I’ve been to jail. I’m not proud of it, nor do I want to talk about it. It wasn’t a Jim Varney-esque adventure full of hilarity and penal-stereotypes, but it wasn’t scary, either. (Shankings are primarily reserved for MSNBC’s “Lock Up,” apparently.)
It was mostly boring and uneventful, but it sure was a shitty way to spend a weekend, for certain. And while I’d love to be able to tell you how to STAY out of jail, I can’t. It happens to the best of us.
One moment, you’re “innocently” trespassing at a private lake with some friends, drinking and cavorting, and the next thing you know, you’re being given tickets for said trespassing offense. Only YOU’RE being held, Brandon, because your psychopath cousin once got pulled over in North Kansas City for speeding/drinking and driving/in a car with expired tags, and he gave them YOUR name instead of his… he said that he was Brandon Leftridge, goddamnit, and no, he didn’t have his license but he knew his social security number, by God (having memorized yours while he was living with you after his own parents gave up on him because he was kicked out of regular-kid-school for cutting another student’s throat with a box-cutter).
Sometimes, this shit just happens. You can’t help it.
So what can you do while you’re there? Well, you can always perform a song for the warden and hope for early release… except, you know, this is jail and not prison, and you’re not Elvis (or Leadbelly) and there really isn’t a warden. Continue reading