COLLEGE GRADUATION NIGHT

Recently I was talking with some old friends and I asked them what they did on grad night. Almost none of them could seem to remember exactly how they spent it. "Dinner with my parents", "A keg somewhere, maybe?", "An 8 ball of cocaine & a nitrous tank?"

I remember mine. That's for certain.

Immediately after commencement, my parents had a flight to catch out of the long since closed Stapleton Airport in Denver, which was about an hour from The University of Colorado at Boulder's campus.

Still in cap & gown, we piled into my 1984 Camaro Z-28. Red with Silver side skirts & I dropped them off. It was a growling, vulgar, fast & garish American muscle car of not particularly historical significance, but it was mine, & at the time I thought it was cool.

In a hurry to get back to the parties around campus, I burned up those Goodyear Eagle GT's & hightailed it back across the then mostly desolate front range of the Colorado Rockies between Denver & Boulder.

Nearly halfway back, I see Mars lights in my rearview mirror. Fuck! Colorado State Police. They were everything you'd expect. ridiculous miniature cowboy hats, bolo ties and mustaches. Pagan, dogfucking, lifer assholes. Speaking of assholes, I was an out of state, spoiled college asshole with a new car, Illinois tags, long hair and a Grateful Dead "Steal Your Face" sticker between the rear glass & brake lamp. T-Tops off, wearing a graduation gown & clocked at 94 MPH. In hindsight, I'm not sure who was less likable at a glance, but at the time I was sure it was them.

Trooper: License & registration.
Me: Yes sir officer.
Trooper: Do you know why we pulled you over today?
Me: Yes sir. Because I was speeding.
20 minutes of silence went by with them in their cruiser.

Since my 16th birthday, I had accumulated literally dozens of speeding, reckless driving & even one "Fleeing & Eluding the police in a high speed chase" tickets (but I'll save that story for another time). If history had taught me anything, it was that everyone lies to cops & they really hate it. My olive branch was to eat shit, take the ticket & get on my way.

In the pre Greylord Trials erahttp://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Operation_Greylord
in Chicago, breaking almost any law was a simple inconvenience that involved paying off either the cop on the scene with a $50 or $100 paperclipped to your drivers license or dropping off an envelope full of cash bearing the name of a particular dead person at a particular room number at the La Salle street courthouse, which would then be divided among the prosecuters, judges & God knows who else.

It was a great system, but I knew better than to try this maneuver on a couple of bible thumping shitkickers in Colorado.

The troopers had reappeared on either side of my car.

Trooper: Mr. Nathan, we're going need you to step out of the car with your hands on your head.
Me: Wait. What?
Trooper: You've got a warrant out for your arrest & we're placing you into custody
Me: That's impossible. For what?
Trooper: Step out of the car now or I'll add resisting arrest.
Me: Ok! Ok! Can you please tell me what the warrant is for?

They handcuff & refuse to answer me for 30-40 minutes. I'm standing, boiling in the sun, handcuffed on graduation day wearing a black satin gown. I'm fucking livid.

Me: Hey! Are you going to tell me why I'm being arrested?
Trooper: You have an FTA Warrant.
Me: What the hell is an FTA?
Trooper: A Failure to Appear in Court
Me: No. I don't. For what?

He walks away. Another 20 minutes drags by...

Trooper: (Cites a statute by number).

Me: You'll forgive me, but I don't have your code book memorized. You wanna tell me what it is?

Trooper: A bicycle ticket for a crosswalk against a don't walk sign
By now, my patience had admittedly worn thin.

Me: You have GOT to be SHITTING ME. You're handcuffing me & possibly arresting me. On my graduation day for a BICYCLE TICKET? Can't I just pay the ticket here & now?

Trooper: We're definitely arresting you. Are you attempting to offer us money?

Me: What? Oh my God. No!

Trooper: Since you're graduating, we must assume you'll leave the state without paying this.

Me: I promise I will pay it. (More silence) Fine. Where's the closest police station? Let's just get this over with.

They tow my car away and take me out to a crossroads between wheat fields in the middle of nowhere. They won't answer any of my questions, my fuse is lit and my respect for these dickless idiots is over.

Me: Why the hell are we just sitting here? It's my graduation night! Do you think this is the best use of the states resources? (More asshole dialogue from me & more asshole behavior from them)

Finally in the distance a white school bus appears in the distance. Flat white like it was spray or brush painted. Diesel exhaust stains. Steel mesh, like the pattern you see on wrought iron patio furniture, crudely welded over the windows. Stenciled in black on the side. "Adams County Department of Corrections".

Me: Would you please explain to me what the hell is going on here?

Trooper: There are no police stations nearby and you're going to Brighton.
Me: Brighton the prison? Is this a fucking joke? You're going to put me in Brighton? For a bicycle ticket? No response from Barney Fife nor his idiot girlfriend.

Trooper 2 opens the car door, puts his hand on my head and takes me out of the squad car.

Me: You aren't seriously going to put me on a bus full of fucking felons wearing a graduation gown. At least let me take it off!

Trooper 1: Unlocks a single handcuff, puts one wrist in front of me & one behind me, recuffs me so not only can I not walk upright, but there's no way I could possibly remove the gown.

The bus full of felons is really just 4 other guys who didn't say anything. We pull up to Brighton which has high fences topped with coils of hurricane razor wire and it's pretty terrifying.

We go through multiple steel doors and checkpoints. Cops check their weapons. The smell is dank. The fluorescent light was green, paint on the walls was thickly layered, yellowed and the linoleum floors were old with foot traffic holes worn through to the concrete. The sounds are foreign & unsettling. Walkie Talkie static & chirps, loud buzzes from security doors opening & closing and cell doors slamming . This place sucked.

Trooper 1: We've got a treat for y'all tonight. College boy here thinks he's better than everyone else.

Me: I do NOT think I'm better than everyone else. I just think I'm better than YOU.

I didn't shut up for the next hour, which didn't help & I knew it wouldn't, but I was already fucked and had no patience in those days.

I'm chained to a concrete bench to a steel eye loop. More time goes by. Fingerprinting, mug shots, idiotic questions about aliases, tattoos, scars and other nonsense, most of which were met by sarcastic & fake answers.(I told you I was an asshole).

They start moving me toward a holding cell containing 2 enormous prison tattooed black guys. Especially terrifying about them was the fact they they were smiling.

Me: (to guard) Hey, I want my own cell. If anything happens to me, do you have any idea what's going to happen to you?

(Yes, I was a giant, mouthy, pussy from the suburbs who wore cricket sweaters & white pants. Let me be clear about that.)

They guide me into the cell.

Me: Hey guys.

Inmate 1: (Laughing) What's up Judge?

Inmate 2: (Hissing with laughter) Ss sss sss sss ss.

Me: Judge? What? Oh yeah. My gown. Real funny. (yelling out to guards) Hey! when do I get my phone call! (no response) HEY!!!

13 more hours go by before I get to make my phone call. My fellow inmates turned out to be pretty cool guys (as far as armed robbers go). This was long before there were any cell phones or pagers. School was already out and most people had shut off their utilities for the school year. I figured the Fraternity House was my best bet. Nope. Disconnected. I didn't want to call my parents, since they were not only back in Chicago, but couldn't help anyway.

Bail stipulations were that someone I knew had to bring physical cash in person and give me a ride home. I couldn't think of anyone else who still had a live phone line.

Me: I need another phone call. Line was disconnected.

Guard: Go ahead. One more.

I decide on a wildcard idea & call the Boulder Limousine Service. I'd used them a lot for airport runs over the years and knew the owner pretty well. I also knew their number by heart which was essential.

Larry: Boulder Limousine.

Me: Larry? It's Scott Nathan

Larry: Scott?

Me: Yeah. Hey, I need a huge favor. Huge.

Larry: Yeah? Wasup?

Me: Do you still have my Amex on file?

Larry: Yes sir.

Me: I need you to do a cash advance on my card. I'll give you my pin # & pick me up from jail in Brighton and get me out of here.

There's a bit of back & forth. Larry's worried about doing something wrong. I assure him it's ok and he was my only shot. He agrees. We hang up.

Guard: I just monitored your call and there aint no WAY we're allowing that!

Me: What are you talking about? You said I needed cash, a ride & someone I know. I've satisfied those three things and you have no choice but to let me out of here!

Guard: You can't call a Limousine compn'y.

Me: The hell I can't. The guy is a friend of mine!

We argue for the next 10 minutes.

A meeting of the halfwits commences between 3 of them & they say nothing to me. I see in the small black & white Motorola CRT security monitor, Larry's old silver Lincoln stretch had arrived, and the high fences were closing behind him. License plate: BLS IV.

They decide to let Larry post the bail.

Guard: Nathan. You made bail. You're free to go.

Me: Yeah, I know. I hope you get in a disfiguring car wreck or develop a slow & painful stomach cancer. Seriously. Fuck all of you.

I walk back through the labyrinth of steel doors out onto the asphalt lot. It's cold & the sun is rising.

(In car)
Larry: Yo Scott. (Hands me a glass) Stoli Rocks?

Me: Fuck yes. Thanks Larry. I owe you one.

And scene.