This morning’s post is probably more anecdotal and personal than most of what I write here. I know I tend toward a rigorous focus on ‘the solution’. It is , really, an essential part of my recovery as well as being an entertainment. It is a few minutes spent with close attention to my spiritual geography. You would probably be surprised how many of the people I know only consider me to be almost silly, certainly self-amused and a bit of a, well, maybe a great bit of a goof-ball.
In days of yore, when Shep was a pup and the pigs ate my brother, back at the very birth (perhaps a badly chosen word) of my involuntary bachelorhood, more that a decade ago, I used to quip that not only could I not get a date, but “I couldn’t get arrested in this town.” Obviously that was an exaggeration. I have hardly been without arrest in recent years. (Frankly I’m grateful. Getting my hair washed before a cut and getting searched by the police is about the most intimate contact I’ve had in quite some time. Well, there was the dentist. I can’t believe I said that. I’m going to just leave that there, though. YES! Having a good looking, well educated man cram his hands around in my mouth turned me on. Don’t you dare judge me!) Lucky for me you can’t get arrested for being awesome!
Well yesterday afternoon it came to my attention that I needed to stop by the jail before the week was out and before I had to take the next steps in this judicial process. There had been another, not unexpected, warrant for my arrest issued. The information garnered from the Ada County Sheriff’s web site, indicated that the warrant, which was issued on the 16th of this month, and as the prosecuting attorney had agreed to, only called for the arrest to be processed. I was to go in, be ‘booked’, and be released on my own recognisance.  This is tremendous courtesy on the part of the prosecution and a formality of the process that I am happy to be able to oblige.
I left work, the new and horrible job, early and boarded the bus to the public safety building where I presented myself at the jail. For some reason or other there was an extraordinary line at the information desk, a line so long that the public defender, an attorney assigned exclusively to murder cases, vociferously complained about the inmate population being doubled and the information desk remaining the same. There were several people in front of us, mostly attorneys, process servers and bail bondsmen. But some of the people were ordinary citizens there to buy phone cards for their loved ones, inquiring about sending books in to the jail, getting information about visiting, etc. The first ones in line though, a family of 4, seemed to be especially problematic. There was a language barrier. There were complicated questions. They were strenuously engaged in the task at hand, whatever that was. It took a long time.
When finally I presented myself to the information officer, I handed her my identification and explained to her that I noticed a warrant for my arrest and that I was there to surrender. Taking my ID she said, “Have a seat. Someone will be with you in a while.” I sat down in the austere lobby and soon engaged in a conversation with three other men there doing the same thing. I settled in for a long wait. A long, long wait.
When at long last the did summon me back to the window it was only to say, “We haven’t got any paperwork on you. Come back Monday. Call first.” I thanked them, wrapped up my scarf and put on my hat and walked home. Funny how when I want to I can’t get arrested.
There are other things on my mind, too, of course; some of it even serious. But for today I’ll just laugh and try again Monday.
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