I'm waiting...

...and not very patiently, I might add.

And when I’m waiting, my imagination kicks into full-on, high gear overdrive…

And I quickly imagine the worst possible scenarios.

And now I’ve been waiting since last Thursday for word on an employment background check.

Yes.

Sigh.

I’m getting a job.

Ick. Double Ick. Triple Ick.

My days of laying around on the couch watching inane TV are coming to an end.

Hopefully, starting Monday, I will be employed as a virtual customer service/tech agent.

‘Employed’ meaning I will get a REAL paycheck (not one of those strange independent contractor ones!) and have benefits and vacation and sick pay and 401K and all that cool stuff. ‘Virtual’ meaning I GET TO WORK FROM MY HOUSE. It’s a perfect gig for me. It’s full-time, but it’s split shifts (which means four hours in the morning and four later in the day) which will work great with watching my Grandlittles while still giving me time to lay around on the couch and watch inane TV. Hey, I don’t want to go into withdrawal or anything. ‘Customer service/tech agent’ meaning I get to be one of those people helping you fix your modem and/or router by telling you to reboot it!

But here’s the thing.

I haven’t heard yet.

And even though I filled out a whole bunch of preliminary paperwork and passed a whole bunch of preliminary tests and interviews I’m totally freakin’ out about the background check thing.

Because.

Well.

Because, I was arrested once.

And put into jail.

And held there for a lot of hours until my kids got bail money together.

Yeah.

And if that’s not weird enough, the whole arrest thing was because of a weiner dog. Not Oskar, the weiner dog. It was something to do with his predecessor, Cujo, the weiner dog, that landed me in the ‘slammer’.

It’s a long story, though. And you’re probably busy and don’t want to read about it. I suspect you know many, many people who have been arrested on a warrant and hauled off to jail in the back of a police car IN HANDCUFFS!!! because of a weiner dog. Named Cujo.

But just in case you don’t, I’ll tell you about it.

Because I have to pass the time until I hear yay or nay on employment.

And because I think you will find the story to be uplifting…a shining light in this time of troubles in the world.

And because, I have nothing else to write about today.

This is a weird, but true, story. The names, obviously have not been changed to protect the innocent. Because on that day, I wasn’t. Innocent. Or at least the law didn’t think so.

This took place about fourteen years ago. Mr. Jenny and I had not gotten married yet. He was still an ex-pat living in Mexico City. I was still a single Mom struggling with three rebellious teenagers living in a too small condo in a big city.

So…

It was Sunday. Early afternoon. I was making a roast. And had put bread to rise.

I had to run a quick errand, so my youngest daughter and I hopped in the car and headed about two miles up the road.

On the way back we were talking and I ran a red light. Oops!

There was no traffic, no brakes squealing…and I thought I had escaped detection when all of the sudden a cop car pulled up behind me with lights flashing and sirens ummm…blaring? Shrilling? What is the right word to describe that horrific noise?

I pulled over slightly to let the patrol car pass, but it stayed right on my bumper.

“Geez,” I said to my daughter, “They take running a red light on a deserted street pretty seriously around here.”

I pulled my car over about 200 yards from where I lived, since I didn’t want to pull into my little condo neighborhood and let everyone gawk at me.

I waited in the car.

Nothing happened.

My daughter and I looked at each other.

Another cop car pulled up behind the first cop car.

My daughter laughed and said, “Geez, Mom! Do you have a warrant out for your arrest or what?”

I laughed nervously.

And waited.

After what felt like an eternity, four cops got out of the cars with their guns drawn.

Guns drawn!

Yikes.

I said to my daughter, “Why do they have their guns drawn? What’s going on? What did you do?!?”

That particular daughter had been in trouble with the law a time or two.

She replied, “I didn’t do anything! What did you do?”

I laughed again, even more nervously.

My heart started thudding.

Really, really hard.

As one baby faced officer (I swear these guys looked like they were about twelve years old!) approached the driver’s side of the car, the other three stayed back slightly. I found myself literally looking down the barrel of a gun. I gulped.


“Ma’am. Get out of the car. Slowly. Keep your hands where I can see them,” baby face said. I glanced at my daughter. “Do it Mom. They have a warrant for your arrest.”

After I got out of the car, put my hands on the hood and got patted down, he asked me, “Ma’am. Are you the owner of this vehicle?”

I nodded my head, yes.

He told me to reach inside the car and get my ID out of my purse. “Slowly, slowly,” he cautioned me.

I followed his instructions.

By this time I was shaking so hard I could barely hold onto the slippery plastic.

He looked at my ID, looked at me, squinted his eyes again and looked at the license again. “Ma’am, we have a warrant for your arrest.”

“Told you so,” my daughter said softly.

By now I realized I was in trouble. Deep trouble. Big trouble. But I didn’t know why.

I started to cry. “I don’t understand, I didn’t do anything.”

“Ma’am, I’m going to read you your rights.” He did. By this time I was crying really hard. I used my apron to dry my eyes. Not only did I have my pink flowered apron on, I still had my red fuzzy slippers on, too!

Another officer was talking to my daughter, and since she didn’t have a driver’s license, they came up with a plan to walk across the street to the condo and get her sister to drive the car home.

“What’s going to happen now?” I cried to the officer.

“We’ll take you to the station, book you and unless someone can post bail you’ll see the judge in the morning.”

I wailed, “But I don’t know what I did!”

My daughter said, “Mom, just breathe It’s okay. We’ll bail you out after the party!” Party?!! Party! I swear that girl was giggling as she walked away across the street with two of the officers.

I yelled after her, “Take the roast out of the oven! Lower the oven temperature to 350 and bake the bread for about 35 minutes! Don’t tell your Grandma! Call Steve! See if he knows what to do! Oh, the bread is done when you knock on it and it sounds hollow! I love you! Don’t forget the roast! AND NO PARTIES!”

The baby faced officer took the handcuffs off his belt. I started crying to the point of almost hyperventilating. “Really, I don’t understand. Why are you doing this? I don’t want handcuffs! I don’t know what I did!”


I had to put my hands behind my back so they could put the handcuffs on. I cried. The metal was cold. I cried. The metal pinched. I cried.

They opened to back door of the police car and told me to duck down.

I cried harder.

The two officers looked at each other. The baby faced one said to the other one, “Crap. I feel like I’m arresting June Cleaver here!”

I cried.

They got into the front seat.

“Ma’am? Can you quit crying?”

I nodded my head and sniffled and stuttered out, “Y-y-yes…I-I-I’ll t-t-try…I-I-I’m s-s-s-orry.”

I had my head down trying to figure out how to sit with my wrists handcuffed behind my back. It hurt. I would stink at being a criminal. I cried more quietly.

The officers got out of the car and opened my door.

“Ma’am? Are the handcuffs hurting you?”

I sniffled and nodded and tears continued to drip down my cheeks. They looked at each other.

“Okay, I’m going to cuff your hands in front of you. If I cuff your hands in the front, will you stop crying?”

“I-I-I’ll t-t-try,” I said. I was shaking really hard from shock or fear or some combination of both.

Baby face undid the cuffs, let me move my hands to the front and then refastened them. It hurt less but I still couldn’t quit shaking or crying.

“Th-th-thank you,” I said quietly after they had put me back into the police car. “I-I-I-m sorry to be such a p-p-pain.”

They looked at each other again. The second one whispered to baby face, “I don’t think she knows what she did. This is terrible.”

It was a short ride to the police station. I cried all the way there.

I cried when they took me out of the car. And when they took the handcuffs off. And when they finger printed me. And when they took my mug shot. And when they put me in the small cell and closed the door behind me.


(This was not my jail cell. Oddly, I didn't have a camera with me when this happened!)

My contacts were killing me from all the crying. I was thirsty. And I had to pee.

I cried even harder when I saw the stainless steel metal pipe in the corner of the cell with the molded on toilet seat.

I kept drying my face with my apron. I was scared. And bewildered.

After a few minutes the baby faced officer came back to the cell.

“Are you okay, Ma’am?” he gently asked me.

I shook my head. “Ummm…I need to go the bathroom and… ummm… ummm…” I nodded toward the stainless steel pipe.

He looked at me and at the pipe in the floor. “Just a second,” he said and walked off.

Bless his soul, he returned a few seconds later with some keys and let me out to use a little bathroom at the end of the row of jail cells.

After he locked me back in, he brought me two of those white pointy little paper cups filled with water and handed them through the bars. “It’ll be okay,” he said quietly. “I know your kids will post bail soon.”


He walked off.

I gulped both waters down.

I was exhausted so I lay down on the stainless stench bench in the back of the cell.

It was hard. And too short.

I rolled over and faced the white painted cement block wall. I read some of the names on it. I fiddled with my two little pointy paper cups. I tore them apart and formed them into little paper flowers. They made kind of pretty roses with that rolled edge and the slightly shiny white paper finish.

I fell asleep.

I don’t know how long I slept, but I awoke to the sound of a guard unlocking the cell. It wasn’t the gentle baby faced one.

My face stuck to the stainless steel when I tried to get up. I must have been crying in my sleep because my hair and cheek kind of stuck to the surface. I was all cramped up from being in a scrunched up position for too long.

I must have been quite a sight.

“You can go,” the guard said loudly.

“Huh, how, huh…what? It was a mistake. This was a mistake right? I knew I didn’t do anything, I knew…”

“You can go because someone POSTED bail.”

He was grumpy. I handed him the little paper roses I had made as I limped out of the cell.

He led me into a little waiting room and my three waiting children. It was dark outside. It was late.

He handed me a little stack of papers and made me sign some stuff.

I was exhausted.

My kids were giddy.

“You didn’t call Grandma, did you?” I asked them.

TO BE CONTINUED...