So I’m in the police car, handcuffs on, tight by the way – not comfortable at all-I guess that’s the point anyway, but I’m sitting sideways in the back seat. My big body doesn’t really fit well in the seat, with the divider between the front where the cop is sitting and the back seat. Actually very much like a New York cab I think to myself-I try to keep my sense of humor intact. I make a poor attempt to talk with the policeman, and explain that I shouldn’t really be here. “Listen, I saw these guys beating up on a defenseless man and talked with them. All of the sudden they attacked me, and I only defended myself” I try to explain, but the cop has heard it all before. He is not the same policeman that came on the Segway and doesn’t know what went on, except maybe what the Segway-cop had told him briefly after placing me in one car and the others in another. “Explain that to the judge” he says, as he is driving on.”Judge” I think to myself, but keep quiet. Not sure what he means. I am pretty naive, and believe that we are going a station where I can explain the situation to some station officer and I’ll be on my way back to the car and to the hotel. “I have meetings in the morning and need to get some sleep”, I tell myself.
Not so much. Apparently when anything happens in Columbia South Carolina, you are taken to a place called Alvin S. Glenn Detention Ctr, and it is not located in town. We are driving for about 30 minutes before arriving in a huge place, located in the middle of nowhere, and my night-that started nice and bright – with a huge interruption of course-just got worse. I’m showed out of the car, in to an area which is full of petty criminals, young men most of them, young African American men I might add, at least 95 percent of the guys that are there in the ID center where we come in are black. All the folks there are of course also claiming to be innocent; much like me-so whatever I say is just looked upon with a frown. Name address, Mug shot and finger prints are taken. I don’t want to be here, but there no way around the process. I am just a number and just got to follow the crowd. In to a small waiting cell, before one at the time we are taken to an area where you get your “kit” The kit consists of a jump suit, shower sandals, a small tooth brush, a blanket (I guess I am sleeping here I tell myself) , a bar of soap, and a towel. My clothes, including my new suit,(not the jump suit-but the Boss suit) and socks for some reason, but they leave me with my shoes, I am definitely the only one with nice dress shoes, I am actually the only one with dress suit AND dress shoes-period, most of the guys there are like I mentioned, African Americans, with sneakers, and all of them look at me like I have landed from Mars. As one of the fellows ask what I am there for, I try to look mean, try not to look like I give a lick about what is happening, and explain that I was in a fight. Ho just laughs and we are lined up, to go to the area where the cells are. Now, it’s pretty dark and I am placed in a small cell on the second floor. The area reminds me of an old prison movie with the cells around in a square, with the common area in the middle. It is two stories and I am placed in the corner cell on the second floor. I am walked in by a guard, and without much explanation, I’m am alone, with the blanket, wool I might add, and lay down on the “bed” along the wall. It’s quickly Lights out and goodbye to everyone but my thoughts and wonder with questions of what the heck just happened here. There are of course no bars like in the old movies; it’s a metal door, with a toilet in the corner. Nothing but the brink, plastic “pillow” and the blanket I was given, and when in the morning the sun shines through the Plexiglas looking “window” I wake up after maybe an hour of sleep or so. I say “window” because you can’t really see through it. More for light I guess. I wonder what the heck is going to happen, because I don’t have a watch and the cell phone was taken with everything else. I read a note with jail and prison rules and regulation and take note about something it says regarding inmates that has to stay more than 30 days, and I start to worry. 30 Days?? I say to myself; what the heck is happening? I start getting worried, but I know I am innocent and haven’t really done anything. At least in my mind, but they don’t seem to listen much to what I have to say. At around 7, some guard is talking to me through a speaker, and say that I need to get ready to have breakfast. Get dressed – he tells me. I don’t need to get dressed, as the last thing I was going to do in this place was to get un dressed, that and bend over in the shower of course. Well, that was unnecessary to say because I am not showering here either–Even if I have to stay for the 30 days that apparently some guys have to do, I am not showering. The door goes up with a beep, the guard tells me-through the speaker still—that I need to go out of the door and down the stairs. I didn’t realize that he had opened the door, but I am good at following instructions, not in everyday situations, but now in the place I am definitely following them. A Cool Hand Luke I am not…No No.
I still think that I can get out of here quickly, after breakfast maybe, and catch up with my business partner and catch a few meetings. That is how naive I am here, and my biggest worry is really the fact that I will miss the 8 o’clock meeting I have within the State of SC. The same state that now have put me in jail for the night- I humorously think to myself. “I wonder if I get a call” I also ask myself, as I come down to the common area in the middle of all the cells. I had noticed a couple of black phones on the wall, just like they have in phone booths I notice, but they are both occupied by a couple of big “Bubba’s” I leave “Bubba” and “Bubba” with their phones, not so important I tell myself. There are bunch of suspected criminals there, including me I guess, and we are all waiting for a time to be in front of a judge I approach the officer, or guard situated in a high stall in the middle. There is a line around the box/stall, which I of course don’t see, and she immediately yells at me that “Inmate-step away from the booth” as she reaches for the tazer she has on her hip. I immediately back off, apologize and try to ask what is to happen to me. “You will be told what will happen later” she coldly tells me. I thank her, again, -no Cold hand Luke action for me, and sit down. I already know I am not eating any of the “food” they are servicing, so I sit down and think about the situation while looking, without looking and taking in the other guys that are there. Mostly young, African American boys really, maybe 18-25 years old, all speaking in a very very southern dialect, and most of them look at me and surely wonder what in the world I am doing there…. So am I of course, but for some reason I find the situation pretty interesting…………………………
