I was feeling just a little queasy.
I had a little bit of heartburn from the remains of the previous evening's sumptuous "last supper": broiled ribeye, rosemary roasted potatoes and a dessert of cherry cheesecake all washed down with a bottle of Augey bordeaux.
But the real reason for the slight nausea was apprehension and nervousness.
I was well aware of my fate and prepared as much as I could be, but in a situation such as this, who wouldn't be a little scared?
The gavel had been dropped...
I had just been judged guilty and sentenced to jail.
A month earlier, I had met with a high-priced lawyer in Winter Park to see if I had any viable defense in my DUI case. But with the facts as they were, it didn't look good: video of my failure of the sidewalk sobriety test, competent and trained breathalyser personnel, and a reading of .20, more than double the legal limit of .08, I had no leg to stand on.
So I opted to go with the public defender and planned to have him enter my plea of "no contest" during the pre-trial in February.
I had already found out what I was looking at on an internet search of Florida laws. Since it was my second DUI within 5 years of the first one, the penalties were ramped up through the roof:
* Revocation of driver's license for 5 years
* One year supervised probation
* Fine of no less than $1000
* Impound of vehicle for 30 days
* Mandatory attendance in DUI classes
* Mandatory 6 months drug and alcohol counselling
* Mandatory 10 days in jail
The first penalty was bad, but after some sweaty and nerve-wracked searching of the transportation alternatives I had, I discovered that I could still keep my job...but it would be tough. It meant using the public buses and for my Altamonte site, it meant 2 hours on a bus, each way.
The other penalties, except the last on the list, were all money. Thankfully, I had it. And what I didn't immediately have, I could borrow. Ironically, just a week or so before my conviction, I had just been issued a credit card with a $5,000 credit limit. Whew!
But that last one. That was the kicker.
Jail! The Big House! The Pen! Up The River!
And the scary thing was it was 10 days MINIMUM, but up to 6 months if the judge warranted it. What if the judge had a bug up his butt that day, or, he was a hardcore advocate of Mothers Against Drunk Driving? Or, simply because I was intoxicated at twice the legal limit, he'd give me a stiffer sentence for that? All these uncertainties played in my head. And the butterflies had turned into hornets in my stomach.
I had taken a cab to insure I'd get to my pre-trail on time at the newly-built Orange County Courthouse skyscraper in downtown Orlando. Ric had promised he would be at the courthouse to provide support for me. At first I was against this. I wanted to "walk to the gallows" on my own. But after I thought about it a bit, it seemed like a comforting idea that he would be there for me during this scary morning.
Ric was a little late, but within a few minutes of the proceedings getting underway he entered the courtroom, saw me, and sat by me. Oddly, he shook my hand upon greeting me. He was dressed in a shirt and tie (like me) and it dawned on me that he was as nervous about this as I was. During the first few years of our friendship, I had kinda regarded Ric as not much more than a drinking buddy, really. (And former roommate, of course.) But on this day, I came to regard him as a genuine friend.
We waited a while (like a couple hours) for our docket to be called. The courtroom was jammed with all manner of misdemeanor cases. Since it was a pre-trail, most were like this: defendant's name is called, defendant and lawyer go up to the podium, they're sworn in, judge reads off the charges, lawyer enters "not guilty" and a date is set for trial...then it's the next case...and so on, and so on.
My designated public defender was not there this day. I had already met with him and told him I'd be pleading out, which he agreed would be best. Instead, when my name was called, this other PD came to me and said he'd be handling my case. After swear in and summary of charges, this guy said "not guilty" and was preparing to set a date for trial. HUH! No, I didn't want this to go to trial, I told him. He covered the podium's microphone and asked me if I knew that meant I would be sentenced immediately. Oh yes, I knew.
So we entered a plea of "No Contest", and when asked if I had a statement in my defense, I knew it wasn't going to "get me off" but thought it may inspire the judge to give me the minimums rather than throw the book at me. I told him that I have since completed the DUI classes and Victim's Impact class (True, you can complete these prior to conviction in Florida...it still is out of your pocket but it looks better during trial, as if you have come to terms with your disease and are tackling it), signed up for counseling (Also true, but also something I knew I'd need to do anyway when convicted) and have not had a drink since that night of my arrest (Um, false. Oh well, 2 outta 3...hey, I swore on the Bible to tell the truth...and you know how much I respect that piece of crap:)).
Well, relief! Minimum penalties were what I got. But the minimums were the whole shopping list written out above. Including the jail time. When the judge read "10 days", I nudged my pinhead lawyer and told him to remind the court that I should get 2 days off for "time served". (An overnight jailing counts as 2 days served, and since I was arrested and booked before midnight, I was indeed only released the next day on a form of personal recog.) So the judge amended it to "8 days".
I had planned well for this of course. In Florida, you can't opt to take the jail time in segments, on the weekends or whenever you wanted to. You had to begin your incarceration at the time of conviction and remain in jail until your sentence was completed. (I suppose with longer sentences there may be the opportunity for parole or something, but not with an 8 day sentence. I am not Paris Hilton! LOL) I arranged to have the next week off on vacation time from work. My manager knew where I was really going, but to any other co-worker, it was simply vacation time.
As the judge read the sentence the 2 sheriff's deputies standing guard moved towards me. They knew the drill. As the judge finished, the deputies guided me over to a table with a prepared ink blotter (it's really a greasy paste though, not ink), rolled my fingers and thumbs of both hands into the paste and pressed onto the paper near it, and then allowed me to use the hand washing gel and paper towels to clean my hands. They then politely asked me to turn around and place my hands behind my back. As the cold, hard steel of the handcuffs clicked into place around my wrists, I saw the people in the courtroom staring intently at the spectacle in front of them. What a great show! They get to see someone taken away to the slammer! Ric sat there looking very grave and I had to fight to hold back the urge to both cry and giggle. It was all so surreal.
They took me to a small elevator designed specifically for this purpose and we went down to the basement of the courthouse. There, after removing the cuffs, the officers politely requested I remove my belt, necktie and even my shoelaces. They put these in a large manila envelope along with my other personal effects like my wallet, watch and the pair of sunglasses I had in my pocket. As they placed each item in the envelope, the guy doing the placing would read out what the item was to the other guy who would check it off on his clipboard. It was fascinating watching the well-practiced manner they conducted this all in. I was then placed in a small holding cell, and remained sitting on the cold, aluminum bench for several hours.
The holding cells eventually began filling up as cases were tried and convicted throughout the assumable average day of court throughout the 40-story building.
At the end of the workday (5pm? I dunno, didn't have my watch anymore) we were all lined up arms length from one another. Females must have had another holding area since we were all guys. Then we were chained by the ankle two-by-two.
Like a chain gang in the movies!
By this point my fear had slowly lapsed into acceptance and I was actually beginning to enjoy the uniqueness of this experience. My thought was, as long as it's only 8 days, I should be able to handle anything...so I hoped.
We were then loaded into a paddy wagon...well, not the olde fashioned kind that would roll up to the speakeasys to load up all the Prohibition-era gangsters and illegal liquor-guzzlers in the movies...it was just a specially outfitted van. As we cruised through the streets of Orlando towards the county jail, I gazed out the window at the sun setting on all the people enjoying their freedom.
At "33rd", the nickname for the Orange County Correction Facility on 33rd Street, Orlando, we were rounded up into another holding area and processed. This took more hours of time and involved photographing, more fingerprinting, surrender of clothes, strip search (including "cheek spread" but, thankfully NOT including any "penetration with rubber gloved hands", yikes), showers, issue of jumpsuit and sandals, wristband and nurse's assessment.
The first 3 days were grueling. Those of us newbies to the jail were placed in "orientation". This was the austere cell block intake prisoners were housed in over the course of the first 3 days. During this time there were no activities, books, games, TV, nothing. Just the four walls, the group cells containing the bunks, a common shower and a day room. And it was noisy. Some of the "young buck" inmates were just rowdy by nature and the boredom made them ornery. They kept yelling and yuckin' it up all night long! On day 3, there was a "born-again" preacher that was allowed to come in and tell us all how he found Jesus and that we too could be saved if we accepted Him as our Lord and Savior. Isn't there supposed to be a separation of church and state? Oh, this is part of George W. Bush's "Faith-based Initiative", I thought. Funny how only a Christian proselytiser came to visit, no other "faith". Can you say - BIASED? Eh, at least he handed out little New Testaments so it was something to read to cut the boredom.
At the end of orientation, we were placed into "population". 33rd is made up of many housing units. Some more restrictive than others. Depending on your charges and/or your behavior during orientation, the COs (correction officers) decided where you would be placed. I got a placement I think it was called Horizon. (They all had such "inspirational" names evoking a re-conditioning goal like "Phoenix", "New Beginnings", "Genesis", and shit like that.)
The CO's were decent. Some of them would be purposely "punky" though. During intake, one of the officers validating my personal property as they took it over from the courthouse deputies took inventory of the items inside my wallet, counted out $300 cash and 7 credit cards. He rolled his eyes and made a big deal about it to his buddy. "Yeah, that's right, guy, I guess you don't get too many middle-class folk here", I thought.
Once in population, life got much easier. More space, smaller cells of 2 or 3 inmates each, books, TVs and games in the carpeted day room filled with cushioned chairs and sofas, outdoor area with basketball court...ya, I know. What with 3 square meals, free toiletries, clean bedding and clothing and plenty of people to get to know...you could see why some opt to come back if you're options on the "outside" aren't so great. And, I suspect, quite a few of the guys were just that, otherwise homeless people who committed a crime just to get to stay in jail.
There was this one inmate who was in there because he failed to stop on his bicycle for a cop who wanted to question him. What about? He was operating a bicycle less than one hour after sunset without any headlight. Huh! WTF! (Well, it turns out when they ran his ID in order to issue him a ticket, he had a warrant out for his arrest. But still!)
This other guy was what I would guess a "frequent customer". He had been there many times and he knew all the COs by name and they all knew him. He was really smart too, and only sounded just a little bit crazy. He was elusive as to his charges, but, of course, he was innocent like everyone else in there. I would guess drugs, though. He looked like he was treating his incarceration like it was rehab time.
There was this one guy who, like me, was a rarity in there: educated, employed, professional, financially-stable and white. Ya, like 85% of the population was black. And most were all there for the same offense: VOP, Violation of Probation. You know that's because the system is set up for the poor or under-educated to fail. Probation entails a few very difficult requirements for these guys: verifiable full-time employment and the ability to pay probation costs (around $40/month at that time...a lot if you're poor). And, for all the "baby daddys", they have to keep up child support payments. Add to that any restitution payments due to their crime, lawyer fees, drug counseling fees, court costs and penalties...and they have to have a place to stay and clothes to wear and food to eat, or else they might get sick, miss work, lose their low-paying job, and, well you know...it's a viscous cycle.
Let's dispel a few myths, BTW. At least during the short stay I had, I saw no discernible gangs, no major fights (there was one shouting scuffle between one of the young buck black guys and this grumpy white guy, but it was very quickly broken up by the COs), of course no "shiv stabbings" and, no rapes. (Well, in a tiny way I was kinda looking forward to that...NO! LOL!)
Oh, there was this cell up on the second tier though. The inmates had quasi-de facto "permission" to set up sheets over the glassed wall of their cell in order to block visibility of what was going on inside. This was strictly forbidden for everyone else. These two inmates though, were special. They were pre-op trannies. Oh, and they got a lot of cat-calls and derisive remarks from many of the other guys when they rarely came out of their cell for chow (mealtime) in the chow hall. But, I think I saw a twinkle in some of the guys eyes...and maybe they got a "gentleman visitor" or two...who knows what goes on behind "closed cell doors"?
But come that 8th day, let me tell you, I was ready...oh so ready...to be released. I sprung right up and was all like "Yes Sir!" in getting my mattress, blanket, towel and such all rolled up and ready to go. I happily carried it back to the laundry area, made my way to releasing, got my street clothes, my personal effects and set on outta there. (Odd little factoid...you don't get your cash back. They took it and replaced it with a check...which I later had to cash...I guess that avoids any impropriety with all that inmate cash floating around. But it brings up a more interesting point...what happens to inmates locked up for months and/or years...do they get a check representing not only the amount on booking, but all that interest that accrued as well?Hmm. Interesting.)
Conveniently, by coincidence, I lived only a few blocks from jail so I walked home. It was a cloudy and drizzly day, but that was the most glorious walk I have ever had!
I had a little bit of heartburn from the remains of the previous evening's sumptuous "last supper": broiled ribeye, rosemary roasted potatoes and a dessert of cherry cheesecake all washed down with a bottle of Augey bordeaux.
But the real reason for the slight nausea was apprehension and nervousness.
I was well aware of my fate and prepared as much as I could be, but in a situation such as this, who wouldn't be a little scared?
The gavel had been dropped...
I had just been judged guilty and sentenced to jail.
A month earlier, I had met with a high-priced lawyer in Winter Park to see if I had any viable defense in my DUI case. But with the facts as they were, it didn't look good: video of my failure of the sidewalk sobriety test, competent and trained breathalyser personnel, and a reading of .20, more than double the legal limit of .08, I had no leg to stand on.
So I opted to go with the public defender and planned to have him enter my plea of "no contest" during the pre-trial in February.
I had already found out what I was looking at on an internet search of Florida laws. Since it was my second DUI within 5 years of the first one, the penalties were ramped up through the roof:
* Revocation of driver's license for 5 years
* One year supervised probation
* Fine of no less than $1000
* Impound of vehicle for 30 days
* Mandatory attendance in DUI classes
* Mandatory 6 months drug and alcohol counselling
* Mandatory 10 days in jail
The first penalty was bad, but after some sweaty and nerve-wracked searching of the transportation alternatives I had, I discovered that I could still keep my job...but it would be tough. It meant using the public buses and for my Altamonte site, it meant 2 hours on a bus, each way.
The other penalties, except the last on the list, were all money. Thankfully, I had it. And what I didn't immediately have, I could borrow. Ironically, just a week or so before my conviction, I had just been issued a credit card with a $5,000 credit limit. Whew!
But that last one. That was the kicker.
Jail! The Big House! The Pen! Up The River!
And the scary thing was it was 10 days MINIMUM, but up to 6 months if the judge warranted it. What if the judge had a bug up his butt that day, or, he was a hardcore advocate of Mothers Against Drunk Driving? Or, simply because I was intoxicated at twice the legal limit, he'd give me a stiffer sentence for that? All these uncertainties played in my head. And the butterflies had turned into hornets in my stomach.
I had taken a cab to insure I'd get to my pre-trail on time at the newly-built Orange County Courthouse skyscraper in downtown Orlando. Ric had promised he would be at the courthouse to provide support for me. At first I was against this. I wanted to "walk to the gallows" on my own. But after I thought about it a bit, it seemed like a comforting idea that he would be there for me during this scary morning.
Ric was a little late, but within a few minutes of the proceedings getting underway he entered the courtroom, saw me, and sat by me. Oddly, he shook my hand upon greeting me. He was dressed in a shirt and tie (like me) and it dawned on me that he was as nervous about this as I was. During the first few years of our friendship, I had kinda regarded Ric as not much more than a drinking buddy, really. (And former roommate, of course.) But on this day, I came to regard him as a genuine friend.
We waited a while (like a couple hours) for our docket to be called. The courtroom was jammed with all manner of misdemeanor cases. Since it was a pre-trail, most were like this: defendant's name is called, defendant and lawyer go up to the podium, they're sworn in, judge reads off the charges, lawyer enters "not guilty" and a date is set for trial...then it's the next case...and so on, and so on.
My designated public defender was not there this day. I had already met with him and told him I'd be pleading out, which he agreed would be best. Instead, when my name was called, this other PD came to me and said he'd be handling my case. After swear in and summary of charges, this guy said "not guilty" and was preparing to set a date for trial. HUH! No, I didn't want this to go to trial, I told him. He covered the podium's microphone and asked me if I knew that meant I would be sentenced immediately. Oh yes, I knew.
So we entered a plea of "No Contest", and when asked if I had a statement in my defense, I knew it wasn't going to "get me off" but thought it may inspire the judge to give me the minimums rather than throw the book at me. I told him that I have since completed the DUI classes and Victim's Impact class (True, you can complete these prior to conviction in Florida...it still is out of your pocket but it looks better during trial, as if you have come to terms with your disease and are tackling it), signed up for counseling (Also true, but also something I knew I'd need to do anyway when convicted) and have not had a drink since that night of my arrest (Um, false. Oh well, 2 outta 3...hey, I swore on the Bible to tell the truth...and you know how much I respect that piece of crap:)).
Well, relief! Minimum penalties were what I got. But the minimums were the whole shopping list written out above. Including the jail time. When the judge read "10 days", I nudged my pinhead lawyer and told him to remind the court that I should get 2 days off for "time served". (An overnight jailing counts as 2 days served, and since I was arrested and booked before midnight, I was indeed only released the next day on a form of personal recog.) So the judge amended it to "8 days".
I had planned well for this of course. In Florida, you can't opt to take the jail time in segments, on the weekends or whenever you wanted to. You had to begin your incarceration at the time of conviction and remain in jail until your sentence was completed. (I suppose with longer sentences there may be the opportunity for parole or something, but not with an 8 day sentence. I am not Paris Hilton! LOL) I arranged to have the next week off on vacation time from work. My manager knew where I was really going, but to any other co-worker, it was simply vacation time.
As the judge read the sentence the 2 sheriff's deputies standing guard moved towards me. They knew the drill. As the judge finished, the deputies guided me over to a table with a prepared ink blotter (it's really a greasy paste though, not ink), rolled my fingers and thumbs of both hands into the paste and pressed onto the paper near it, and then allowed me to use the hand washing gel and paper towels to clean my hands. They then politely asked me to turn around and place my hands behind my back. As the cold, hard steel of the handcuffs clicked into place around my wrists, I saw the people in the courtroom staring intently at the spectacle in front of them. What a great show! They get to see someone taken away to the slammer! Ric sat there looking very grave and I had to fight to hold back the urge to both cry and giggle. It was all so surreal.
They took me to a small elevator designed specifically for this purpose and we went down to the basement of the courthouse. There, after removing the cuffs, the officers politely requested I remove my belt, necktie and even my shoelaces. They put these in a large manila envelope along with my other personal effects like my wallet, watch and the pair of sunglasses I had in my pocket. As they placed each item in the envelope, the guy doing the placing would read out what the item was to the other guy who would check it off on his clipboard. It was fascinating watching the well-practiced manner they conducted this all in. I was then placed in a small holding cell, and remained sitting on the cold, aluminum bench for several hours.
The holding cells eventually began filling up as cases were tried and convicted throughout the assumable average day of court throughout the 40-story building.
At the end of the workday (5pm? I dunno, didn't have my watch anymore) we were all lined up arms length from one another. Females must have had another holding area since we were all guys. Then we were chained by the ankle two-by-two.
Like a chain gang in the movies!
By this point my fear had slowly lapsed into acceptance and I was actually beginning to enjoy the uniqueness of this experience. My thought was, as long as it's only 8 days, I should be able to handle anything...so I hoped.
We were then loaded into a paddy wagon...well, not the olde fashioned kind that would roll up to the speakeasys to load up all the Prohibition-era gangsters and illegal liquor-guzzlers in the movies...it was just a specially outfitted van. As we cruised through the streets of Orlando towards the county jail, I gazed out the window at the sun setting on all the people enjoying their freedom.
At "33rd", the nickname for the Orange County Correction Facility on 33rd Street, Orlando, we were rounded up into another holding area and processed. This took more hours of time and involved photographing, more fingerprinting, surrender of clothes, strip search (including "cheek spread" but, thankfully NOT including any "penetration with rubber gloved hands", yikes), showers, issue of jumpsuit and sandals, wristband and nurse's assessment.
The first 3 days were grueling. Those of us newbies to the jail were placed in "orientation". This was the austere cell block intake prisoners were housed in over the course of the first 3 days. During this time there were no activities, books, games, TV, nothing. Just the four walls, the group cells containing the bunks, a common shower and a day room. And it was noisy. Some of the "young buck" inmates were just rowdy by nature and the boredom made them ornery. They kept yelling and yuckin' it up all night long! On day 3, there was a "born-again" preacher that was allowed to come in and tell us all how he found Jesus and that we too could be saved if we accepted Him as our Lord and Savior. Isn't there supposed to be a separation of church and state? Oh, this is part of George W. Bush's "Faith-based Initiative", I thought. Funny how only a Christian proselytiser came to visit, no other "faith". Can you say - BIASED? Eh, at least he handed out little New Testaments so it was something to read to cut the boredom.
At the end of orientation, we were placed into "population". 33rd is made up of many housing units. Some more restrictive than others. Depending on your charges and/or your behavior during orientation, the COs (correction officers) decided where you would be placed. I got a placement I think it was called Horizon. (They all had such "inspirational" names evoking a re-conditioning goal like "Phoenix", "New Beginnings", "Genesis", and shit like that.)
The CO's were decent. Some of them would be purposely "punky" though. During intake, one of the officers validating my personal property as they took it over from the courthouse deputies took inventory of the items inside my wallet, counted out $300 cash and 7 credit cards. He rolled his eyes and made a big deal about it to his buddy. "Yeah, that's right, guy, I guess you don't get too many middle-class folk here", I thought.
Once in population, life got much easier. More space, smaller cells of 2 or 3 inmates each, books, TVs and games in the carpeted day room filled with cushioned chairs and sofas, outdoor area with basketball court...ya, I know. What with 3 square meals, free toiletries, clean bedding and clothing and plenty of people to get to know...you could see why some opt to come back if you're options on the "outside" aren't so great. And, I suspect, quite a few of the guys were just that, otherwise homeless people who committed a crime just to get to stay in jail.
There was this one inmate who was in there because he failed to stop on his bicycle for a cop who wanted to question him. What about? He was operating a bicycle less than one hour after sunset without any headlight. Huh! WTF! (Well, it turns out when they ran his ID in order to issue him a ticket, he had a warrant out for his arrest. But still!)
This other guy was what I would guess a "frequent customer". He had been there many times and he knew all the COs by name and they all knew him. He was really smart too, and only sounded just a little bit crazy. He was elusive as to his charges, but, of course, he was innocent like everyone else in there. I would guess drugs, though. He looked like he was treating his incarceration like it was rehab time.
There was this one guy who, like me, was a rarity in there: educated, employed, professional, financially-stable and white. Ya, like 85% of the population was black. And most were all there for the same offense: VOP, Violation of Probation. You know that's because the system is set up for the poor or under-educated to fail. Probation entails a few very difficult requirements for these guys: verifiable full-time employment and the ability to pay probation costs (around $40/month at that time...a lot if you're poor). And, for all the "baby daddys", they have to keep up child support payments. Add to that any restitution payments due to their crime, lawyer fees, drug counseling fees, court costs and penalties...and they have to have a place to stay and clothes to wear and food to eat, or else they might get sick, miss work, lose their low-paying job, and, well you know...it's a viscous cycle.
Let's dispel a few myths, BTW. At least during the short stay I had, I saw no discernible gangs, no major fights (there was one shouting scuffle between one of the young buck black guys and this grumpy white guy, but it was very quickly broken up by the COs), of course no "shiv stabbings" and, no rapes. (Well, in a tiny way I was kinda looking forward to that...NO! LOL!)
Oh, there was this cell up on the second tier though. The inmates had quasi-de facto "permission" to set up sheets over the glassed wall of their cell in order to block visibility of what was going on inside. This was strictly forbidden for everyone else. These two inmates though, were special. They were pre-op trannies. Oh, and they got a lot of cat-calls and derisive remarks from many of the other guys when they rarely came out of their cell for chow (mealtime) in the chow hall. But, I think I saw a twinkle in some of the guys eyes...and maybe they got a "gentleman visitor" or two...who knows what goes on behind "closed cell doors"?
But come that 8th day, let me tell you, I was ready...oh so ready...to be released. I sprung right up and was all like "Yes Sir!" in getting my mattress, blanket, towel and such all rolled up and ready to go. I happily carried it back to the laundry area, made my way to releasing, got my street clothes, my personal effects and set on outta there. (Odd little factoid...you don't get your cash back. They took it and replaced it with a check...which I later had to cash...I guess that avoids any impropriety with all that inmate cash floating around. But it brings up a more interesting point...what happens to inmates locked up for months and/or years...do they get a check representing not only the amount on booking, but all that interest that accrued as well?Hmm. Interesting.)
Conveniently, by coincidence, I lived only a few blocks from jail so I walked home. It was a cloudy and drizzly day, but that was the most glorious walk I have ever had!