Son of a Nun

Son of a Nun!! Arrested! (Part 2) April 3, 2009

Check-in at Hennepin County Adult Detention Center

2:45am – 4:00am

A couple officers perform a second more thorough body search and stripped me of my excess clothing. They take off my socks to leave my feet barefoot touching the cold cement floor. I plead for my socks back so I can wear them in the cell instead of being barefoot with my Pachyonychia Congenita exposed. They give me back my socks. They put me into a temporary holding cell with two doors, one to my right and one to my left. They hand me a container with the clothing items they had just removed. My jacket, suit coat, and shoes were in this container. Another female officer hands me an orange prison shirt and a thicker orange cover shirt similar to a tank top. She tells me to take off my remaining clothing items and place them in the container. I put the prison shirt on as she takes the bloody button up Express shirt I had been wearing to process it through itemization.

After sitting in the cell for about 8 minutes I am ordered to an itemization counter where I hand a joyous lady behind a counter process my remaining clothing and pocket items into the registry. She takes a moment and soon later hands me a sheet of paper with all of the items she had received from me, including my Express shirt which was documented as being “bloody”. After I grab the document from her, she slides me a pen, a sheet of paper, and my cell phone. She tells me I can write down three numbers from my phone on the piece of paper. As I begin to scroll through my phone to decide who to call, she interrupts me to ask if my last name was really T*$#@!%. I respond with a polite yes. She finishes by explaining that someone with the same last name works in the itemization department. She asked if we were related. Thinking quickly I wanted to say yes, we are related! But, knowing it wasn’t true and that he was probably working at that moment, I suggested “We probably are lost cousins”. She goes on to explain how unique that last name is and that we probably were related. I felt like asking her “well how can he help me?…He works in itemization!”. Managing to keep that comment to myself, I finish writing down my three numbers.

I proceed to a small enclave in the adjacent room where they proceed to take my prison photo. Keeping a grim face is how I envisioned most prison photo’s, so I kept with that thought and prevented from smiling. I then proceed to a temporary holding cell where another inmate was awaiting the next step in the imprisonment process. I sit for about 10 minutes before my name is called on the loud speaker to exit the temporary holding cell and walk to room 9. I walk into the small room and shut the door as it locks behind me. A lady behind a thick Plexiglas screen begins asking me questions about my identity, my birthdate, my name, my address, etc. Than she asks me “who would you like us contact in the case of an emergency”. I tell her to give me a minute. This simple question seemed so difficult for me to answer. In the absence of my Mother, the first person I thought to put down as my emergency contact was Mom. I explain that my Mom just past away and that under the current circumstances I was prone to recall this recent painful event. I was on the verge of tears. As I kept quiet longer the emotional pain of what just happened to me from the police misconduct and my Mom’s passing began to take its toll. Tears begin to drip down my face, reactivating the burning sensation from the pepper spray. This time the pepper spray burns relentlessly. She ignores the question all together and continues her questioning.

Finally I see the purpose of the long questioning process, when she says “Your bail will be $50…is that something you can afford?”. I had not felt that this process of questioning could possibly have another purpose besides seeing how much I can throw into the bank for Uncle Sam. However, I was relieved this was a low amount I could afford in my current state of unemployment. I tell her I have the money and ask her if I can pay with a credit card or with checks. To my luck she say’s “cash only!”. I was outraged, but kept quiet, thinking that if I can get a hold of somebody to bail me out I should be fine. We finish up and she tells me to proceed to temporary cell number 12.

I arrive in room 12 as a white male (the man in the van earlier) was being escorted out by two officers because of a complaint of two other African American inmates in the cell. I remain quiet while the two others are processed through finger printing. I wait about seven minutes in room number 12 with no one but myself and my thoughts of the events that brought me to the room. During these seven minutes a young asian man was being escorted by two officers into the room. As the asain man took a look at me he commented to the officers “I don’t want to go in a room with no fucking faggots!”. Tired and drained of energy I found the greatest humor in his comment. I laugh to myself while the officers drag the asain man to another room as he hollers in the distance, “bring me to a room without a faggot!”. I remain silent an untouched by the comments while I laugh hysterically to myself.

When the seven minutes had ended I proceeded with a police officer to the open room outside of room 12. Two officers begin processing my finger prints. The officer sitting down at a desk about 10 feet away says to the other officer, “Let’s see if I am right and win the bet”. Assuming the bet was related to me I ask the officer politely what the bet was about. The officer begins to reply but restrains himself from saying anything. As the officer standing next to me begins to take my finger prints he asks me if my condition is contagious. Stunned, I remove my head and eyes from a fixed position to look at him directly into the eyes for a brief second. Restraining myself from confusing his stupidity for insult, I reply, “no”. I look away from the officer back to a fix position.

The officer proceeds to take my finger prints and says “I think you are going to be right on this one”. The officer grabs my fingers and pushes them down hard. During this time the officer taking my finger prints says “this guys hands are thick…I can’t get a good print”. Patiently and calmly, I explain Pachyonychia Congenita and that I have had troubles with electronic finger scans previously when receiving my California State license.

After the officer finishes finger printing me he brings me over to an ink based finger print device and requests that I place both hands on the ink, placing all fingers together on the piece of paper. On the first sheet of paper I begin by placing only one hand on the paper. The officer scolded me saying “you know for being college educated you really are not that bright…put both hands on the ink!” I don’t say a word. I didn’t need to add verbal assult to my record. So, I placed my other hand on the ink pad. He has me do this three times on three different sheets of paper. He than tells me to wash up.

While I am washing my hands from the ink, a lady behind a Plexiglas window tells the officers that she can’t get finger print from the electronic scans. The officers laugh with agitated humor as they explain to the lady that they cannot get a better scan. The officer sitting over by the desk next to the Plexiglass mentioned that I had “Pachyonychia Congenital”. Over hearing his error in explanation, I said “oh…it’s Congenita…Pachyonychia Congenita”. Both officers now request that I walk over to the lady behind the Plexiglas to show her my hands to try to show her that they would not be able to get finger print scans from me. I show her my hands as the police officer who took my prints grabs my right hand and places it on the plexi glass to show her. The officer says “We will just have to scan him over and over and over, we will never be able to get finger prints from him because of his condition”.

After the fingerprints I am told that I am now able to go make my three phone calls. I go and make a call from a phone in the same room where the finger printing took place. The list I had retrieved from my phone at the itemization counter proved to be a valuable list of trustworthy individuals that I know would show concern…if I could get a hold of them. At three A.M in the morning I was concerned with the availability of these trustworthy people.

The first person I called was personal friend and public defender for the attorney’s office. He answered in a groggy voice, like he had been asleep and I woke him up. Immediately he expresses his concern because of the 1-800 Collect operator transferring the call that mentioned “…is calling from Hennepin County Adult Detention Center. Would you like to take charges for this call?” I explained my situation. In his wise advice he told me immediately not to say anything about the incident over the phone. He explains that the recording of the phone call can be used against me in the court of law. So giving him a brief explanation of the charges I follow up by asking him if he can bail me out. His words hit my face with a circumstantial disbelief, “well, I am in Illinois, hunting”. He follows by calming my senses with the best case scenario before he hangs up with me.

The next two calls were proceed by answer machines. The phone system in the cell did not allow for multiple calls to an answering machine at the same number, only one was aloud. So, if the person you were trying to call was not available the first time, you could not call them again without getting an operator that rejected your call.

What was I to do? My bail was $50 and the only person of the three numbers I had was in Illinois! I put my trust in him that he would call mutual friends to help get me out.

My time was up! After making several calls to the people I could not get a hold of I was summoned by an officer to walk with him into the next room.