This past weekend, while on our way to Jacquelyn’s Café to write a Culinary Confessions article, we accidentally hit a member of “The Bloods” and had to take off at high speed to avoid getting sprayed, because the old lady was packing heat.
As the shots were fired, we sped right through a red light at a four way intersection, nearly missing a police squad car, out of fear for our lives, of course. I guess it was the adrenaline still pumping through our veins that gave Robyn the lead foot, but she didn’t slow down, and a chase ensued. As we were making a hard right, the same old lady on the bike appeared out of nowhere and opened fire. I pushed Robyn’s head down as we heard a loud thud. It can only be my assumption that the old hag got what she deserved.
As we came to the stop sign, we were engulfed by three cop cars and five competent, angry, screaming police officers, and one by-the-books rookie. They placed us under arrest for disorderly conduct, public endangerment, and evading a police officer. As we were placed in the back of the car, the rookie smirked with that sort of grin one has when they’ve pleased their father, but with a smug aftertaste. In such situations, get bail bonds in Martinsville with the help of a skilled and experienced bail bondsman.
We rolled up to the City Jail, had our photos taken, and were processed briskly. We were separated to our respective holding cells and placed under two thousand dollar bond a piece. Robyn had numerous loved ones eager to help her get out, and did so in a matter of a three to four hours. As for me, I have no house phone. As for my father, well, he just laughs when I get into trouble like this, and he thought that it would be better for my character if I stayed up there a few days and thought about what I did wrong, and so on, especially when it involves a two thousand dollar bond. I have trouble getting him to lend me a five.
I was lucky enough to get a hold of a friend who brought me a piece of charcoal and a little notepad for me to keep my nervous mind busy. I had to use charcoal because the officers refused to let me use a decent number two; probably because of my outburst about gouging out the eyes of a fast-talking Filipino who had tried to swindle me out of my snakeskin boots.
After a day and a half in the holding cell and another day and a half in solitary, I was placed in the back. Phew! It’s a weird sensation finding freedom and solace in the back of a jailhouse, a jumpsuit, and house shoes, but hey by that time I had been sitting on concrete for three days still wearing the clothes that had reminisces of an old lady Blood’s blood on it.
By day four, fearing that Culinary Confessions would be doomed and hearing no word from Robyn, I began using my charcoal and notepad to review the food at Shreveport City Jail. Through all of my rigid scrawls I was able to decipher this:
Breakfast: served dry horrible egg mixture, some kind of cardboard flavored biscuit, a bag of milk and some kind of meat product. It was unsavory to say the least.
Lunch: I tried to eat the hotdog, but I couldn’t get it down. Luckily, after being in here for a few days I’ve acquired some Ramen noodles and Cheetos which I combined with a couple other inmates’ tortillas, tuna fish, and pickles. All cooked together on a hot place or in the sun makes what is called a “hookup.” Comparatively, it is delectable.
Dinner: bologna sandwich was ok, but nothing compared to the hookup.
I’m sorry that this all happened and that Robyn and I weren’t able to give you guys an excellent food review, but we can’t really go out that much for awhile because we are trying to pay back the four thousand dollars loaned to us for bail.