Okay, I was in jail once for three days back in 1989 (?) 88 (?). Nice to have forgotten. Basically, I was minding my own business walking to the news stand on Ave A near 7th from my home on Ave B between 9th and 10th (New Yorkers reference guide here) to get a vanilla malted and a riot broke out. It was pretty much a full scale police riot with horses, helicopters, rock throwing, tear gas, various people poundings going on, and though not unpredicted, it was certainly not anticipated by me. The city had been trying to close the park at night (Tompkins) where homeless people had set up tents. Protesters and the lunatic fringe also moved in and things had been heated for a few weeks.
Anyway, there I was with my malted, trying to plaster myself against the store front, and I see a friend of my being arrested for yelling, and idiotic me joins in by yelling, "Look, everyone! A real life false arrest!" Next thing I know I'm being taken down to the ground and little plastic bands are cutting into my wrists. I was charged with disorderly conduct, assaulting a police officer, and resisting arrest. I don't recall assaulting or resisting anything, but I somehow ended up with a policeman's hat, which I oddly was allowed to keep with me (no one even mentioned it...very strange).
First stop was the precinct jail for a few hours, where you're basically in a cage with no place to sit except the ground (the men had benches, btw). I asked for some water at one point and a cop took a hose off the wall and sprayed me down with it....not so nice.
From there, it was to central booking where I was shackled to about eight other women, one who smelled so bad, we all almost passed out. There, you're put in a very large cage with, again, nowhere to sit, though there were some benches, just not enough for 60 women. This is where you got to watch all the dope-sick junkies puke and **** all over themselves, while the hookers, who all knew each other, either fought or smoked weed, and you found out the pregant woman and her sweet-looking mother you've been talking with just killed their neighbor because he'd disrespected a cousin.
Then things got interesting when we were transferred to the jail near the court house in lower Manhattan, affectionately known as The Tombs. There they split you up and move you around every few hours. I got lucky, and the hookers sort of took me under their wing, and told me to stick with them. Since most of the guards knew them well, and they tended to not be violent, they let them hang together and keep me with them rather than subjecting me to less desirable roommates. They also taught me to turn my clothes inside out and turn them back again when they called my name to go before a judge so I woudn't look dirty. Also, the airconditioning wasn't working, and in one cell about twelve of us were in on the 16th floor, it got so bad, even the guard didn't care anymore. She brought us a boombox, and everyone smoked weed, took off their clothes (not the guard), had a water fight, then lay on the floor, exchanging recipes and comparing boob jobs. I still had the officer's hat, and we passed it around, using it as a fan. True story.
Well, the prostitutes all got out much faster than I, and I also learned that getting a phone call isn't a legal right (according to my court-appointed laywer), but police procedure, so I had none. After three days of no sleep, I was starting to get a bit scared as my protectresses were leaving, and they were now putting me with some pretty scary women. I had no idea what was happening or if anyone even knew to look for me, but I finally got called, which then meant waiting a few more hours, but it was okay. I met my lawyer for the first time (didn't even know I had one), and he said they'd dropped the assualt charge. By the time I was standing in front of the judge, the prosecutor started reading something about a stolen bicycle, then he couldn't find my case, so the judge simply said, "This is garbage. Case dismissed." That was the end. I didn't get it and still stood there frozen, and had to be told to leave twice.
I'm not sure which felt more surreal, being in jail or walking out into broad daylight with all signs of normality going on. I don't plan on repeating the experience to know. I did keep the officer's hat, btw, and had it hanging for many years on a wall. It was always good for Halloween
