Inside the cruiser the cops had classic rock on the radio and I said that was strange, and they said why. I said I always imagined getting arrested would be more solemn somehow.
At the precinct they put me in a holding cell and took my mug shot and fingerprinted me. After awhile a cop came in and dropped a young, black kid in the cell next to mine saying, I’m going to find out what you did asshole, so don’t lie to me. When he left, the kid said, Miss, Miss. I wasn't sure I should answer. I thought it might not be good to talk to someone who might be guiltier than me. But it seemed rude. So I said Yes, and he asked what time it was. A cop sitting behind a desk yelled at him to shut-up. After a while his cop came back and said, You were trying to knock a woman off her bike? And the kid said, No man we were just throwing snowballs.
About three hours later the female cop came back and said I would have to see a judge. I asked what the charge was. She said she still wasn’t sure. It was 11. She said the judge was on duty until half past 12, but it was another hour before they cuffed me again and drove me to the tombs—as they call the sub, sub-basement of the courthouse. Everyone arrested in New York is brought there—attackers, and rapists, pimps, and junkies, robbers and prostitutes. I was starting to see why they’d brought me--it seemed a little like a paid vacation for them. Guards were yelling at other prisoners to stand behind the line, and get against the wall. The walls looked smeared with blood and shit. A guy in a chain gang facing me in the narrow hallway gave me an up-down and kissed the air. And it finally dawned on me that all my reasonableness wouldn't get me out of there. I said I knew they knew my warrant couldn’t be for more than a parking ticket. And the guy cop said, there was no leaving now. This is what it all comes down to, he said, this is the big show.
The cell was pretty big, and had several benches nailed to the floor. There was a payphone on one side and a toilet in a corner, and a clock on the wall. There was a water fountain next to the toilet that sprayed warm, metallic tasting water, which everyone refused to use. There were five other women when I arrived. Another ten came in during the course of the night. A schizophrenic arrested twice in the last 72 hours for shop-lifting was our of master of ceremonies. She hadn’t taken her medication in several days and said she couldn’t stop talking. Her son had tried to commit suicide. She got everyone’s story and gave us advice. We all listened because she was our only source of information about what to expect in the morning. A woman in a fur coat had stolen beads off a counter at Barneys. A 17-year-old was caught using her brother’s school metro-card. Another woman was spending her second night there for mouthing off to the cop who’d arrested her boyfriend. The schizo told everyone who came in after me that I would write about this someday. The most criminal of our group was a lesbian couple who arrived at 3 a.m. in their socks. No one was allowed to have shoelaces. Lucky for me my boots pulled on. The butch one, who’d already been to jail before, lay right on the floor with her head on her fist, and started calculating how much time she’d get, while the dumb girlfriend who’d let her use her Fed-Ex uniform for a drug drop kept worrying about how to cover for her. The schizo finally told her to start thinking about herself. Around 3:30 a guard came in and gave us milk and bananas and small boxes of frosted flakes.
At 9 I was among the first to be called out along with a couple of shoplifters and an illegal immigrant. They brought us to a waiting room. Around 10:30 I met my lawyer in a little booth. At 11 o’clock I was led to the courtroom. My sister waved to me from the audience. The man ahead of me was arraigned for assault in a full leg cast and a neck brace. Another was charged with 5th degree trespass and 3rd degree drug possession, which means something like standing in a doorway with the smell of pot around you. And then it was my turn. The judge read out my warrant number and asked if I could explain it. I said I didn’t know what it was for, and he read the description. He said the defendant was observed riding a bicycle across Washington Square Park. He asked if I remembered receiving a ticket for the amount of 25 dollars? And I suddenly felt giddy. The whole situation suddenly seemed so ridiculous and I had such a wonderful feeling of innocence I could hardly pay attention. I felt like a little indigestible object, a cherry pit, passing unchanged through a long slow digestive track. He gave his order and we turned and walked right out of the courtroom. There was nothing to pay. I was cleared of my open container and ordered to appear in misdemeanor court the next day to clear my warrant. And after another nine hours in court they cleared me of that too without a fine.