On the 16th I posted a meme involving five statements only one of which was true. I asked for guesses as to which one it was. I’ll explain the wrong statements, and tell the story of the true one.
1. I spent part of my college life working at a sea park.
I spent part of my college life as a dancer (not theatrical – I’ll tell that story sometime), theater organist, and a few other occupations. There was no sea park near, so that was not an option.
3. My musical instrument of choice in high school was the accordion, earning me extra money (and pick-ups) at parties.
I suffered through piano lessons for a number of years, and then discovered the Hammond Organ and fell in love with the instrument. I did take classical training on pipe organ, but that didn’t work out all that well. I did earn extra money in high school playing for clubs and such. As this posting attests, I also worked with theater organs …
4. I am terrified of thunder and lightning.
Not at all, as the pictures of storms and lightning in the blog will attest.
5. I was once an extra in a major motion picture.
This was was a slight trick. I was never an extra in a motion picture (although I did try for “Tin Cup” when it was filmed), however – those who can remember the television show “Route 66” I appeared in one episode. In short, I carried a suitcase across the Minneapolis train station in the background (w a y in the background).
2. Thanks to my youngest son, I spent a night in jail.
And here’s the story. It was the 80’s,
we (wife, three kids, dog, cat and canary) had moved to Texas with no idea where we were going to live, what it was going to be like and such. All I had was a job with an airline. Eventually we found ourselves truly living IN Texas. within a couple of years, we bought a house, and settled in. Unfortunately, after a number of years – the marriage came to an end and she moved back. I stayed in the house with the kids (all but one of whom had graduated from high school – and he was to graduate that spring) and was working two jobs…which in itself is an interesting story.
I was driving at the time a yellow Fiat that worked quite well for what was needed as far as being somewhat reliable, paid for and reasonable on gas. However, it still could exceed the speed limit – and I got a ticket. Because of work, I rescheduled my court date, and put the ticket on the top of the refrigerator. Unknown to anyone in the household my youngest got three speeding tickets with his Toyota. He didn’t want anyone to know about them.
I forgot about the ticket, and – as courts do – was sent a couple of reminders of the fact AND at least one reminder that I was doomed if I didn’t get it taken care of. I never saw the letters as the speedster was removing any letter that looked as if it was something from a court.
There’s a wonderful pub-like place here called “The Black Lab” and I had gone out for a late dinner with a couple of friends. The pub’s specialty is shepard’s pie, and thank goodness that was ALL I had indulged in.
Anyone who has ever driven a Fiat (aka: Fix It Again Tony) knows that each car will develop it’s own little “tics” or idiosyncrasies. Mine was no exception. The car had a back tail light that loved to fall into the trunk with no notice whatsoever.
I’m driving home (cue theme music from “Jaws” here) and get pulled over on one of the busiest streets. I have all my papers, and the officer told me my tail light was out. I said that’s not a problem, let me get out of the car and put it back. I was informed that I was to turn my flashers on, and wait in the car. And so, I waited and waited and waited. I had come to the realization that this was not a good wait, and looked in the rear view mirror. There are now three (yes, folks three) cars with flashing lights behind me. I realized then that this was either going to be a festive parade of four, or I was in trouble. Then it hit me – the ticket. By now, my stomach had fallen through the floorboard of the car and my heart was about to break ribs from pounding.
Policeman Number One came to tell me to get out of the car carefully and stand with my hands on the hood. He is supported by a contingent of other officers standing looking exceedingly serious. I’m looking exceedingly panicked. I was informed there was a warrant out for my arrest and that’s what they intended to do. I’m questioned about weapons (I’m wondering if pens count), dangerous drugs and what I’ve consumed that evening. The fact that it was only shepard’s pie and coffee did not go over well with the officers.
As a friend of mine would say: “Moving right along!” The rights were done, the cuffs applied and I’m being poked into the back seat of Policeman Number One’s car. The others, having decided that I was not a major threat to anyone, headed back to their cars and went their separate ways. I’m now headed to jail. Now, my only idea of jail was from movies and some TV shows. I kept trying to get the images of “Cool Hand Luke” out of my mind, but it wasn’t working too well.
We arrive, and I’m photographed and booked and placed in some kind of cell with a lot of other people. Evidently it was a blue light special (the booking clerk’s words to me) as far as the population of the jail is concerned. Finally a place with a phone. Now, all calls from the jail have to be collect and cost at that time about $5 a call. I think they call it a revenue stream for the jail. I finally get a hold of my daughter, who being the bright young thing that she is – decided (after she stopped laughing) that it was payback time. “Dad,” she said all sweetness and light, “Do you remember what you told us if we ever were arrested at night? About having to wait until the morning?”
Resisting the urge to add a far more serious crime to my “rap sheet,” I finally convinced her to come and get me out. Which in a large jail system, with a large jail population is easier said than done. I ended up sleeping in the cafeteria with a lot of people, had a video trial and was fined. No problem, the kids are coming to get me out. No problem except for the jail. I was told that I would be taken to where I could work out a payment plan for my fine and get out. I thought that was a good arrangement as that would make it easier for my Daughter and her Boy Friend to come get me.
In order to “make the payment plan” I needed to get on a bus, which I did. After about fifteen minutes, I now discover that I am on my way to the prison farm. Not to work out a payment plan, but to work off the fine owed. At this point, I’m numb and quite ready to drop off the face of the earth – but there’s no where to drop off of, let alone to.
At this point in the story, Daughter and her Boy Friend have arrived at the jail only to find out that no one is quite sure where I am. Finally, a bail bondsman seemed to have some kind of inside track – or at least knew how the system worked and my new place of residence had been located.
I have now been checked into the farm, changed into the delightful, well-fitting and exceptionally stylish jump-suit (which according to signs could not be unzipped more than three inches at anytime and would only be washed once a week). I’d found which bed was mine and was deciding what invented back-story I could tell when people asked what I was in for.
Finally, the escape had arrived and I was released into the custody of my Daughter and her Boy Friend. The details of which have been sealed by family order.