Police



I've had a few run ins with the police over the years, and I'll take the time now to remember as many of them that I can now before the Ambien kicks in.


The first time I got in serious trouble with the police was when a couple of neighborhood kids and I got busted for breaking in to a house on my street. I don't remember the name of the guy who organized the breakin but he lived in a rental house across the street from me and had a bad attitude and was always doing stupid shit like building a rocket launcher out of a tennis ball tube. The way that thing worked was by putting a drop of lighter fluid in the bottom of the tube and detenating it from a hole in the side of the can. The ball flew pretty far. Anyway, this guy found out that the Cranos, who lived on my block, hid a key to their house somewhere. So me, this guy and two of my next door neighbors broke in to the Crano home and made off with about $15 in coins. The police visited us each the next day and sat down with me, him sitting on our fireplace and me on the couch. He was upset because Mrs. Crano had decided not to press charges and therefore he had no case. We all had to go to Mrs. Crano's house appologise and hear her complain on how hard it was to make ends meet without her husband around. At that age (probably 11 or so) I didn't know what the phrase "ends meet" meant. I thought she was talking about plugging steaks together or something.


The next time I got in trouble with the police was when I was 18, durring the time between spring classes ending and finals beginning at the University of Michigan for my Freshman Year. I went home to study for my finals, but I was also smoking a lot of pot and cigarettes, both of which tend to make me manic. I got no sleep for at least a week, and I began having strange delusions that I was somebody who I wasn't and had powers of slowing down time like a wizard. I walked from my house to downtown East Lansing. I remember going to Pinball Petes and telling people my name was "Jared Rohde" at the pool tables. I got into a bit of trouble at a frat house, and the police came to pick me up in the back lot of an appartment complex. They were asking me some questions and I remember saying "I'll give you 5 bucks to leave me alone" and threw a five dollar bill on the ground in front of me. Fortunately for me the cop didn't arrest me or kick my ass, but instead drove me back home and told my mom that she'd better take me to a mental hospital. Two days later I was diagnosed bipolar.


The next time I was accosted by police was when I was in my Junior year at U of M. I was jamming in an appartment building in East Lansing, making music and recording it on my 4 track recorder system. When we got done at 2 in the morning, we started unpacking the musical gear and taking it down flights of stairs. Someone must have suspected foul play since it wasn't fall or spring so it wasn't the right time of year for people to be moving. A woman police officer came by and asked us to identify ourselves and ask us what we were doing moving stuff around late at night. Instead of complying with her request, I gave her some nasty attitude which hightened her curiosity. She let us go after 20 minutes of questions.


The only time I was actually arrested was in 1992. I was flipping thru a book of 1-800 numbers and calling them to make silly prank calls. For example, I called the Kelloggs information number and asked what year Tony the Tiger was created (1962). When I got to a company that sold blasting powder for mining and demoliton work, I got the idea to pretend to be a terrorist who was intending to use this companies black powder for bombs which he wished to blow up shopping malls with. I was complaining to the demolition supply company that the black powder didn't detonate and I was very dissatisfied. I also gave out my name as Errol Siegel, who was the guitarist in the band I was playing with at the time. For some reason I was angry at Errol that day. I had completely forgotten the prank until about 2 weeks later when I was at a rehersal in Errol's appartment and a membor of Ann Arbor's finest showed up to describe in detail the prank call. I was really scared and my guilt must have been easy to spot, so the officer took us one at a time into another room for an individual interview. When my turn came, I admitted that I had made the phone call. The officer agreed not to arrest me now as long as I promised to meet him downtown at headquarters. I made up a lame excuse to Errol about having to leave and drove over to the police station. I got there and was mirandized and fingerprinted. I wasn't detained, but I was given a time to appear before a judge. I got a haircut and put on a suit for my court appearance (which is apparantly the worst thing to do according to the book You are Going to Prison). What was particularly embarassing is that right about when my case was to be heard a class full of grade school kids walked into the courtroom to watch. "Great" I thought. The Judge asked me why I did it and I told him "I just lost it". This must have really pissed him off because he ordered me to pay a $600 fine, do 216 hours of community service and see a psychologist for 10 visits; which was twice the normal punishment for a similar complaint: "False Bomb Threat, D Mistemenar". I payed the fine, did the psychological visits with the therapist I was seeing anyways and did most of my hours of community service at the Housing Burou for Seniors, helping with their annual fundraiser. Since I did my hours so fast and got good letters from the places where I did my work, the False Bomb Threat was expunged from my record.


In 1996, when I was marketing credit cards to college students in Michigan and Texas, I had several little run-ins with the law. The company that I worked for, College Credit Card Corporation, sometimes told me to "crash" a school. This meant that they didn't have a official place for me to set up a table, and I was supposed to set one up anyways. I dealt with a bunch of University cops durring that job. At the University of Texas, I set up my little table in front of the library and an hour later I was surrounded by police, one of which looked very jumpy with her hand her gun. Another time, when I was driving home to Austin from El Paso in a rented car, I was pulled over for going 80 miles an hour on I 10. Apparantly El Paso is a major drug entry point, and long haired men in their 20s in rental cars fit the profile for drug couriers. I had to pee really badly and a rest stop was only a mile away, which was why I was speeding in the first place. The cops rifled thru my completed credit card applications and free giveaways for at least half an hour and then let me go.


The local police got to know me on a first name basis in the last year I was living in Texas. Once they came by when my transexual roommate overdosed on pills. Then I got 2 visits in 2 days when I told 2 different therapists that I was feeling suicidal. The last time I had a close encounter with a cop, I was on the phone with my sister when she told me that I didn't sound too good and I should call 911. On the ride over to Shoal Creek Hospital ( a shittier mental hospital I couldn't imagine ) I told the mental health deputy that I felt like I was like the guy in the movie Patton who had battle fatigue, because I couldn't calm down over the news about anthrax and terrorism.