Drug Court

So there I was, privately walling in my own personal pool of pity, misery, and woe, when I heard a voice as if from heaven. Alas, it was only the clerk over the P.A. system telling me to contact the pod. I staggered from my bunk across the day room to use the intercom next to the door to "contact the pod" as ordered, which upon doing I am informed that I have court. "No I don't" I replied to which the clerk assured me that I was on the list and needed to get ready to go. This actually happened last week, not that it really matters . . .

Now flashback to some point earlier this year. Let's pick February since I cannot remember the exact date. Now picture the above scenario being played out again, except this is the first time it happened, and I was young and inexperienced. Thus I was beguiled by the clerk and was led away to court. The process of going to court involves getting shacked up and then waiting for an interminable amount of time in a holding cell with a bunch of deaf kids. I assume they were hard of hearing based on the excessive volume of their conversations. It's mandatory that you be kept in this holding cell until a headache develops beofre you're alloed into the courtroom. I think this is a strategy of the system to ensure you can't think clearly and see through the system's shenanigans before it's too late.

It was finally my turn. The guard came to get me from the holding cell and points to his list and asks me to confirm that he's got the right person. I look at eh list and sure enough, there's my name clear as day. But wait! Fortunately by divine intervention - for it could be nothing less - I spotted the discrepancy. The name listed was "Brian L. Christensen." My middle initial is "C." I was only too happy to point this out to him. I neglected to mention that this is happening in the courtroom, before the jedge, where I had been led from the holding cell but prior to the list confirmation snafu. So the guard calls out to the many people in the auience asking if there's anyone there by that name. As it happened there was. The other me was in the audience. I was returned to the holding cell to await my eventual return to my unit, which came, eventually.

Having spent nearly an entire day sitting in a holding cell while chackled up is not something I wanted to reapet again, with or without reason. Being shackled involves cuffs on your ankles connected by a chain just long enough to allow you to sheffle around from here to there, but just short enough to prevent you from crossing your legs while sitting down. It also involves your wrists being cuffed to your waist. Needless to say - although I'm going to say it anyway - using the toilet while shackled is right out.

Returning to the present, I once again successfully convinced the powers that be that they were trying to haul the wrong one off to drug court. "Once again?" the more astute readers may wonder. Yes once again indeed. All together this made the fifth time this has happened. Luckily I wised up after the first unfortunate incident and never had to return to drug court by mistake again once I started insisting they confirm which me they were actually seeking. Five times. It's ridiculous. And these are the people running our law enforcement. It can only be a sign that the Second Coming is nearer than ever.