i was arrested in new york city.
i was arrested in new york city.
foreword: new york city is fantastic, but the thought - rather, the knowledge that I now have of its legal system is absolutely terrifying. I was legally kidnapped, by a state sponsored organization for tossing a few snowballs. i’ve now told this story many many times, and each time a bit more travels back to my memory. it’s astonishing really, something i’ve trusted so whole heartedly for my entire life had turned its back on me, due to one trigger happy officer. please read this and take it with many grains of salt. this is one man’s first hand interpretation. below you will find copious amounts of generalizations, assumptions, over/under exaggerations & many typos.
a few weeks ago, i was arrested in new york city.
i was detained within the new york city police department’s legal system for nearly 24 hours. i was not given a phone call, i was not read my rights and i was fucking terrified.
it was late, it was a weekend, and there was snow on the ground. naturally, a good friend & myself figured it wise to enjoy the evening’s final beer on my apartment building’s roof. rather obviously, a light hearted snowball battle ensued and soon we were carelessly throwing snowballs, at each other, at things on the roof, on groups of laughing knuckleheads on the street returning from a night out. due to that fact that i strongly believe in an “accuracy by volume” approach to most things requiring aim, I cannot truthfully claim i knew the final destination of each descending snowball. the snow flinging concludes as we reach to head inside.
we are greeted by a pair of furious police officers, weapons drawn, flashlights in hand and before we know it, are facedown on the snow. as they promptly informed us, a snowball must have landed on their parked vehicle. and oh boy, they certainly were not please. in fact, i believe i can recall one officer exclaiming:
"you like throwing snowballs at fucking police officers? i just came back from Afghanistan, how do i know you’re not throwing grenade filled snowballs at me, huh?"
now, i’m not normally one to verbally freeze in a situation like this, but given the sheer absurdity of this and the fact my lips had been sneaking to first base w/ floor ice for 10 minutes, i was absolutely speechless. how could anyone give someone like this a gun? unfortunately just as the silence grew seemingly comfortable, some of the street knuckleheads we had been engaged in arctic warfare with earlier decided to attack from an opposing roof.
however, we were no longer in control. these gents were unknowingly throwing snowballs & expletives at the flashlight wielding officers who attempt to inform them of their titles. more snowballs joined us on our roof, along with verbal disbelief from our once arctic enemies. they never stood a chance & they too were soon accompanied with an equally enraged pair of white and blues.
it didnt take long for them to neglect our story, refuse our claims & fit us with new bracelets (the awesome steel kind, that connect in the middle via chain). before we knew it, we were shown our tax-funded temporary hotel room. it was very ‘industrialisticly minimal’ and i really couldn’t resist complimenting our arresting officer on his interior design capabilities. We met our two snow nemeses and actually hit is off famously, bonding over the snowy chaos our battle had laid. ((For the sake of this tale, i’ll be referring to myself as D, my great friend and original snowball fighter, Z and our two new friends as S & C.)) Each Officer in the NYPD’s Precinct 9 came by to graciously offer his opinion: “Its hilarious you guys are in here.” or “You guys look like a boyband, i cant believe you’re locked up.” or “HAHAHAHHAAHAHA.” or “Really? Snowballs?” we concluded that they all thought it was as ridiculous as us. We jointly assumed we’d be held until morning and released in time for one of the wildest recap brunches of all time. After all, these gentlemen had never read us our rights (although we asked), refused us a phonecall (although we asked) and continuously neglected to tell us what we were being charged for. (although, again, we asked.) Surely, this was a scare tactic.
After our seven hour stay at precinct 9 our hosts informed us we’d be relocating. though i assumed they’d be upgrading us to a suite, sadly we were told of our soon departure. as we collected ourselves and bid farewell to our 6 foot wooden bench and urine stained cage of enclosure we once again found ourselves with new shiny bracelets. although this time, we were all linked together. as we exited the precinct we were gleefully met by many of the officers who so kindly paid their respects hours before by commenting on the sheer absurdity of this situation. en route to our luxurious NYPD chariot, we were met by the exact “deadly weapons” we had utilized the night before. many of them. wet & heavy. directed right at us, from new york city’s finest. all of them laughing as they threw snowball after snowball at the aptly dubbed “abdominal snowmen”
our two court appointed chauffeurs, who eventually informed us of our destination were actually quite nice and sympathized with us. claiming our arresting officer was more than likely looking for some overtime and that he was a bit of a “lunatic” - all of which, as i’m sure you can understand, was very reassuring to hear.
arriving at new york city’s central booking was a bit jarring, all humor aside this place was terrifying. we exited our police van and the light heartedness of this situation stayed behind. this was real. this was jail. outside we stood for a few minutes in the cold rain. distraught, uncomfortable and jointly exhausted. but this was only the beginning.
the snowmen find themselves winding through a series of tunnels, stairs and chipping concrete. basement. three levels below ground. from this moment on all state funded persons we encounter sport a level of carelessly lackluster complacency that leaves any non-guest scratching their head. not an ounce of effort that isnt required, not a single word repeated or even cared if heard. this was their territory and our situation didnt matter. sick? no. drugs? no. allergies? corn tortillas.
to my credit, this small conversational kink did cause this visual medical examiner to look up. only long enough to ask me if i was HIV positive. no.
follow suit for my three confidants. mugshots proceeded. a photographic level of badass i hopefully will never again attain. but hey, my memoirs going to need a cover page right?
we’re shortly physically introduced to 35 new friends. an eclectic group of pals very much matching our disheveledness. now, i’ve racked my brain on the phrasing of this next bit, and cant find any combination of nouns, adjectives or verbs that can accuratly describe these gentlemen in a meaningful or truthful summarization. so i’ll list a few I’ve found fitting:
angry. bloody. mean. corrupt. addicts. dealers. gangsters. hitters. talkers. braggers. boasters. assholes. poor guys. illiterate. unfortunate. upset. beaten. smelly. funny. prisoners. confused.
while it’s impossible that everyone of our new mates fits all of these descriptors, as a whole these would certainly dominate our prisoner word cloud.
fortunately, we adapted to the lay of the land pretty quickly. as we settled into our spot on the ground. (every thin wooden bench was occupied, even the stall walls above the metal toilet in the corner were taken. though, by a very brave or a very congested man)
it took us a few minutes to strike up a conversation with a few of our more verbally expressive inmates. soon after, it was known. we were in prison for having a snowball fight, bad timing & terrible aim. we adjusted ourselves to maximize comfort on our centrally located concrete beds and attempted to sleep while talk of past prison time, current drug charges and a lingering debate of “when it’s okay to snitch, and when you need to kill a motha fucka’ yourself.” floated above our heads.
"DILLON" cut through the cell in a strict, careless and frustrated tone. Abruptly yanking me from my 1/4 slumber. i was met by a woman with ample attitude. demanding details from me and amateurly finger thrusting her palm pilot. detail after detail i provided, detail after detail she misspelt, until she stopped asking and coincidentally, stopped listening. this woman’s ability to simultaneously cease the use of two senses was truly one proving without question this skill was precisely rehearsed. I asked many times, when i possibly receive my phone call, or if she would let my family know of my whereabouts. she mentioned she had included my phone number in the information i provided early, and the phones at central booking have been broken for months. i should have called back when i was originally detained. And boy, was that fun to hear.
what occurred over the next 12 hours is admittedly a blur for me. somewhere between our first stale-bread, cheese and mayo sandwich and a debate as to when it’s okay to beat your girl, i may have browned out. highlights of this may or may not include: two larger inmates taking money from one of the snowmen, in plain slight of guards & other inmates. a homeless man discussing the ethics of shoes vs. income. a geographical location explanation of michigan that baffled most of those who heard and the stagnant smell of 40 men who’ve been living on a strict diet of spoiled warm milk, cheesey mayonnaise sandwiches and distain.
every few hours, a group of 8-10 inmates are pulled from the cel. the order is seemingly random and mind-bogglingly infuriating.
as the correctional officers call names, an eery sense of stillness immediately blankets these restless men. we predict it’s around 10pm, but who knows. we’ve been without windows & time for two meal periods. C is called. he lines up, and we watch him depart.
fortunately, shortly there after we remaining three follow suit. bidding farewell to our group of friends. i even exchanged instagram names with one of them because, fuckin prison, you know?
we’re lead back up stairs and into a holding cell we assume is outside of a courtroom. two neighboring cells with well worn confessional like booths in the rear for meetings with lawyers & public defenders. as we three (D,Z & S) reside in one holding room, our loyal companion, C is heard over the wall. I should mention this gentleman is a student and had very definate plans to catch a plane back to his university this same night. now, very clearly past departure.
despite being in three different locations over the course of these past 18 hours, we’ve still not been told our charges, given access to any type of phone or read our rights. the snowmen are melting, and we’re having a hard time keeping our buttons on.
In the other room we hear C get called to speak with his defender. somehow, miraculously he is a real law man. C had somehow verbally ushered our palm pilot friend to forward his info on to someone. leading his family to receive a call regarding his situation. while i’m sure they were not thrilled with the news, priorities took place and action was taken. this lawyer, well known in the courtroom also acted as S’s defender.
After another hour or so, we watch as C & S head for the court room. there is no return. by this point we’ve concluded our charges are most likely misdemeanors, largely due to the criminal expertise of our 35 new friends.
As Z and I wait for our public defenders to appear behind us, calling our names and shedding some light on an otherwise pitch black situation i feel myself shift. i’m nearly at the end of my fuse. not a fuse by which one would explode, for i’m certain at this point i would be a disappointing firework. my mood shifts, i’m sort of cracking and its noticeable. I finally have access to a clock and note its now around 11pm. We’ve heard the courtroom is adjourned at 1am tonight. I fear spending another night on concrete & wood. floors smelling of urine and walls of sweat. “Z” cuts through the air in a direct voice from our rear. Despite its directness, its a comforting and familiar sound. it means progress, it means movement, it means tempurpedic mattresses.
After a 20 minute discussion with his defender, Z is provided with little insight. not much detail is provided beyond “okay, we will see what can be done”. Though less helpful than anticipated, this signifies hope, as he will surely leave before 1am. by assumption and basic pattern identification, I should be up pretty soon. i was the first snowman logged into the system, and my both of my initials reside towards the top of alphabet (a fact i’ve held dear since elementary school).
Z is called into the court room, its 11:55pm.
Time goes by, as i anxiously pace and worry. I mean, i have to be called soon. I have to be next. I’m relocated to a room full of some of my old friends in my same situation. waiting to speak with a defender, waiting to be seen. waiting.
its 12:20am.
this isnt good, but there’s still time. i heard someone say this court occasionally runs late. based on the credibility of prisoners, this is great. one inmate returns from court screaming about the asshole judge playing on his cel phone during the cases and his multiple breaks between cases. though, again – similar credibility. This man was convinced it was “his car he drove away with.”
its 12:45am.
fuck. how could the new york city court system be so darn jumbled up that there is no process. correctional officers ignore my pleas for them to check the order of things. “thats not my job.” that my three friends have already been through. “you’re up when you’re up, if you’re not up tonight you’ll probably be up sometime tmrw.” i have to be up. thats the way things work.
apparently, things dont work here.
I settle into a corner of the holding cell of as mr. shoes vs income tells me it’ll be okay, and provides me with some tips on how to use your shoes as a pillow.
its 12:57am,
an officer calls my name and the front of the cel swings open. between my eye’s adjustment to the light, and the knee-jerk movement of my lifeless, defeated body this opening is the best thing i’ve ever experienced. better than sex, better than that perfect level of drunk & better than a great coat.
it’s 12:58am
i enter the court room and smell stained wood, stale paper and exhaustion. i turn to the judge only briefly to see his massive shape and matching downward sloping frown. i’m quickly escorted to an in-court confessional where i’m presented with the charges, what I was being arrested for and how I wanted to plead.
nearly shaking i simply agree, at this point i dont care. this, just like every other ‘terms & conditions’ agreement i couldn’t read if i wanted to. so i click the box, give the okay and wait to be seen. Z is sitting solo in the back of the courtroom.
it’s 1:07am
the judge is pissed & i’m up. the prosecutor lays it on me, my public defender agrees. the judge grunts, shifts, looks at me blankly and asks: “is this the last one tonight?” confusion breaks briefly as he hasnt given the confirmation of my charges. he begins to say “fine, okay” as he stands up and starts pulling off his robes.
it’s 1:23am
Z & I depart the courthouse into dark frozen rain, it doesn’t matter, this is paradise. he lets me know how I was miraculously rescued from my boot pillow. After his hearing, he simply camped in the rear of the court room for two hours. a curious senior court assisting officer thought it was odd and questioned him. Z told him he was waiting on me. With a brief and direct shuffling of papers i had bypassed seeing my public defender and was next.
it’s 1:33
Z & I are in a taxi, on our way back to the police station to gather our belongings. fatigue simply doesn’t cut it. But, I’m out, and its okay.
in the end, i earned 5 charges and 2 days of community service. i just hope its not shoveling snow.
