Gellin' Like a Felon

I had a difficult Mother's Day weekend and an anxiety-filled and aggravating weekend after that.  Then on Monday when I was at work and wanted a cigarette, I didn't walk all the way off campus.  I guess I was in a "fuck it" head.  I went behind some vehicles and smoked my felonious cigarette.  While kissing Bloomberg's ass, cigarette smoking became not allowed on campus.  So fifty lovely outdoor ashtrays that were used for only a year are stashed under a structure, and butts litter the once beautiful campus.  It's like the logic of the MTA deciding the stations will be cleaner if they remove the garbage cans.  Now, they said, people will take their garbage with them.  Oh yeah.  I would bet we will be returning to frequent track fires due to all the garbage tossed there.  And we see how well bans cure nicotine addiction on campuses.  Offering smoking cessation on different schedules on an on-going basis would do a lot more good.  But hey, let's criminalize. 

 

I might be the only offender who puts out the cigarette and takes the butt to the garbage.  I am not a fan of a dirty campus.  So I smoked and spoke to a friend on my cell phone.  When I was done, I carried my cigarette butt with me and was heading back to the building where I work. 

 

A white van pulled up and a campus "safety" officer jumped out and confronted me.  Then another vehicle came from another direction, and an officer came out.  Then another was on foot behind me. 

 

"Wow.  All this for me," I said in a very low-key voice. 

 

I was glad I didn't have any big bag with me, or I might've been given the terrorist treatment. 

 

"Were you smoking?"

 

"Yes."  I opened my hand and showed my conscientiousness by revealing the butt that I didn't leave on the ground.

 

"Where did you smoke?"

 

"Off campus," I lied. 

 

"See over there, that's a camera. We saw you smoking over there.  You lied to me."

 

"Yes.  I lied."  Like it would turn out differently if I hadn't.  He was pumped.  I was his collar for the day.  He even brought back-up.  I was sooooooo tempted to say something about them needing to have me surrounded for this big crime.  I kept telling myself not to make things worse.  Just shut up and accept this.  He's having his moment.  You're already ruining his thrill with your blasé attitude.

 

"ID card."

 

I reached into my pocket and pulled out my stack of stuff.  As I looked for my ID, he asked in what department I work.  I told him and felt bad for my director.  What a reputation we may get.  A student was caught smoking a joint on campus from our program a couple of months ago, and now a teacher caught for smoking a cigarette.  It was the first time I was going to get "written up" whatever that means.  It is so weird and fucked up that over 35 years ago when I was a college student there, weed was smoked openly and sold in the cafeteria by a big guy named Julio.  $1 a joint.  We didn't know how good we had it back then (pre-Reagan, pre-crack, pre-welfare hotels).  And I was a very good student.  Made the Dean's list some of the time too.

 

I gave him my card.  He copied the info while telling me he had spoken to me three times before.  I nodded in agreement.  It was the least I could do.  I wasn't afraid, so I at least had to be cooperative.  I didn't want to make things worse.  But this shit is not the law.  It is a policy.  Picking up your dog's shit is the law, and the signs say so.  This is not as up there as picking up shit.  This is just a matter of putting up with shit. 

 

Frankly, compared to other shit I'm enduring in my life, this is small shit. 

 

"I need to see some state-issued ID."

 

"I don't have any."

 

"You don't have any?"

 

Mindy, don't say why don't you write me up for that too.  Better yet, deport me back to where I come from -- my mom.  She smoked too.  You can write her up too, post-mortem.  Happy freakin' belated Mother's Day.  Don't say it, Mindy.

 

"I don't drive or have a passport, and I tend to have problems for that too." 

 

"Address."

 

I gave it.

 

"Apartment number."

 

Is he planning on visiting?  My house is not ready for company.  And he wouldn't be any fun.  He'd probably write me up for living freely in my own apartment.  I gave him the apartment number.

 

"Date of birth."

 

I gave it and felt pretty sure I am older than each of them.  I wondered if he was feeling ridiculous yet.  What a society we live in.  His job is to criminalize me.  I'm such a danger.

 

"I've spoken to you three or four times before and you lied to me."

 

Two felonies right there, and only God knows what else I might have done.  I don't wear a bra!  I disagree with my government from time to time especially when Republicans are running the circus.  I dated outside of my race before it was "politically correct" though I was always within the human race.  I speak my mind usually.  I say no to men.  Sometimes, I even stand up for myself.  I believe that's called being a bitch.  Oh the list goes on and on.  You'd be writing for days, officer.

 

I didn't say any of that.  I just nodded in agreement, the whole time feeling very low-energy.  I must have been a public service, giving these three men something to get riled up over in what must be a boring day staring at monitors.  My being was absorbed in my situation with my son.  Getting busted for breaking a smoking policy just didn't feel like much in comparison. 

 

"You know I'm going to run this and if you're lying..."

 

"I'm not lying.  It's all real."  Just don't show up at my place.   

 

"Well I'm going to write you up and charges will be brought against you."

 

"Are you talking about the actual police department?"

 

"Yes."

 

"For smoking a cigarette."  My tone was pretty flat, almost like a court reporter reading back what was said, making the ridiculousness more obvious.

 

The brotherhood chimed in.  Two spoke at the same time.  "It's against the rule. There are signs all over."

 

Don't laugh, Mindy.  Do not piss them off.  I nodded and walked off. 

 

So, here in Mayberry, I might be visited by Andy Taylor.  My luck, it will be Barney Fife.