m tempted to start an office pool on how much time will pass before I am once again forced to rely on rentals (with the way my luck goes, I’d be tempted to bet large on “not very long”…) however for now, at least, I am able to drive the car that I purchased so many years ago. I’m living the dream…

Unfortunately, apart from the return of Precious, this dream I’m living as of late is a pure nightmare. I’m constantly pissed off at everything (and I do mean “everything” … I’ve begun flipping off my television set … this makes no sense – it’s not like the “people in the box” can even see me or anything – however there I am, time and time again, flipping the bird to my Sony Bravia often accompanied by some choice words at the moronic drivel that seems to constantly ooze forth from it…), I’m in what could best be described as a perpetual bad mood and the worst part about all this is that I see no end for this anywhere on the horizon. I do have a trip back home for Christmas and New Year’s coming in a bit over a week; but apart from that, nothing. I own a house (well, I “own” a mortgage) in Colorado that is currently being enjoyed by someone else’s family. I’m living in (and paying rent for) a room here in California which seriously limits any possibilities I might have at wooing any women – “Shall we take this back to my place … oh wait, strike that. Could I interest you in perhaps getting a hotel room tonight?” – although I suppose bitching about this is moot … let’s face it, I’m much more likely to find the Holy fucking Grail than I am to find a woman that would consider me sponge-worthy. This fact has been rather forcefully made clear to me in the past couple of months. I seem to have lost my will to live. I mean, what’s the point?

I suppose this is just life though. You do your best to get through these ebbs in an attempt to ride the next wave as far as you can before inevitably crashing down again, a bit more beaten, a bit less youthful and, if you’re not careful, a bit less human. The wise rely on support from their friends whereas the friendless slowly fade away and become nothing more than vague memories. My list of friends here in Cali has always been short. It currently contains nobody…

Oh well, what’s one to do about it? (Or, more to the point, what am I to do about it???) I wish I had an answer to that question – really I do – but unfortunately I don’t know. All I know is that I can’t continue to do nothing for much longer. I’m afraid I’m going to end up becoming one of those screwy head cases that you sometimes run into mumbling some sort of anamnesis to himself in words completely disconnected from all relevance however important enough for him to be repeated ad nauseum with complete disregard to even the existence of others. Holy shit! That’s what this blog is … the ramblings of a madman. Please don’t tell me my life’s dwindled to nothing more than occasionally posting my completely useless thoughts to a blog with no readers … I don’t think I could sufficiently deal with that reality…

bis spatter,

Coriolis

Why Me…?

So Precious – my ’02 Firehawk – is back at Paradise Body & Paint again. It was a little over a year ago that she made her first trip to meet Bob (back in Doh!) and I was pretty much hoping that it would be smooth sailing from then ‘til I ever decided to sell my Precious. It was a lofty dream and reality is what it is. A bit over a month ago, as I was attempting to merge with the traffic jam that is the 101 on each and every afternoon rush-hour, I got rear-ended by this rather nice lady and her Mercedes SUV. Have I ever mentioned how much I love living here in southern California…?

The collision actually occurred on the 7th of October. As you can easily tell by the post-date of this article, it is now the 17th of November. From what I have been able to gather by speaking with Bob at Paradise and through the several conversations I’ve had with Regina – the claims representative assigned to my case by Encompass Insurance – I do believe that work has at least been started on my car by now. I suppose that’s progress … I’m always amazed at the absolute lack of respect one gets from so-called “professional” businesses these days. Has it always been like this or is this just another symptom of the disease that our modern society has become? To further explain my query, here’s the whole story…

First off, the entrance ramp to north 101 from northbound Lindero Canyon Blvd. – like many of the US Hwy 101 entrance ramps – is pretty much an “accident waiting to happen.” It’s one of those 270°, downward sloping, right-hand curved ramps that ends up going directly under the overpass of the street you are exiting. In this case, the street being exited (Lindero Canyon Blvd.) is a standard inner-city type divided highway and the road you are entering is a 65 MPH interstate freeway. One would think that an acceleration lane of ample length would be provided after the 270° curve to aid in the high-speed merging process; however one would then not be a southern California civil engineer – I think you’re given somewhere around 30 feet or so in reality. Suffice it to say that there’s really not enough room given to merge here in heavy traffic…

As I was attempting this merge last month (something I had done many times before but rarely with ease…), I accelerated into the right-hand lane of the freeway speeding up to match the flow of traffic. It was then that the car I was merging behind slammed on their brakes. I’m still not sure why this extreme deceleration was necessary – probably one of those far-to-common chain-reaction events caused by some idiot ahead – but my only option was to slam on my brakes and prepare for impact. I watched the rear of the car ahead disappear from view and waited for the crunch. It took me a couple moments to realize that the crunch I heard came from the SUV behind me smashing into my rear. Although I must have missed my target by no more than the skin of my teeth, I did not crash into the car in front of me. The lady behind me wasn’t as lucky…

We (I and the now leaking SUV behind me) pulled off to the right shoulder, contacted the police, exchanged information, had both our vehicles towed (mine was on a flatbed, of course) and I ended that excitement by getting a ride home by the very nice flatbed driver – turns out that my place was on the way to where the holding yard was. I was told that I could file an “over the counter” police report the next day, provided the address to do so (I guess the cop at the scene wanted to avoid the paperwork himself) and given a signed confession from Alison (the very nice lady that hit me). My plan was to contact my insurance, get Precious moved back over to Bob at Paradise – mainly because he was already well versed in dealing with this car – then order up a rental car to be used while waiting for the repair to be completed. I would set this plan in motion the next morning … it was too late to get anything started that evening…

Upon contacting my insurance, it was decided that my best move would be to open a claim directly with Alison’s insurance – Encompass. As fault was not questionable in this accident, there really was no reason for me to involve my insurance at all. I had already filed a rather substantial claim about a year ago and was trying my best to avoid any increase in my premiums. I figured leaving my insurance out of this completely was a good idea. As a “just in case” measure, I did head down to the CHP station and filed an OTC accident report later that day. It was yet one more incident that demonstrates the pure contempt that many of today’s police officers have toward the citizens they are supposed to be working for. Here’s how that event unfolded…

I approached the counter and informed the officer that I was instructed by the responding officer, the evening before, that I could head to this office and file an OTC accident report – that was my reason for being there. It seemed that I was disturbing his television viewing schedule (there was a TV mounted on the wall that appeared to have no other use than to entertain this officer during his work hours) although he diverted his eyes from the set long enough to grab an empty traffic collision report form, quickly cross out large sections of it, highlight what he wanted me to fill in and tell me to write a description of what happened on the back. I then showed the signed, written confession I had obtained from Alison and requested that it be included in the report and started filling out the sections marked. I was then told that I needed to go get pictures of the damage to my car before I would be allowed to file the report. I shrugged this off and continued filling out the collision report form…

Everything I could remember was written in my accident description – including the responding officer’s name and badge number. I also made mention of the self-written, signed confession of guilt that was provided to me by the other driver. After finishing the report, I started heading back out to my rental car a bit peeved that I was being asked to waste more of my time obtaining pictures that I saw as being completely useless. The officer said that he needed the pictures to show that an accident actually occurred; even though I had the name and badge number of the responding officer as well as a signed confession by the other driver. I decided then that these pictures were unnecessary; turned around and headed back in to the office.

After patiently waiting for this same officer to finish an extremely important discussion he was having with another officer about some purely non-work-related subject (I forget what they were talking about – something about some chick or sporting event or the like; whatever it was, it sure as hell wasn’t more important that doing what they’re being paid for...), I informed said officer that I believed the pictures to be unnecessary and wanted to file the report as it stood. He then rather insolently asked me how he knew an accident even occurred. To this I suggested that he could inquire with the responding officer and pointed out the name and badge number written in the report. As a second, and perhaps much more obvious proof, I had a signed confession for the other party in the accident. I once again reiterated my belief that the pictures were overkill at best and requested that the report be filed.

It was then that my interfering with his television watching and socializing activities apparently pissed him off a bit. I distinctly remember him saying that I could “ask” him to file the report but I had no authority to “tell” him to file it. Personally, I’m pretty sure that I do have the authority to file a report whenever I feel like it being that I am a legal, taxpaying citizen of this country – granted I could get myself into quite a bit of trouble by filing false reports; however this cop – as seems to be a far too prevalent these days – appears to be suffering from a bad case of superiority complex. I returned his blatant threat with, “Pretty please, will you file this report?” He then sat down at his desk and filed the report for me.

I really cannot tell you how dismayed I’ve become of late about the seemingly endless contempt that law enforcement officers (and not just the cops, but the whole American legal system) seem to have to the populace they are supposed to be protecting. The way that presumption of innocence has turned into a dated concept really bothers me to no extent. But I digress … although the deterioration of the rights we Americans currently possess is an interesting topic, it’s not what I came to bitch about today. I’ll get back to my story…

Okay, so I’ve done my best to make sure that I am, in no way, able to be shown at fault in this accident. Whether or not that even means anything these days is yet to be seen however I’ve gone way out of my way to clear my name in case it becomes an issue. The goal now becomes getting Precious adequately repaired with little to no cost on my part. I contact Encompass Insurance and file a claim. Here’s where the fun begins…

Everything seems to go fine from the start: I successfully get Precious dropped off at Paradise Body & Paint and, after being informed by Regina at Encompass that I would be allotted $25 per day for a rental vehicle during the repairs, decide to switch out my initial rental car (obtained from the Thousand Oaks Avis for $30.99 per day) to a rental from the Avis that Paradise works with for $25.99 per day. It’s still more than the insurance is willing to pay – a fact that I will address later – however it looks to be saving me $5 a day from what I could possibly be held responsible for. Whatever … I suppose I need to do what I need to do. I now need to wait for Encompass to complete an appraisal of the damage before the body shop can begin the work. How long could this take, right…?

At this point, I’m set. I’ve got a rental car to use whilst Precious is in the shop and all I need to do now is wait for that call telling me she’s ready to be picked up, right? One would think … but in today’s world, no frickin’ way. It’s somewhere around a week after my poor, wounded car is delivered to the body shop when I finally decide to call in and see how things are going. What I’m basically told is that they’re not going – something about the appraisal being insufficient for the work required and there being some need for another appraisal to fix the problems with the first … yadda yadda yadda and blah blah blah… I figured I best call Encompass and get their side of things…

I call and – as what will become the norm with trying to contact Regina – am greeted by a voice-mail message that informs me what day it is, what the working hours for Regina are and that I should leave a message with my name, contact number and claim number so that she would be able to get back with me prior to the end of the business day. I leave the requested information. No call is returned prior to the end of her business day nor the complete morning on the day after. I decide to try contacting her again in the early afternoon of the next day and get a bit lucky – she answers the call. I inquire with her about the status of my claim and am told the standard “song and dance” that everyone gets – their appraiser was sent to the body shop and an appraisal was filed. I explain that the body shop is telling me that the appraisal is insufficient for the work required and get the standard response that they are, by law, required to repair the car to a condition prior to the accident and that, since my car was an ’02 model, the appraisal would not include any improvements. It was then that I tried to explain to Regina that my car was a rare, limited edition collector’s item that I had kept as close to pristine as I could. It was, in no way whatsoever, your typical ’02 car. I was doing my best to convey that they were not going to get away with low-balling the repair and they might as well cut their losses (I reminded her that Encompass was paying for my rental as long as this repair took) and pay for the repairs needed. She then FAXed the appraisal for me to look over…

What I got was an initial appraisal of $6989.96 for repairs. This was the official appraisal dated 10-12-09. Interestingly enough, there was also a supplemental adjustment of -$1436.93 dated two days later. I was confused by this and decided to call Bob at the body shop. He received the same thing and this was actually the problem he was referring to on my initial contact with him. The fourteen hundred dollar savings was the removal of a replacement quarter panel from the initial appraisal. Bob was told that he needed to repair the current quarter panel when the second appraisal was filed since, as it appears, the first appraisal was seen as too expensive by Encompass – even though this was what the appraiser priced it at. Luckily Bob refused to do it and insisted that a new quarter panel was required. In his expert opinion – an opinion that was apparently shared by the initial appraisal – the quarter panel was beyond repair and needed to be replaced.

Since then, there have been a couple more (at least) appraisals filed that seem to (trying to make sense of this paperwork is next to impossible for me) bring the total price for repair up to $7475.75. That’s actually more than the initial appraisal – which I find rather interesting – and the new quarter panel has been added back in. From what Bob has informed me, the quarter panel has been ordered from Canada and should currently be at the shop. He told me it was the absolute last one available. It also appears that the rear Firehawk decal is no longer available which bums me out a bit; but I’m hoping to at least be getting my car back sometime soon. Unfortunately I actually have no idea whether or not this will happen…

As of Friday evening, I’m heading back to Michigan for a week. Last time I spoke with Bob, I was told that he wouldn’t have the car completed by Friday. I need to return my rental car then though, so I’m hoping that my car will get completed prior to my return. The reason I’m hoping this is because I was actually able to get Encompass to put my rental on a direct bill to them – not an easy task, mind you… Of course Avis called me earlier today and informed me that Encompass was under the impression that I had been renting this car since the 4th of November. Seeing as it was actually the 8th of October, I think they’re not going to be too happy. Lynette (Regina’s boss) did tell me that they would take the rental cost as a direct bill due to the ungodly amount of time that this repair is taking thanks in large part to delays caused directly by Encompass. Yeah … something tells me this isn’t going to go too smoothly… Anyway, I’m hoping to be able to get Precious back on my return as to avoid the need to get another rental. As if my luck was ever that good…

Oh well, that’s the latest cluster-fuck that I’m being forced to deal with. I hate my life…

bis später,

Coriolis

Like a Chump

Sometimes life is good. Usually however, life is nothing more than a seemingly endless series of punches to the gut ending with the sweet, sweet release that is death. I just had a weekend that reminded me of this and I’m actually a bit confused as to why I’m even bothered by it. Oh wait, now I remember … people are assholes!

Yeah, I realize that’s a rather all-encompassing statement and I actually do still have a slight glimmer of hope that it’s somehow incorrect; but my experiences in this god-forsaken existence thus far seem to be somewhat overwhelmed in dealing with assholes. And the worst part about this – almost without fail – is that these people seem to be masters at putting on the façade of an actual caring, sensitive, oftentimes naïve human being long enough to suck you into their trap before their true, heartless narcissism inevitably claws through the guise and once again claims its spot as overlord of this person’s actual self. Of course by then it’s too late – the portion of your own soul that was so foolishly sacrificed in your desperate attempt at happiness is gone … devoured by yet one more apathetic receptacle … leaving you withered, weary and broken. It’s just such a waste of life…

Or perhaps the problem lies with me…? Am I wrong to expect others to return the kindness and generosity (or at least the understanding) that I honestly believe I’ve imparted to them? Perhaps I’m the flawed one here that doesn’t understand the true meaning of selflessness … maybe it’s I that can’t unquestionably love… I suppose it is possible that something within my genetic makeup is flawed in a way such that I am destined to never be able to “understand” the unwritten yet universally known rules that make successful relationships possible. Is it possible that I am the asshole? I really don’t think so…

You see, this is what happened…

For the last year and a half or so, I’ve been dating (well, off and on, I guess…) this woman. At the beginning, things were great. Good enough for her to actually move in with me back when I was living at Chris’ place in Camarillo. Granted, this didn’t last long – something like five months or so before she moved out – but at that time, things were good. I was happy, I believe she was happy, and apart from my sudden need to repeatedly schedule appointments with a dermatologist, our future was looking rather sunny.

Yes, you read that correctly. Shortly after my girlfriend moved in with me, a situation arose that required me to see a dermatologist. I was worried! Not for myself, mind you, but for my Nini. I was afraid that I may have picked up something during my time in Europe (all the trips to Amsterdam and such…) that remained dormant for what would then have been about a year before showing signs. I had not … and the silliness of this fear just now became evident to me whilst typing that last sentence. As it turns out, the issue wasn’t with me. To me however, it really didn’t matter (and NO, Nini did not give me VD … the human body is a complicated piece of equipment … ‘nuff said about that…); I could survive the discomfort for the good of the relationship. After all, that was what was really important, right? Besides, the issue would be solved soon enough…

As time continued to pass, the excitement that was “us” began to ebb. No big surprise here – that’s just the way things usually go. I believe this occurrence has been well documented in many stories, poems and songs. As Roger Waters so aptly scribed:

Day after day, love turns grey
Like the skin of a dying man
And night after night, we pretend it’s alright
But I have grown older
And you have grown colder
And nothing is very much fun anymore

Unfortunately for Nini and me, this deterioration was a bit accelerated. We really had very little in common; and by “very little” I suppose it was nothing more than our mistaken belief that we loved each other. But for me, this meant something. I’m now beginning to wonder if it ever meant anything to her…

I believe it was five months, to the day, after we started officially dating that our first “official” break-up happened. Nini moved out and found a new place to live. It was your typical “we need some distance/time apart” scenario that all relationships heading for failure go through. It was a bit strange as it happened though – out of the blue, she tells me we need to spend some time apart; I agree with her and ask her to move out; she quickly finds a new place and does just that. I think the whole ordeal was completed in one weekend if memory serves me correctly. And that was that … until…

We somehow got back together. Since where she moved was only something like 5 to 10 minutes away from where I was living; I suppose it was inevitable. I don’t know, but I’m thinking this period might have been her first attempt at “playing the field”. I remember at the time thinking that she probably found someone new and wanted to make herself available if this new guy was interested – all pure speculation by me, of course. If this was the case, then things didn’t go as planned for her – we ended up getting back together.

Nini remained living on her own; however we once again became an official couple – your standard “someone to hang out with” on weekends, daily guest to dine with and usual companion for most weekend nights. I was even planning on flying her home with me for the holidays later that year. Of course this somehow turned into a problem for her and she decided not to join me on my trip home for the holidays but rather to inform me in the Outback’s parking lot that we needed to “stop doing this”.

Once again, this rather sudden change of heart took me a bit by surprise; however to be honest, it was all getting a bit old for me then. I just told her that she was making a mistake and once again let her go. She wasn’t gone for too long before we somehow (and to be honest, I can’t even recall how it happened this time) got back together.

When Christmas came, I flew home by myself. Whether Nini and I were considered a couple then, I honestly don’t remember. It’s now all so fuzzy to me exactly when we were and weren’t seeing each other... I do know however that we were a couple again for the beginning of this year (after I returned from my holiday trips). I know this because this was when I started spending way too much time at work – no less than three months straight of 70+ hour workweeks – and also when Nini began doing hikes with this religious group that she somehow stumbled upon. It was also the beginning of the final end for Nini and me…

Now anyone that knows me well knows how I feel about organized religions. For those that don’t, let’s just say that I’m not a big fan… Nini knew this as well; but I never put any pressure on her to not believe if she so chose. She was going on these hikes with this religious group and frankly I was far too busy with work to let it bother me. All of my weekends were being used for work already, so the fact that Nini wasn’t spending them with me didn’t send off too many red alerts in my mind … until the work was completed…

When my work schedule returned to normal, I once again had some actual free time. It was then that I started noticing some very peculiar aspects about Nini and her little hiking cult. It had occurred to me earlier as a bit strange that she never – and I do mean NEVER – even asked me if I wanted to join them on one of their hikes. It didn’t faze me much when I was swamped with work as I didn’t really have the time. Also, it was a religious cult and I was assuming that Nini was trying to respect my beliefs by not forcing me to go … but she never even went as far as inviting me… Okay, that’s fine … if she needs this time for herself, I’ll give it to her. I would occasionally crack a joke about making sure she didn’t drink the Kool-Aid or something in a poorly constructed attempt at conveying my discomfort that would always miss the target; however it was not my place to tell her what she could and couldn’t do. I loved her enough to trust that she would return the trust. Hell, I was even stupid enough to think that she actually meant it when she said that she loved me…

Fast forward a couple months where I take a weeklong trip back to my house in Colorado. It’s a horrible trip that ends up going something like four days longer than scheduled in order for me to begin the process of basically kicking my best friend out of my house (long story … don’t ask…). When I return back to California, I’m greeted by a girlfriend that says she can’t see me that day because she’s going on a hike with her fucking cult. Are you kidding me?! I’m in horrible shape returning from the worst trip in my life and my very own girlfriend stands me up for a fucking religious cult! This is a bad sign … a bad sign…

Sure enough, a few days later, I’m out walking with Nini by my elaborate boarding house that has become my home of late when she mentions something about an upcoming comet or meteor shower or the like. How the conversation got to this is beyond me, but somehow she mentioned it. My response is some kind of quip about her ignoring her cult’s request to hop on the spaceship following the comet and that’s it. I’d apparently gone too far and she wasn’t taking it any more. We stood out front of the house where I am living arguing about nothing. She was extremely offended and I was extremely confused. After explaining several times in several ways that it was a joke that wasn’t really a joke (dark comedy, as it’s known…) and getting nowhere, I proclaimed that I “couldn’t do this anymore” and said I was done. I turned and headed into the house and she drove herself home.

So that was the end. This rollercoaster ride of a relationship finally derailed on a difference in ideological beliefs. I lost my girlfriend to a goddamn religious cult! One more brain washed clean by a group of fanatical zealots. Or so I thought…

Until Saturday night. I was at a party. Nini was there with her new (how “new” I am unaware) boyfriend. From what I was able to gather, they met at this “hiking club”…

So that explains quite a bit. Mainly it explains why I was never invited on these hiking trips. It does a wonderful job at explaining why my girlfriend decided to stand me up when I needed her most and quite clearly demonstrates that my love for this woman was misguided at best. It’s just one more piece of my soul lost…

Bobby, my man, she’s your problem now…

bis später,

Coriolis

No Good Deed …

And that’s that, I guess… The DA has dropped the charges. This actually occurred earlier this month but I never bothered to write anything about it. The lessons learned from this ordeal: 1) never fight the power when too inebriated to remember the details; 2) the activity you get involved in isn’t nearly as important as who you surround yourself with whilst partaking of aforementioned activity – you never know when you’re going to be needing to rely on the ability of these others to make correct decisions; 3) the police don’t care about anything beyond the present (they’re actually very short-sighted in their decision making processes) and I suppose this is an inevitable circumstance with what their jobs entail – not necessarily good, but somewhat expected; and most importantly, 4) private legal counsel has become a necessity in this country if you even have a prayer at getting any sort of justice.

Granted I am still relying on quite a few assumptions here. I still have absolutely no recollection of the night I got my ass thrown in jail; however I have received and reviewed police reports from both the Longmont Police Department as well as the Boulder County Sheriff’s Office. The report from Longmont mentions that the officers were speaking with Todd after his accident on my cell phone. I guess that explains the calls that were logged on my phone from Todd lasting somewhere between 3-5 minutes in length. It also mentions that they were, with the help from the Boulder County Sheriff’s Office, able to find and pick up Todd later that morning. They don’t really say too much about me other than that I was intoxicated. Nothing was mentioned about transporting me anywhere and I’m still a bit fuzzy on why or how I even ended up at the ARC (Addicts Recovery Center) in Boulder.

The Boulder County report is much more interesting. It starts out with two officers responding to a call from the ARC about a client that was brought in by Longmont PD (me) getting unruly and “out of control”. It appears that I was not cooperating with the concept of staying in my room and “sleeping it off”.

Now here’s where I start making some assumptions on exactly what was going on. First off, I’m pretty sure that I was tricked into being taken to the ARC by the Longmont police. I can guarantee that I would not have volunteered to go there being that I had a perfectly good room (which I was actually paying for) in the hotel where the Longmont police first met me. Perhaps they suggested I join them in their search for Todd who, as you remember, had recently crashed his car somewhere in the foothills? I have no idea exactly what occurred, but the response by the Boulder Officers at the ARC was noted as occurring at 2:01 am. As a reference, this is about an hour and a half after the calls logged from Todd on my phone. As one more data point, the employee of the ARC stated that he was trying to get me to cooperate for 30 minutes prior to calling the police. This leaves somewhere around an hour for the Longmont police to pick me up at the Radisson Hotel in Longmont and drop me off at the ARC in Boulder (at most a 15 minute drive away).

It’s all speculation by me; however how exactly was this hour spent? Did we (the Longmont police and I) actually look for Todd for a bit before they decided to drop me off at the ARC? Was it a straight shot from the hotel to the ARC? Did I resist this ride (even verbally)? If I did, it wasn’t in the police report… You see, this is the hole in the story that I’m afraid will never be filled. If the cops would have just left me at the hotel everything, at least for me, would have been fine. I would have done exactly what I was planning on doing and slept off the booze in my hotel room. Sure, I’d still have the huge hangover the next morning; however it wouldn’t be experienced in jail. Nothing would have been different for Todd either – the police would have found him regardless of whether or not I was taken to the ARC. It seems to me that I did my part in helping Todd from what was written in the Longmont Police Department’s report. Who exactly were they “protecting” by taking me in to the ARC??? Nobody!

So I now understand why I was so pissed off about being at the ARC. Whether drunk or not, I wasn’t endangering anybody. I had a place to sleep that required no more than me stumbling back to the room (no driving was needed) and I’m absolutely positive that that’s what I would have done if given the opportunity. On the contrary, I found myself held captive in some strange building in a completely different city. I did not need to be there and I’m damn sure that I was making that point known to my captors. The result of this is that I ended up getting myself thrown in jail. The Boulder County Sheriff’s report reads like a standard episode of C.O.P.S. I played the typical drunkard and the cops played the classic roles of good cop / bad cop. I was swearing up a storm being asked to cooperate by the good cop and having the bad cop forcefully make me cooperate when I refused to on my own. The black eye and bruised arms must have been gifts from the bad cop…

An interesting side note here is the fact that “Verbally antagonistic” was checked off under the “Triage Questions to be asked by Arresting Agency” section of the police report. The actual question for this response is, “Which best describes arrestee’s behavior with arresting/transporting officers…” The three unselected answers were “Cooperative”, “Non-response” and “Combative”. “Verbally antagonistic” was checked. I don’t know … it just seems to me that I damn well better have been “Combative” to justify the way the “bad cop” decided to handle me… I guess we don’t actually have complete freedom of speech if the cops are allowed to physically injure a suspect being verbally antagonistic.

BUT … it’s all speculation. The bruises were real and I still don’t have any answers for the apparent needle marks on my right arm; however taking speculation from a guy that has no actual recollection of the night’s events to court on a civil case would lead nowhere good. In my mind, it’s all over with now. My spotless criminal record now has a slight blemish. The DA dropped the charges however the arrest remains on my record. I don’t think it’s going to cause any issues in the future but it’s there. It appears that I was, at least in some way, doing my best to help out a friend in need which resulted in my spotlessly clean criminal record acquiring a spot. No good deed goes unpunished, I guess…

bis später,

Coriolis

Aye Batter Batter

For the last couple of weeks, I’ve been attending “alcohol/drug addiction education” classes. Not to learn how to get addicted to alcohol or drugs – that would just be silly – but rather as group counseling sessions (usually mandated by a California court) aimed at helping addicts to quit their addictions. I’m only there as a “good will” gesture suggested by my lawyer in order to get an obstruction of justice charge dropped – I am not an addict. That being said, I’ve decided to give you, the reader my analysis of just how useless I believe these sessions would be for me if I were an addict. To sum it all up, I believe these court-mandated counseling sessions for fee are just one more of the seemingly endless pieces of bullshit that our government (well, the California government at least) has decided to force on the citizens to allow the self-assuming superior people a false sense of helping others. Let me explain…

First off, let me sum-up what I have been able to learn about how “the system” here in California works. The way it goes is that, if you get busted for some sort of drug/alcohol related crime (mainly possession and DUI), there is a possibility that the court will give you the option of attending these “educational” group sessions rather than going to prison. What the odds of getting this option are is still unknown to me; however it appears that where you get busted as well as who you get busted by seems to have some impact on this happening. Of course since I’m using these sessions for a court case in Colorado, I did not experience this procedure first-hand; however it doesn’t take a genius to realize that a large majority of people presented with this choice would opt for the counseling, right…? One would think…

There’s a little bit of a twist to the counseling option though – it’s a “pay for” service. This means that, if you’re interested in taking the “education”, you need to be willing and able to pony up some cash. It’s $30 per session plus a registration fee. In my case, the registration fee alone was $260. Whether this is a conventional amount or some sort of “special” pricing they came up with for my unique case (it brought my total amount due with the eight sessions to an even $500) I am unaware; however since the typical court-ordered counseling is either a 16 or 24 week stint (one class per week), the pricing for this option can easily get out of reach for many people. So basically what we have here is a government run court of law giving “get out of jail free” cards only to those that can afford them. Isn’t it ironic … don’t ya think?

To add to this irony, the government gets absolutely none of the money that is paid for these classes – none! There are actually institutions in California that have somehow arranged it so that courts can “strongly suggest” people pay them for their services else go to jail. Courts can mandate that somebody either purchases a service being offered by a private institution or go to jail. Am I the only one who finds this fascinating? I mean yeah, there are strict rules that need to be adhered to in order to complete this counseling; but it sure beats going to prison! So basically you’ve got private institutions that have obtained the right to have people forced by the courts to buy their services. And the worst part about all this is that their services (at least as far as I’m concerned) don’t work…

Why do I say this? Well for many reasons. The first of which is the number of people in the classes I’ve been attending that have “been here before” … for quite a few, many times. Several of the students have even been to prison already and are using this option as a change of pace. For this spin through the judicial revolving door they’ve decided to take a much more expensive, somewhat more scenic route. If nothing more than positive results were used to justify the existence of these non-prison options, I seriously doubt they would be around much longer. But then what would we do with the sudden influx of people in need of incarceration? Is this no more than a way to keep prison populations down?

The main reason however that I believe these classes don’t work is based on the fact that I’ve been attending them for some nine hours now and have learned absolutely nothing. It’s exactly what I was expecting it to be – well intentioned people spouting out dime-store philosophy to a completely uninterested audience. Most (if not all) of the people are only there to stay out of jail and it’s extremely difficult (even for those with actual educational training) to teach those uninterested in learning. Having some former addict (and I do believe all of the instructors are former addicts) attempt to explain basic societal mores that I’ve been well aware of since elementary school to me seems like little more than an insult to my intelligence. Throw in their biased views on philosophy being taught as “must dos” and it becomes downright frightening.

But you can’t blame the people administering these classes. I do believe that they are actually trying to help. Unfortunately, the problem is not this counseling. The problem isn’t even the government giving people the option to buy their “get out of jail free” cards. I believe that the real problem we are facing today is the lack of responsibility shown by a large portion of the American people. Mix this in with an unrealistic need for vengeance upon the unknown for crimes that the media is doing their best to often times glamorize, slowly stir in an attempt to reach uniform consistency and let set.

What we end up with is what we currently have in California: laws becoming stricter with respect to drugs of all varieties and tolerances asymptotically approaching zero for those that try to test these law’s boundaries, prisons getting overcrowded with more and more three-strikers to the extent that alternatives need to be found quickly and finally the government mandating citizens to purchase services from private institutions else join the crowds already in prison. Has our society really come to this? Are many of the crimes committed actually worthy of the punishment they’ve incurred? I seriously doubt it…

Now you might be wondering exactly what I’m getting at here and I wouldn’t blame you at all for that – I’m kind of curious myself… It just seems to me that something needs to change. Perhaps we should get rid of the “three strikes” rule and go back to evaluating the severity of a crime on a case by case basis? Seems to me like that might just open up the possibility for a ton of new jobs considering the number of cases prosecuted each and every day. Maybe we should take a lesson from many of our friends across the pond and learn to start tolerating an individual’s decision to use drugs as long as nobody else is endangered. When you think about it, how is this any different than the use of alcohol…? Maybe we should instill the value of personal responsibility in our children so that these issues never arise.

I actually don’t know and am not about to claim that I have any answers. I will say however that the experiences I’ve been going through the last couple of months sure have posed a lot of questions…

bis später,

Coriolis

Cough, Cough...

The FDA has decided to take it upon their authority to ban all flavored cigarette products sold in the United States. Interestingly enough, menthol flavored cigarettes are the one and only exception to this ban. It’s an act targeted at removing a gateway currently used to, I don’t know, “fool?” children and young adults into becoming regular smokers.

It’s a huge piece of bullshit, though… The government can throw out numbers (pulled usually directly out of their butts) showing how this ban is going to save billions and billions of lives, right? So what?! All this is in reality is one more freedom being stripped away from the American citizen. It’s just another case where those that can have decided to mandate their own personal ideology onto those they regard as too stupid to think for themselves. Not to mention that I don’t even think it’s even indisputably legal.

Tobacco, even with its heinous image in modern society, is still a legally marketed substance. Even with this latest ban, anybody of age (what is it now, over 18???) can still legally walk into a convenience store and purchase any number of cigarettes he wishes to purchase – as long as they’re not flavored.

Now the chemicals that are currently being used to add a little “flavor” to these cigarettes are also completely legal to use. I’m positive that you will find these same “artificial flavorings” in any number of other food items being sold today. Put the two together and suddenly the FDA has the right to say that you can’t sell the resulting flavored cigarettes? Umm, why???

The argument is that this magical flavoring of tobacco makes tobacco products more desirable to children and young adults. However true this statement is – and it sounds like nothing more than pure speculation to me – it’s still not a valid reason to completely (except for menthol flavored – I guess some exceptions are justifiable?) ban a product. Hell, you can even throw out the “young adults” portion of the reasoning since young adults are defined to be at least 18 years of age and are therefore old enough to purchase tobacco if they so choose. The argument now becomes something about these flavored cigarettes being a gateway for children to become regular smokers; however children are already banned from purchasing tobacco products by their age alone…

So let’s just call a spade a spade here and admit that the purpose of this ban is nothing more than a thinly veiled attempt to force a viewpoint about the evils of tobacco into everybody’s mind with a law. We can continue to dance around the actual law of banning tobacco completely by creating more laws that make it harder and harder for someone to legally enjoy a smoke; however I’m just waiting for the actual ax to fall where the “know betters” finally do the smokers of this country a huge favor and completely outlaw this vice they are too stupid to quit on their own. After all, in this “land of the free”, it’s best not to let the citizens choose what freedoms they get. We’re all far too stupid for that…

Another interesting aspect about this newly adopted ban is exactly who it’s going to hurt. It will, in no way, hurt the “Big Tobacco” industry. They’ve even gone so far as to exclude the one flavoring (menthol) that the big boys even use. No … those that are going to be hurt by this are the somewhat smaller companies (the ones that aren’t financing political careers as much as the big boys) currently selling clove and flavored cigarettes to niche markets. It’s also going to give the FDA some precedence required for them to start making wider and wider bans on various other forms of so-called “alternative” nicotine delivery systems. I’m thinking the vaporizers (i.e. Green Smoke) will be feeling some pain soon; they rely on flavors as a way to separate themselves from competition.

Putting capitalism aside, I believe the political ramifications alone from this latest ban should scare the shit out of every freedom loving American. As I mentioned above, they (the FDA) are banning the combination of legal substances to enhance the appeal (for some, I personally am not a fan of flavored cigarettes…) of one of those substances based on shaky assumptions. Not only is the “gateway” argument purely speculative; it’s a pre-defined set of values getting prescribed to all through the enactment of a law. How long before all of our freedoms become sanitized to a point where we’re merely free to behave as our government has mandated?

bis später,

Coriolis

The Cost of Justice

So I am, once again, a free citizen. Have been for some time now… I’ve got a court date scheduled for early October for what I believe is being called my “pre-trial” hearing; however I have shelled out the money for a retainer and have successfully hired private legal counsel. There’s a lot to be said for private legal counsel – not only will it allow me to not attend my pre-trial hearing (my lawyer will be my legal representative making a trip back from California by me unnecessary) but I quickly grasped the usefulness the day after I got released from jail…

I rose early that day (heck, I actually got no sleep at all) and quickly jumped into my next task. I needed to get a lawyer. My flight was scheduled to be departing for LAX the next day at 3:15 in the afternoon and I had just been informed the day before that my bail restrictions forbade my leaving the state of Colorado. It was never clearly explained to me how long I needed to stay in the state; I just assumed that “until my pre-trial was completed” was a pretty safe guess at a minimum. There were also stipulations in which I needed to contact a specific substance abuse counseling center within 24 hours of being released from jail as well as sign up for substance abuse (alcohol) monitoring. This was all assuming that I stayed in Colorado as the court only had jurisdiction in that state. If you recall from my earlier story, this was a bit of a problem – I lived (and currently still reside) in California.

At the time it seemed a bit strange that the fact that I lived in California seemed to be unknown (or at least not a concern) to the court. I didn’t discover why this was until I actually received and was able to inspect my arrest summons. I got this along with my other personal possessions upon getting bailed out of jail the night before. The funny thing about this was that the address written on it was the address to my house in Longmont, Colorado. The somewhat more puzzling thing was that my Colorado driver’s license number (with the “state” blank marked “CO”) was also written on the summons. My Colorado driver’s license (with the newly-punched hole made by the California DMV office), however, was sitting in a drawer of a dresser located in my room at my current home in Thousand Oaks, California! The license that was in my wallet (and therefore on my possession at the time I was booked) was in fact my California license. Why this perfectly valid license was ignored and personal information for me was retrieved from “the system” is still a bit of a mystery to me … was this possibly easier…?

As a side note here, I didn’t notice the Colorado information on my summons until I had left the jail. The result of this was that, when I was asked to sign out with my signature and address, I wrote my current California address. It probably means nothing; however the addresses on the summons and my jail release do not match. I’m rather interested to find out why my California license was ignored; however that’s just one of those things (and there are quite a few of those “things”) that I will probably never know…

But I digress … back to the morning. I needed a lawyer – and fast! I gave up on any attempts at actually getting sleep that night somewhere around 7:00 in the morning and switched on my laptop. Luckily for me, the Radisson provided wi-fi access free of charge thus giving me a rather easy task to accomplish. I did a search for attorneys in Boulder, Colorado and was quickly presented with a plethora of lawyers to choose from. I found one that, according to his webpage, specialized in “Criminal Defense & DUI Since 1992”. Now granted I did not get arrested on a DUI (I’m still a bit shaky on exactly why I was arrested…); however I needed criminal defense and alcohol was a major factor in my case as well. I called the office…

I was told that the attorney, as he apparently does each week as standard business practice, was visiting the CU campus that day and wasn’t currently in the office. It was then requested that I give a brief summary of my needs so that they could be relayed to the lawyer by phone. After explaining my plight, I was told to be expecting a call back from the lawyer shortly. It was less than a half hour later when the call was returned.

I felt somewhat more at ease after speaking with the attorney. He gave me the impression that he would be able to contact the correct people necessary to get the bail restrictions (not only the travel restrictions, but all of them) removed allowing me to legally fly home the next day. We had several conversations that morning – each one with the plan changing slightly. At one point I was planning on heading down to his office in Boulder to drop off his retainer (one thousand dollars) then possibly needing to head over to the Boulder Courthouse at (if memory serves me correctly) 6th and Canyon to perhaps sign some paperwork. This changed to possibly needing to meet up with somebody in Longmont who was supposed to have the authority to legally help me out although that was still in an unknown state of readiness. The final plan was to meet up with my attorney back at the Boulder County Jail at 2:00 in the afternoon where he had successfully arranged a hearing with the same judge I was in front of the day before. We were to request that the bail restrictions be removed based mainly on the fact that I lived in California. I was a bit skeptical as the same argument was made by me the day before and seemed to fall on deaf ears; however this time I had much better ammunition – private counsel…

It was requested (by my lawyer, of course) that I bring evidence showing current residence in California as well as my plane tickets for the flight leaving to LAX the next day. No problem – I had a valid California driver’s license (which, mind you, the jail also “had” two nights before but chose to ignore), my Travelocity itinerary clearly showing my scheduled flight, a business card for my job with an address in Westlake Village, California and even a pay stub from said employer made out to my name at my Thousand Oaks address. I gathered said items, wrote out a check for a thousand dollars (retainer, remember?) and headed back to jail with ample time to arrive well before 2:00 – I most definitely was not missing this appointment!

After arriving at the jail, I noticed a posting of the 2:00 docket – my name was not on this list. I inquired with one of the guards about this absence and was informed that I was most likely an addendum. She said she believed there was one addendum to the cases posted – that was probably me. This sounded about right – I still don’t know exactly how my lawyer was able to secure this hearing. When I wasn’t armed with private counsel, I would never have been able to accomplish this. The task now became finding my lawyer. Remember, I had never actually met this guy and actually had no idea what he looked like. I wasn’t too concerned though … there was a thousand dollars in it for him to find me…

Sure enough, a few minutes before the session started, my lawyer found me. I introduced myself by presenting him with the retainer check and quickly gave him a rundown of the documentation I had brought. He needed to speak with another person he was defending during that same session so we parted ways. I headed into the courtroom (this time I was on the much larger glassed in area where I had a view of the two-bench area I was sitting in – immobilized by chains and cuffs – the day before) and took a seat. We were all asked to rise as the judge entered the main chamber – it was not the same judge as the day before…

It was interesting to once again see the flurry of activity that was the arraignment process. This time, however, I saw things more clearly. I was quite exhausted and hadn’t had any sleep for well over 24 hours, however this time I wasn’t dealing with the shock of seeing it in chains and cuffs dressed in a prison jumpsuit. I was somewhat concerned with how our request for freedom was going to be addressed by the court but this was based on the results I got the day before – before I hired private counsel…

A short while into the proceedings I was joined by my attorney and we quietly discussed our plan. I told him that I was hoping to take full advantage of my right to remain silent. I had absolutely no sleep the night before and was a little worried about the whole “open mouth, insert foot” scenario. He said he would do his best but that the judge might want to hear from me. He then told me some interesting discoveries that he had made earlier in the day.

First off, there was absolutely no public record on my being arrested and taken to the ARC (the “drunk tank”). Since I was technically arrested whilst already at the ARC, the lack of any previous record of arrest wasn’t too surprising; however the complete lack of any record on my getting transported to the ARC still seems a bit strange to me. But I do not claim to be any sort of expert on law enforcement procedures, so maybe this is commonplace…? I don’t know…

The other piece of information that he told me was that I had a 0.227 blood alcohol content at the time of my arrest. Whether this was from a breathalyzer or – from the needle marks on my right arm – possibly a blood test, I do not know. Bottom line was that I was seriously drunk. Not much of a shocker to me considering that I remembered nothing of the night since arriving at the Fusion bar; however this was actually good news for our case. The way my lawyer put it, “I was acting like somebody that blew a 0.227.” This supported the argument that I was not a habitual drinker…

I think somewhere around a half hour passed before my case was called (oh yeah, one more thing about the advantages of private counsel – cases with private counsel are prioritized before those without … probably as a way to minimize the cost for defendants paying lawyers by the hour; however I believe this useful information if you’ve got the funds…). My lawyer did an excellent job explaining the circumstances of my case. I said absolutely nothing. All the bail restrictions were removed. Sweet!

After we left the jail, my attorney suggested that I consider taking an alcohol counseling class back in California as a “good will” gesture. That should pretty much guarantee the charges get dropped. I’m currently in the process of accomplishing this although things seem to be quite different in California. I’m actually getting the impression that somebody choosing to take part in alcohol counseling on their own accord is something that they don’t allow here. I found a place that offers the course; however I can’t take it until I can come up with some sort of paperwork from the court in Boulder saying that I need it. How stupid is that? Sure, we’ll help those looking for help if – and only if – it is mandated by a court of law … seems a bit counterproductive to me. Oh well, I’ve signed the "release of information" form required for my lawyer to contact the program director. Maybe he can talk some sense into her…?

All this has got me to wondering … what if I didn’t have the means to afford private counsel? I guess it’s just one more example of capitalism at work…

bis später,

Coriolis

Free at Last

So I’m being led down yet another hallway in the Boulder County Jail. What was I doing in jail? Now’s that’s a great question. For those just joining this little yarn, you can get caught up by starting back at my What Happened??? post. Okay, caught up now? Good. As I said, I was being led down yet another hallway in the Boulder County Jail…

I’d had my possessions (sheets, blankets and the plastic coffee cup of goodies) taken from me. I took this as a good sign. I figured I was finally (from what I have been able to piece together so far, some 18-20 hours after arriving…) either being allowed to pay my own bail or – more likely –Matt or Doug had bailed me out. Either way, all was good. I was taking my last guided tour of the day and would soon be free again! It’s funny how easily one can take freedom for granted – and I was only locked up for the better part of one day. I couldn’t image actually facing hard time … I guess I’m just not built for that lifestyle…

We finally arrived at this door. The guard opened it and instructed me to head on in to another door inside and close it behind me. This I did. It was a plain little room – reminded me of one of those dressing rooms they have in the department stores. There was a bench and a large pane of glass with a little slot at the bottom. I don’t know how long I just stood there waiting for someone to show up behind the pane before it occurred to me that nobody was coming … seemed like a few minutes; I finally realized that all my possessions (the ones that I had been missing throughout the day) where within reach behind the glass. I then decided to change out of my bright red jumpsuit and back into my actual street clothes.

I was also able to get my cell phone, belt, wallet and e-cig along with a copy of my arrest summons (first time I saw that) and list of items just mentioned that were sealed under this plastic shroud that I needed to rip into. I’m not quite sure what the need for the vacuum sealing of my items was – my guess is one more piece of bureaucracy that made sense to someone, somewhere at some time who had the authority to make it procedure… I suppose it kept the items more secure … but from who? The cops…? Seems kind of silly…

Or perhaps it wasn’t…? I quickly noticed that my wallet had its standard array of useless membership cards, business cards, my California (please make a note of that, I said “California”) driver’s license and my several credit cards (usually located in said wallet) were actually outside the wallet but sealed in the plastic next to it. The one thing that my wallet didn’t have was any money in it. Now granted, I had absolutely no recollection of the entire night before. Perhaps I spent all the money? I just thought this was rather interesting…

After changing clothes and grabbing my stuff, I walked back out the door I entered through. It led to the initial door I entered from the hallway that was now shut and locked. There was another room off to the left so I decided to head that way. What I found here was yet another large pane of glass (much like the one in the room I had just left). This one had a rather large officer of the law behind it that was asking me to sign my name and address on some sheet of paper. Whilst signing the sheet, I decided to ask this officer if he knew anything about my being there and the answer I got was a definite yes. He basically told me that he was working the night before and that I was the drunkest person he had ever seen. It just sounded to me like this guy was no fan of mine and I really couldn’t figure out why (don’t forget that I remembered nothing from the night before…).

After signing out, he gave me a check for two dollars. He explained that, after paying some fee (or fine or whatever it was) with the money I had in my wallet and the $100 (which ended up being a bit over $120 for some unknown reason) that my friend paid for the bail, I had exactly two dollars left. I’m not sure why this was given to me as a check but it was… I apparently had either $32 or $37 in my wallet and the fee that I paid for something was $30 (or $35, either way…) so rather than just give me the two dollar bills, they wrote me a check for two dollars. Bureaucracy again, I guess…

He then walked around and opened the door to the hallway. This hallway ended at a room with several people in it – one of these people was my buddy Matt. Thanks Matt! You came through!! It was then that I quickly called Doug on his cell. I told him thanks but Matt had already bailed me out and he didn’t need to make the trip. Funny thing was that he was inquiring as to where we were – he was at the Boulder Courthouse since that used to be where the jail was (Doug’s lived in that area quite a long time…). I told him I appreciated his effort but that he was now free to head home. The best part now was that I was now free to “head home” (or at least back to my hotel). I was a bit curious as to how the people at the Radisson were going to respond to my coming back at 9:30 the evening on the day I was supposed to have checked out. Heck, I was a bit concerned as to what might have happened there the night before – remember that the last memory I had was sitting at the Fusion – their bar…

So while Matt’s driving me back to Longmont, I decided to give Todd a call. I was very curious about what had happened the night before and thought that he might have some information. The conversation went something like this:

“Hi Todd, guess where I’ve been all day.”

“Jail.”

“How did you know that?”

“The police told me you were in jail last night when they picked me up.”

“So you were in jail as well?”

“No, the hospital. I wrecked my car.”

Turns out I wasn’t the only one who had bad results from our well planned night of drinking. The saddest part about all this is that I honestly believe that I will never know exactly what happened that night. How was Todd in any position to even be able to wreck his car? He was supposed to be staying in my room! Why was I taken to the Boulder ARC? I was drinking in my hotel’s bar – all I needed to do was stumble back to my room and I could sleep it off. What on Earth happened that made everything go awry??? I doubt I will ever know…

After returning to the Radisson, I had a rather interesting conversation with the people working the desk. After explaining that I couldn’t check-out on time because I had been in jail all day, the guy (and I still don’t know if he was joking or not) said that he shouldn’t be letting me stay there but that he would; however if he heard one peep from me, he was calling the cops. It was weird though; he wasn’t working the night before however he seemed to have knowledge of me being taken out of there by the police. This story would later be refuted by a different employee working the desk on the next day – he claimed, after I inquired, that he called people working that night and was told that nothing happened in the hotel. I still don’t know why I was taken to the ARC or from where … there are no police records on this…

Well, that’s basically my story. Apart from dropping a grand the next morning on a lawyer’s retainer allowing me to get back in court in record time (the next day) and successfully get all of the bond restrictions removed (which was a great thing – I made my flight back to LAX the next day), I guess that’s pretty much it. I decided to write this up with so much detail as a red flag to those out there who think it’ll never happen to them. I had the night flawlessly planned. I woke up the next day in jail.

bis später,

Coriolis

Making Bail

Earlier on “My Pathetic Life” I had been forced to spend a day in jail. You can start reading from the beginning here – What Happened??? My story continues now with me sitting on a chair wondering if my call to Matt was successful or not…

It was quickly approaching 5:30pm and I was under the assumption that 5:30 was, once again, going to mean lockdown. I figured I best try to contact Doug before lockdown started. If nothing else, it would be a possibility to leave confusing messages with two of my friends on the “free side” and somewhat increase my odds at getting out of here quicker than my pleas to pay my own bail being heeded. I grabbed a phone as quickly as one became available…

Okay, so I had the procedure for making collect calls mastered now. As quickly as I could, I attempted to call Doug. I used the second number listed for him as my earlier attempt with the first number was a bust (it was another inmate’s PIN … perhaps he pressed “9”…). After once again receiving the message about the number called not being able to accept collect calls and being informed that I was getting a one-time only free connection, I heard Linda (Doug’s wife) say, “Hello?”

This time I was in the know. I wasn’t exactly sure how long it was; however I knew that the call time was limited and I needed to get my information out as quickly as I could before getting cut off. I spewed out a torrent of conversation that included a notice about the limited time, the fact that I was in jail although I couldn’t get into why right then and that I needed her to call Doug and tell him to get a hundred dollars and head over to the Boulder County Jail. She said they would take care of it. I thanked her and hung up.

It was shortly after this (I believe it was around 5:40pm) that one of the guards called out, “Lockdown!” Everybody headed back to their cells – I headed back to cell #13 – and the unmistakable sound of the magnetic locks engaging echoed throughout earshot. I once again lied down on the bottom bunk in my lone cell…

I didn’t have any knowledge as to when, or even if, this iteration of lockdown was scheduled to end. I didn’t really care. I wasn’t expecting anything to be happening for me until well after 7:00 anyway – and that was assuming Matt had the information he needed. Perhaps Doug would get there earlier, however I doubted it. There was always the possibility that I would finally be able to pay my own bail soon; however nothing that had occurred up to this point led me to put much faith in this happening. I took inventory of my cell…

Other than what I had brought in (the sheets, blankets and plastic coffee mug containing a comb, a bar of soap, a small toothbrush, a tube of toothpaste and a spork) there wasn’t much else. There was a metal bunk bed and a crude sink and toilet. There was also a large roll of some very rough, single-ply toilet paper and two small pencils that I found under the steel mirror. I also noticed, stamped on the inside of the cell door, the address for the jail. That might have been useful to me prior to making my phone calls…

I utilized one of the pencils and wrote the address on the sheet of paper given to me earlier by the guard with the phone numbers and credit card numbers. I was thinking that this information might come in handy if we ever get out of lockdown. I was running out of numbers to try; however had a couple left that might get to someone…

The main thing I remember from this time was hearing voices from other inmates outside my cell. We were in lockdown; however it seemed like I was hearing some inmates walking around outside and talking. I distinctly remember one of them being called “Skittles” on a couple of occasions. Whether Skittles was one walking around or just a nickname of a prisoner now in lockdown, I had no clue. I just remember the name.

I also noticed, when looking through the windows of my cell door, that there seemed to be some sort of hierarchy in this ward. There were a few inmates (my old cellmate from cell #14 was one of these) that weren’t wearing their red jumpsuits. If memory serves me correctly, they were wearing your standard sweat pants and grey tee shirts. I think there were about four inmates in this group. The thing about this group was that they were not required to stay in their cells during lockdown. As a matter of fact, I believe their job was to clean up the commons area during each lockdown – which appeared to be mainly mopping up the floor. They were also wearing some sort of headphones which I concluded were to pick up the audio for the TVs – I saw a note next to one of the TVs that said the audio was being transmitted on some certain FM frequency. When they completed their cleanup, they basically sat downstairs watching TV…

There were also a few guys wearing blue jumpsuits (the gentleman that requested my dinner if I wasn’t going to eat it was one of these). I later found out that these guys were from the maximum security ward sent up to this ward because of some sort of fight that occurred in their ward. As I mentioned before, there was also another area separated from the general population by yet another glass blockade. I think this was either an area for punishment or possibly a place for the more violent. I never bothered to get the complete 411 on the hierarchy … I’m just mentioning it as an observation…

At one point I heard one of the other inmates yelling something about football. He wanted the channels on the TVs changed so that he could watch the game. This was done quickly enough and I decided to slide my chair (oh yeah, a couple other items in my cell were a plastic chair – sort of your lawn-chair variety – and a small table bolted to the wall … sorry, I forgot those earlier…) over toward my cell door so I could sit and watch the game. They were small TVs. I was looking through a narrow window at a not-very-direct angle. It was a pre-season game between Miami and I don’t even remember who else and (as anyone who knows me knows) I really could care less about football. It was something to do though…

It was somewhere around 8:00 when the cells were once again unlocked.

Having nothing better to do, I wandered back out to the commons area. Perhaps I would be able to ask the new guard (the guards that were there earlier had left on a shift change) if there was anything that I wasn’t doing that I should have been doing in order to pay my bail. Heck, it had been 5 hours since I told the judge that I could pay my bail; was there something else I needed to do? Could anybody give me any information that might actually be usable by me? I had credit card information for two of my cards written down for me earlier by a guard. What, exactly, was I supposed to be doing with this? As it was throughout the day, I had no idea…

The first thing I tried was to call Doug on the first number I had listed for him. You may remember that this was the original call I attempted using another inmates PIN; the thing is, it seemed to me that this was his cell phone number. Maybe I could get in contact with him and make sure he knew what was going on – I actually had the address now… The call didn’t get answered.

I spoke with the guard that was currently on duty and asked if he could find out what was going on with me. I told him that I wanted to pay my bail and he started going off on this “it could take half an hour or 12 hours” speech when another inmate – my old cellmate from cell #14 – interrupted the guard and explained that I was wanting to pay my bail with a credit card currently located in my seized possessions. The response I got was, “I’ll look into it.”

Oh well, what could I do? The only possibility I had was to wait. Wait for what, exactly, I had no clue… Heck, it was past 7:00 now; maybe Matt would come to my rescue soon…? I sat down and watched the game…

It was going on 9:00 when a guard entered the ward and called out my last name. He then told me to get my stuff. Sweet! I’m getting out of here! I quickly headed up to my cell and grabbed my still neatly folded sheets and blankets as well as my plastic coffee mug of goodies. I walked down the stairs and plopped my stuff on a table where the guy that I had given my dinner to earlier was sitting. He congratulated me on being released which was kind of a weird thing. I mean how does one respond to that with a guy that not too long ago told you that he was doing 2 years in there? I basically said thanks and wished him luck with his situation. That’s when this other guy approached…

He mentioned being aware that I had just arrived that day and asked if he might be able to exchange his blankets with my newer, cleaner ones. Apparently, according to this guy, clean laundry is not easy to come by there. I said sure, he could have my blankets as long as he was quick about it – I didn’t know how long before the guard was going to return. One of the other guys then requested my sheets. Sure, what did I care?

The exchanges were completed; the guard entered the ward and called out my name. I walked out into the hallway and was told to drop my stuff in a corner which I did. I was standing there waiting when another guard showed up and asked if I was getting out. She said she would take me from there and started leading me down the hallway.

And that’s where this episode will be ending. I, once again, need to go grab something to eat. Besides, I’m getting quite sick of typing today. I’ll finish this story later…

bis später,

Coriolis

One Phone Call

I had just unsuccessfully made my first attempt to contact the free world. I attempted to call my buddy Doug; however I was using another inmate’s PIN. It was very kind of the guy; unfortunately the system used to make outgoing calls from the Boulder County Jail was designed to make such kindness pretty much futile. To catch up with this story, you might need to read my Stuck in the System post. Heck, if you’re just joining this story here, it’s actually the 5th episode. It all starts at What Happened??? I will now continue with the story of the longest day of my life…

It had become blatantly obvious to me that I needed to get my own PIN (Prisoner Identification Number) in order to even have the possibility of getting Doug or Matt (the only numbers I currently had) to answer the phone. Who knows? Maybe they wouldn’t even be willing to take the collect call…? Whatever the case, I needed my own PIN.

Interestingly enough, the guard that gave me my dinner tray just happened to be the same one that spoke to me prior to lockdown ending. He mentioned – whilst handing me my orange tray – that he would be delivering this PIN to me shortly. After the failed attempt to call Doug, I decided to just wait for this guard to contact me with my PIN – it’s not like he wouldn’t be able to find me… (Side note here: I never received my PIN from this guard…)

So I sat in a chair watching the silent TV on the wall for some time. I quickly noticed that using the phones might be difficult even if I had my PIN – there were only two phones and finding a period of time where either was available was rare. I don’t know how long I had been sitting there before the guy I gave my dinner to suggested that I should probably head over to the (oh, how do I explain this???) “cage” and ask for my PIN. Sounded like a good idea to me…

So I made the short walk to the metal slot in the wall that was the only access we inmates had to what I have decided to refer to as the cage. You see, there were guards (cops, police, whatever…) sitting in this cage although I seem to remember that none of the windows between this cage and the cell area were unobstructed. I most definitely could not see in and it is my impression that they (the cops) could not see out – I could be mistaken here, but that is the image I have… There was however a very low (I think it was put in the wall at about waist level) metal slot that the cops could open to interact with inmates. This is what I walked to…

Unfortunately there was already another inmate standing by this slot who appeared to be waiting for something from inside the cage. I’m not about to even try pushing my way in front of this guy so I just stand back a bit and wait. (Did I mention that I had absolutely no desire to be starting conversations with anyone in here? I figured the quickest way out was to be a model inmate and the less possibility of causing a scene, the better… Naïve, I guess; but this wasn’t my world…) In time I make it to the slot, lean way down to see in and ask the guard inside for my PIN so that I can make a phone call. I receive a piece of paper with the following written on it: “0907519____” The guard mentions that the last four digits are a code that I need to pick and then closes the metal door sealing off the slot.

Okay, I’ve apparently got my PIN. Time’s ticking away and I’m thinking that we had one hour for dinner before we would need to go back to lockdown. Not sure why I was thinking this – perhaps somebody told me – but that’s the way that whole day was. I would either be aware (or, more usually, unaware) of things and have no recollection of why. Whatever the case, half of that time was already gone and I needed to make a call or two…

I take a seat where I can see both phones and wait for an opportunity to use one. Luckily enough, I didn’t need to wait too long before one of the phones was free and I quickly rose and walked over to it. Okay … now how does one go about using these phones…?

I pick up the handset and am told to press “1” for English or “2” for Spanish. I press “1”.

I am then instructed to enter my 11 digit prisoner identification number followed by the pound sign. The number I was given is 7 digits and 4 blanks. I enter the 7 digits, 4 other numbers (I believe I used 5654) and hit “#”.

The recording then says something about, “since this is your first time use, please enter a four digit security code.” I enter the 5654 again and am requested to speak my full name after the beep. This I do…

It seems like the only option I was given at this point was to press “0” to make a collect call – which I do. I then dial the first number I have written down for Matt and hope for him to answer. As before, I get the message about receiving a call from {my name in my voice, this time} at the Boulder County Jail … blah blah blah… I hear this message a couple of times before I get a new message.

The new message says something about the number I called not being able to receive collect calls; however my call was going to be connected as a one-time complementary call from some company that I don’t remember the name of and that money could be deposited to said company at the end of this call to make future calls possible. Shortly after this, I heard Matt say, “Hello?”

Now here’s the funny thing about this – although the message mentioned that I was receiving a one-time complimentary call to my destination number, it said absolutely nothing (to me at least) about the length of the call being limited. Therefore, I was under the impression that I could chat with Matt as long as need be. I was wrong…

I inform Matt that I’m in the Boulder County Jail. He asks, “Why?” to which I obviously have no valid explanation. I give him the quick story of being at my hotel bar the night before and waking up in jail this morning. I then begin my plea for him to come bail me out. I tell him it’s only a hundred dollar bail and I will pay him back as soon as I get back to my hotel. (Oh, yeah!! The hotel issues…. Aaarggg…) He then says that he was just heading out to his kid’s school for some show that was from 6:00 to 7:00. My response was that it didn’t matter; I just needed to get out of here. Matt was then cut-off. The message I got was that the party I called had been transferred to whatever phone company was mentioned earlier where he could deposit money to receive future calls from me.

Oh no … this can’t be happening… Is Matt coming at 7:00? Did he get all the information he needed? Does he know what jail I’m in or even where it’s located? I had faith that Matt would do whatever he could – Matt’s a good guy – unfortunately there was palpable doubt in the air that he received all the necessary information. Shit! What do I do now…? Oh well, I actually did believe that Matt would come and there was always the possibility that my request to pay my own bail might, in time, make it to somebody that would do more than “look into it”. It was approaching 5:30 anyway and (once again, I don’t know why…) I was under the impression that lockdown would be coming soon enough. I sat down and stared at the silent TV…

And with that, I will leave you. I think I’m going to go grab something to eat. Don’t worry though … I do not believe there’s much left in this story. Of course the truth of the matter is that it’s not done in real life yet so I can’t quite say when this thread will conclude. Thanks for reading…

bis später,

Coriolis

Stuck in the System

So I’m lying on the lower bunk of cell #14 just after returning from my arraignment. I clearly told the judge I could easily pay my $100 bail after my personal possessions were returned; however I was still in jail. For further detail on exactly how this situation came to be, I would suggest reading my Vague Clarity post. For those already caught up on the story, I’ll continue the saga…

As I said, it’s somewhere around 3:00pm – probably a quarter after or so by now – and the only thing that I am pretty sure of is that we (the inmates) are supposed to be getting served dinner sometime around 4:30. I decided to lie down on my bunk and, as has become the norm this day, wait for whatever happens next to come ‘round. I had no idea what it would be although I was under the impression that it might just be dinner…

A short period of time passes and this rather large guy enters my cell. I assume it’s my cellmate as I vaguely remember the same guy stopping by to take a piss earlier … although I did not have any words with him on that earlier occasion. He inquires whether the very large bruise I have on the underside of my left upper arm has something to do with why I was there. I was lying on my back with my hands clasped under my head which made the bruise very pronounced to anyone that saw me. My response to him was that I had absolutely no idea. I explained how the last memory I had of the night before was sitting at a bar talking with my friend and how the next one was waking up in a prison cell. I distinctly remember his response to this: “That’s fucked up.”

I couldn’t agree more… I basically told him what had occurred and how I was waiting to pay my small bail and hopefully get out. It was then that I asked how long he had been there and was floored by the response – he said eight months!! Being the usual upstanding, free citizen that I am, I couldn’t even begin to fathom this … eight months living in this little cell. I guess that explained all the books I noticed when I first entered cell #14… Now my curiosity was getting seriously tweaked so I inquired as to how long his sentence was. “16 years,” is what he told me!!!

Holy shit! 16 years?! Apparently he was currently awaiting trial for second degree assault (or something like that, I’m not really much of an expert on crime designations) and, at least in his mind, was destined to be doing at least 16 years at the end of his trial. This was far too much for me to even comprehend and I told him I have no idea what I would do if I were in his shoes – I mentioned that I would probably kill myself. He told me that he had considered that…

One of the guards entered our cell at the end of our conversation and informed me that I was getting moved to a different cell. Oh well, whatever … it’s not like I had any control over anything going on to begin with. I basically got up, grabbed my sheets and blankets (still neatly folded), picked up my plastic coffee mug of goodies and walked out to the catwalk with the guard. I figured this would be a great opportunity to inquire, once again, about what I needed to do about paying my bail and getting out of there…

The guard explained to me something about my needing to fill out some sort of forms (where I got these, I had no clue) if I wanted to pay the bail with a credit card or that it might be quicker if I just called somebody to come down and pay my bail for me. Okay, but I needed my phone – currently being held by the jail – in order to get the necessary phone numbers. It’s not like anybody actually remembers numbers these days – we have cell phones for that… I also needed access to a usable telephone.

I explained this to the guard. He was kind enough to take down a couple names (I gave him Matt and Doug) and would see what he could do. I was then asked if I wanted to be put in a cell with a cellmate or alone. I said I really didn’t care either way … whatever was easiest…

He put me in cell #13 – right next to where I was – alone. The door was closed with the clunk of the locks engaging; I dropped my “possessions” on the lone table and plopped down on the lower bunk bed. I didn’t know what time it was although I was thinking that it shouldn’t be too much longer before we were let out for dinner. It was just before dinner (actually closer to 4:40 than 4:30) when the guard returned to my cell. It was then that I noticed a clock visible from my cell…

He informed me that he had done a “solid” for me and gave me a sheet of paper from his little notebook. It had three phone numbers for Doug, two numbers for Matt (although I really had no idea which numbers were for which phones) and two of my credit card numbers complete with expiration dates and security code numbers. He said that I needed to get my “prisoner identification number” in order to use the phones in the commons area (there were two) but that I would need to learn how to use the phones from somebody else as he would be too busy to help me. He also said that he would get my prisoner identification number to me after he completed serving the dinner trays. The cell doors were then unlocked and the inmates headed out to the commons area for dinner.

I climbed down the stairs as well and sat down on a random seat. I had no plan on eating and one of the other inmates must have picked up on this as he asked if he could have my meal. Fine with me … I hopped in line, grabbed my dinner tray and a small box of milk, headed over to the guy that requested it and gave away my dinner. (Now just in case anybody’s thinking it, NO, this was not me being “forced” to give up my meal – I was not going to eat it and figured I’d help another guy out … you quickly learn compassion for these guys when you’re forced to spend time in their world for a bit…) My only goal at the time was to make a phone call to somebody (Doug or Matt) to get me out of there as my requests to pay my own way out appeared to be falling on deaf ears…

As I handed my dinner tray to the inmate that requested it, I made a general plea to the entire table on whether one of them could help me with making a phone call. All of them seemed almost eager to help and one even said that he would set me up with his code so that I could quickly make a call even before getting my PIN. That was awfully nice of the guy; unfortunately there was a bit of a problem with this.

You see, after he had set the phone with his code, handed me the handset and told me to dial out, the little SNAFU of the plan quickly reared its head. The problem was this: The only phone calls inmates are allowed to make out of the jail are collect calls. This being the case, the party being called is given a standard message that can be broken down as follows:

“Hello. You are receiving a collect call from {inmate’s name in inmate’s own voice} who is currently in the Boulder County Jail. To authorize this call, please press 5. If you do not accept this call, please hang up. To block all future calls from this facility, please press 9.”

I attempted to call Doug on the first of the three numbers I had listed for him. As soon as I heard the message that was being sent to him, I was pretty sure that the call was not going to be answered as I was 100% sure that he did not know anybody by the name being said. I was correct and, after hearing the message repeated a few times, got another message that plainly said the call was not answered.

So I guess I’m going to need to get my own PIN before I’ll be able to get anybody I know to actually answer the phone…

Be sure to come back soon for the rest of this story. I should have plenty of time to write during this Labor Day weekend… For now however, I bid you adieu.

bis später,

Coriolis