February was on Fire (February 2016)
I don’t think anyone is ever going to be able to forget the night that the cops crashed our party. I haven’t been to a party in Rock Hill since this one.
Our friend ZN was this awesome photographer who was known for capturing all the crazy moments at any given party or event that the artsy crowd of Winthrop was seen at. He invited us to his birthday party where he requested that we all wear “something crazy,” so he could have the best photo-op possible. I dressed like some sort of mime/HIM from The PowerPuff Girls/clown thing in red-striped footie pajamas.
The video that was captured was right before the cops came for a noise complaint from next-door. Unfortunately, there were so many people that weren’t even invited that showed up, that there was quite the ruckus in the front lawn. Everyone’s cars were blocking the driveway, and people were also smoking weed outside.
When one cop showed up, he called probably 9 more to show up because he needed Narcotics on the scene. None of us were allowed to leave the party even if we tried because it was so hard to get out of the driveway with every cop car blocking the whole street now.
Originally I had wanted to leave the party at midnight so that I would be able to go to work at 8 am the next morning, but I could see that wasn’t going to happen anymore since it was then 11:30 PM. The cops had to pat down every one of us and check our bags for drugs. Once we were cleared, we were allowed to leave the party and go home. Good luck trying to escape, though.
I made my way to my car to see that there was a slight, very small window of space for me to back my car out into the street. There was barely any room at all, but I needed to go home for crying out loud.
RN had been drinking, so he wasn’t going to drive. I only had one jello shot and a beer two hours before, so I was fine. RN stepped out of the car, still drinking his beer that he brought while also carrying two mini-bottles of liquor in his jacket pocket. He was guiding me to the exit of the driveway, walking slowly across the lawn until I reached the exit. I had to go reverse over a hill, and pressed the gas just a little too hard. I bumped my driver’s side mirror into the tail-light of a cop car and knew I was fucked. I made it out of the driveway at least, but now I had to be there even longer.
RN came up to my window and told me to stay put. He said he’d go find a cop, apologize for what happened, and we’d be okay. He was still holding the beer. He was now on the sidewalk. He was now being put in handcuffs. Now he was being put into the back of the cop car that I just put a hairline crack into the tail light. A crack that they probably wouldn’t have even noticed if we didn’t say anything and just drove away.
I got out of my car once I saw that my boyfriend was being arrested. I asked why he was being taken away, and the cop told me to get back into my car. He said that I had to calm down and wait for the state trooper to arrive so that I could take a DUI test. This was total, complete bullshit.
RN was being arrested for apparently being “drunk in public” because he was standing on public property while being intoxicated on a sidewalk. They were really just looking for a quick buck to arrest someone on.
I had to wait an hour for the state trooper to rudely insult me about my ridiculous outfit and tell me that I couldn’t take a breathalyzer test. I of course passed the DUI test because I wasn’t drunk. I still received a ticket for $80 for cracking the tail light, but then I had to go get help from GN to bail my boyfriend out of jail.
We waited at the jail while I still looked like a clown in the middle of February, and weren’t allowed to bail him out until 6 AM. Guess who still didn’t get any sleep and had to work in 2 hours.
I called my boss, MK, who condescendingly told me that I could trust him and that he wouldn’t tell anyone why I was calling out of work. He listened to my whole story and how things at the party took a turn for the absolute worst, and said “Don’t worry. I completely understand. You’re fine. Just don’t do it again.”
When I came to work the next day, everyone was asking me why I went to jail. Thanks, MK for being a complete asshole. He took me aside after work that day to tell me “This is your last chance. If you ever call out again, you’re fired. You understand that? You’re dangling by a thread here. Nobody else here understands your situation and they all were talking shit about you and wouldn’t be happy if something like this happened again and you still worked here. I understand. I’m on your side.”
He constantly was patronizing me when nobody else was around, and then would scream at me in front of everyone else to show them that he was the boss. He acted like he was my only friend and reminded me that everyone I worked with hated me for not being as good as them yet. I was 21 and most of them were 30-40. One of them was even 60. OF COURSE I WASN’T.
I went on a downward spiral of chaos from here for the most part, but the party arrest I think was the catalyst for thinking that I was always at the wrong place at the wrong time in 2016.
As I was driving back from paying for my ticket the following month, I passed by a little house on the side of the road in Rock Hill with a sign that stuck out saying “Psychic Palm Readings $20.” I was sold.
I turned abruptly into the driveway, and I knocked on the door. A short, chubby woman with a smoker’s voice answered the door, asking, “What do you want?”
She looked like she had just awoken from a nap or something. I thought it would be obvious what I wanted since there was a sign in the front yard, but apparently not.
“Hi, I’m Kiana. I just was wondering about the psychic reading. Is this the right place?” I asked.
She stepped outside and motioned for me to follow her. We went to the back of the house and entered into a room that looked like it was connected to the kitchen. It was painted an ugly, bright purple and lined with the trimming of cherubs at the ceiling. The first thing you saw when you walked in was a table with a black velvet cloth and a crystal ball. Tarot cards were spread across for decoration rather than being used. It all looked very staged and stereotypical. Extremely phony, but I wanted to be entertained I guess.
She didn’t even introduce herself. She simply plopped into her chair, lit a cigarette, and said, “So my prices are $80 for a life-reading, $60 for a love-reading, and $20 for a palm-reading.”
Ew . . .What was I doing here?
“I’ll take the cheapest option.” I just wanted to get out of here.
She put her cigarette into an ashtray and took my hand, not even asking which was the dominant hand or anything.
“So I see that you are young, and you are lost. Am I right?”-fake psychic
“Yes, that is correct”-me
Wow, she’s really a magician.
“And I see that you are troubled. Is it trouble in the matter of the heart?”-fake psychic
“Well, you see, you feel like you are unlucky, and it is because someone has put a curse on you. I saw the dark cloud looming over your head as soon as you walked in. I know how to get rid of that curse though. I can help you.”-psychic
Oh gosh, I’m starting to believe her now. That must be why all this unlucky shit is happening in my life lately.
“If you want the help that you seek, you must pay me $400 to lift the curse.”-fake psychic.
I got out of my chair and pulled my hand back.
“$400? That’s way beyond my price range. I’m not doing that. Thanks, bye.”-me
“Have you done your taxes?”-fake psychic
“Yes, but I’m not using that money on this.”-me
“Okay, well I guess you’ll be cursed forever then.”-fake psychic
“Fine with me. I don’t know the difference.”-me
I gave her the $20 that she didn’t deserve and left. What a joke.
