Ok, it?s never good to drive after a few beers. We all do it, but it?s not good?.
Tuesday night is usually my poker night. I have a group of friends that play two $20 buy-in poker tournaments (7:00 & 10:00) every Tuesday. The house is located near downtown Nashville. I played the 7:00 game and finished on the bubble (18 players, pay top 3). I declared revenge and started the 10:00 tourney on a tear. I ended up finishing third and promptly left. I usually don?t play in the 10:00 because I wake up at 6:00am to go to work so I was ready to get home.
I got in my car and saw that it was 12:30. I knew that Wednesday was going to be a long day. I was scheduled for a 13 hour shift and I was only going to have 5 hours sleep. I was driving down the road and I could see the interstate sign pointing towards my house when??the lights came on.
Sitting in an empty lot, shaded by a tree an officer was sitting and waiting for me. He pulled me over on the bridge that spanned the interstate I was about to be on. He said that I was ?slightly speeding? and asked me to step out of the car. After three Drunken Olympics tests, he handcuffed me and asked me to submit to a breathalyzer. I did the math; I had 10 beers over a five hour period. I acquiesced. I blew a .09. The office remarked ?I thought you were going to blow a .08 and I was going to let you go? (In Tennessee, .08 is officer?s choice and .09 is guilty).
I had not changed out of my work clothes. I was wearing a navy blue pin stripped Ralph Lauren suit, a starched white cuff linked shirt, and my black wingtips. To say the least: I was the best dressed inmate on Wednesday night. I was fingerprinted and photographed. I was headed to lockdown when I asked ?when can I use the phone?? The human refrigerator dressed in a uniform told me ?it?s too late to use the phone?. I pleaded to him that I was never given the opportunity to use the phone; he didn?t care and said that it was not his problem. My saving grace came due to the lack of organization at the jail. It took five hours for me to be processed.
The time was now 5:30, breakfast time for inmates.
I was in a group of twelve people: six Latinos with questionable at best English skills, a guy who looked like Fred Durst who I had small talk he was wearing a monochrone Yankees hat, a 5? crack head who kept mumbling to himself dressed in Fubu attire, a forty-something balding red head with a curly mullet who was arrested by an undercover cop posing as a prostitute (bitch set him up), a jail transfer with long brown hair in an orange jumpsuit who seemed content to be behind bars and was only bothered because breakfast was not yet served, and a Latino gang banger who was much nicer than his outward appearance would lead you to believe. It was the gang banger who handed me a business card and told me to call said bondsman to get out. They placed us in a hallway outside of the three-man cells. The three man cells were stuffed with individuals who were there from the night before and most of them were asleep all looked unkempt. We were told to stay there and we would be served breakfast. They left the door open.
Still perplexed over my lack of a phone call, I disobeyed the human refrigerator and wandered out into the hallway where I found a metal phone. I placed a call the bondsman on the card to get me out and returned to the hallway area without being spotted.
Breakfast in Nashville jail is to say the least interesting. It consisted of two rubbery waffles, grits, milk and slice of baloney. I attempted to eat one waffle, but gave the rest of my breakfast to the gang banger in thanks for his kindness. He appreciated it. They came to get me out of the hallway at the same time that they opened the three man cells to trade out groups. If they had put me in a cell (lockdown) I would have been there until noon.
I got home around 7:00.
I called work and claimed ?personal reasons? for not being able to come in.
I spent all day getting a temporary license, reclaiming my car, and securing a lawyer.
I now have a meeting with my lawyer on Monday and a court date in February.
Tuesday night is usually my poker night. I have a group of friends that play two $20 buy-in poker tournaments (7:00 & 10:00) every Tuesday. The house is located near downtown Nashville. I played the 7:00 game and finished on the bubble (18 players, pay top 3). I declared revenge and started the 10:00 tourney on a tear. I ended up finishing third and promptly left. I usually don?t play in the 10:00 because I wake up at 6:00am to go to work so I was ready to get home.
I got in my car and saw that it was 12:30. I knew that Wednesday was going to be a long day. I was scheduled for a 13 hour shift and I was only going to have 5 hours sleep. I was driving down the road and I could see the interstate sign pointing towards my house when??the lights came on.
Sitting in an empty lot, shaded by a tree an officer was sitting and waiting for me. He pulled me over on the bridge that spanned the interstate I was about to be on. He said that I was ?slightly speeding? and asked me to step out of the car. After three Drunken Olympics tests, he handcuffed me and asked me to submit to a breathalyzer. I did the math; I had 10 beers over a five hour period. I acquiesced. I blew a .09. The office remarked ?I thought you were going to blow a .08 and I was going to let you go? (In Tennessee, .08 is officer?s choice and .09 is guilty).
I had not changed out of my work clothes. I was wearing a navy blue pin stripped Ralph Lauren suit, a starched white cuff linked shirt, and my black wingtips. To say the least: I was the best dressed inmate on Wednesday night. I was fingerprinted and photographed. I was headed to lockdown when I asked ?when can I use the phone?? The human refrigerator dressed in a uniform told me ?it?s too late to use the phone?. I pleaded to him that I was never given the opportunity to use the phone; he didn?t care and said that it was not his problem. My saving grace came due to the lack of organization at the jail. It took five hours for me to be processed.
The time was now 5:30, breakfast time for inmates.
I was in a group of twelve people: six Latinos with questionable at best English skills, a guy who looked like Fred Durst who I had small talk he was wearing a monochrone Yankees hat, a 5? crack head who kept mumbling to himself dressed in Fubu attire, a forty-something balding red head with a curly mullet who was arrested by an undercover cop posing as a prostitute (bitch set him up), a jail transfer with long brown hair in an orange jumpsuit who seemed content to be behind bars and was only bothered because breakfast was not yet served, and a Latino gang banger who was much nicer than his outward appearance would lead you to believe. It was the gang banger who handed me a business card and told me to call said bondsman to get out. They placed us in a hallway outside of the three-man cells. The three man cells were stuffed with individuals who were there from the night before and most of them were asleep all looked unkempt. We were told to stay there and we would be served breakfast. They left the door open.
Still perplexed over my lack of a phone call, I disobeyed the human refrigerator and wandered out into the hallway where I found a metal phone. I placed a call the bondsman on the card to get me out and returned to the hallway area without being spotted.
Breakfast in Nashville jail is to say the least interesting. It consisted of two rubbery waffles, grits, milk and slice of baloney. I attempted to eat one waffle, but gave the rest of my breakfast to the gang banger in thanks for his kindness. He appreciated it. They came to get me out of the hallway at the same time that they opened the three man cells to trade out groups. If they had put me in a cell (lockdown) I would have been there until noon.
I got home around 7:00.
I called work and claimed ?personal reasons? for not being able to come in.
I spent all day getting a temporary license, reclaiming my car, and securing a lawyer.
I now have a meeting with my lawyer on Monday and a court date in February.
