Some months later I appeared in court to face my accuser, in this case an assistant district attorney. I managed to track him down before the hearing and hastily made my plea for some kind of leniency, to which he replied, “Misdemeanor, restitution. Will that be okay?” I said. “Perfect!”

When finally before the judge, I pled guilty, the ADA made his recommendation. The judge looked over his glasses and said, “No community service or anything?” The ADA shook his head, the judge cocked his head in a questioning way and okayed the judgement. I paid back the money to the EDD, they tacked on a ten percent penalty and disqualified me from unemployment insurance for one year.

The misdemeanor conviction came back to bite me only once, when applying for a job with an affiliate company of a stock broker. After I was hired, a subsequent background check uncovered the incident. The manager heard my story, went to bat for me and everything turned out okay.

So that’s my story, and I’m sticking to it. The sad moral of the tale? Don’t mess with the EDD (unless you like bologna).

Please check out today’s post on my friend Laura’s blog for her touching Memorial Day remembrance of her dad.

A quick trip north for a visit with the family over the holiday weekend. I left Saturday morning about 8:15 AM, and arrived around 11:30 or so (I exceeded the speed limit j-u-s-t a wee bit). Ate some great barbeque, watched some car racing, then went to play some Putt-Putt golf at Funland on Sunday afternoon. I found a pinball machine there, ‘Creature From The Black Lagoon’, a software version of which I’ve been playing for years, but had never seen the real thing. So I spent a couple of dollars on that, finding that I prefer the computer game!

It looked more impressive from behind the wheel – a car fully engulfed in flames on the connector of northbound 405 to eastbound 118.

The guard looked at the folded stack of linens and barked, “Why haven’t you made up your bunk?”

“Because I think I’m getting out of here pretty soon.”

He threw me a smirk and said, “Pick it up and let’s go – you’ve been released.”

I grabbed the linens and followed the guard out into the common area, handing the bedding back to the trustee. Back to the elevator, back to the first floor to the booking desk where I signed papers promising to appear in court in a couple of months. I was handed my property bag and was pointed to a room in which to change to my freeman’s clothes.

I couldn’t get out of that building fast enough. I walked out into the summer afternoon, sunshine on my face, looking at the people tending to their business seemingly without a care in the world. As I walked to my car, I was conscious of how giddy I felt. Even though I had been in custody for only a few hours, I felt both elated and silly at how great I felt about being outside. I’d left a couple of mugshots and a set of fingerprints and eight hours of my life behind, and came away with a determination to never do something that stupid again.

And I’ve not been back since.

Next time: The job isn’t done til the paperwork is finished.

They led me to an elevator which went up two floors; the door slid open to reveal the guard station in a large cell block. There were two tiers of cells in a circle, all looking down on a common area with tables, chairs, a few couches and a TV. There were some racks full of magazines and old newspapers, but there didn’t seem to be any inmates wandering around, nor were there any that I could see in the cells.

A trustee handed me a stack of linens – sheets, a blanket and a pillow – then one of the guards led me to a cell, opened the door, and invited me in. It was a lot smaller than they make them look on TV – two bunks on the right with thin mattresses, a stainless steel toilet and sink combo and a tiny window. When the guard closed and locked the door behind me, the cell suddenly got a lot smaller.

There was evidence that someone else was already occupying the bottom bunk, so I put my linens on the top bunk and stepped over to the window. It may sound corny, but it didn’t take long to feel my loss of liberty. I could look out the window and see the parking lot below and maybe even the area where my car was parked. But I couldn’t go there. Not like I’d get in trouble if I went there, I could – not – leave. It was like a cliché – standing at the window, gazing out at the free world, stepping to the door and looking out that window at an empty room, then back to the other window. I was actually pacing – I should not be here.

About three days later (or was it really a half hour?) the door opened again.

Please comment either way – I’ve got one report that it’s not visible. Thanks!

Instructions regarding my release still had not come down from the courts, and It seems there was a time limit beyond which the jailers would not wait. So now it was time to start the processing that would lead to my official incarceration.

The deputy led me into an empty room and told me to take off all my clothes, and they meant all my clothes. I gulped: this was not what was supposed to happen. I was supposed to be released and back home by now. And here I was, about to be laid bare in front of these…strangers. I didn’t even have a bad-ass tattoo!

Two deputies stood back and watched as I stripped to my altogether, opened my mouth, stuck out my tongue, then turned around and bent over. After beating me for that insulting display of disrespect (just kidding) they then instructed me to spread my…well, I won’t go into every gory detail of their search for contraband; let’s just say that no ‘stone’ was left unturned in the quest (no touching involved). I was given a plastic bag into which to place my clothing and after I turned that in for safekeeping I was then issued freshly-laundered jail underwear, jail socks, jail sandals that were two sizes too small for me, and the proverbial jail jumpsuit, tailored to emphasize my voluptuous curves in anticipation of meeting my new boyfriend on the inside (just kidding).

Next time: I look good in orange.

Somebody (I think it was me) said that I should post more photos. Here is my workstation.