It's Finally Happened: I'm going to Jail!

Mom,

 I have an Announcement: I am going to jail.

Not the words you expected from your oldest and most promising daughter :-) Actually considering my teenage years, you might have been expecting this all along!

I realized late yesterday that I had failed to show up for jury duty. This is where my dislike of numbers becomes less of a joke and more of a life problem. I have always hated math. Dates are numbers; I can’t remember numbers; ergo I can’t remember dates; therefore I never know what day it is. Ever. Here’s how I figured out what happened:

Lady I visit teach: Whew, what a long day – I’ve been downtown (Not to be confused with DOWNTON ABBEY, wasn't that a great episode this week) since this morning for jury duty.

Me: Oh, I have jury duty coming up!

Lady I visit teach: When?

Me: February 13th

Lady I visit teach: That’s today.

Me: DAAAAANNNNNGGGGG

I am so disappointed. Don’t get me wrong, I find jury duty just as agonizing as the next gal. But you know me Mom, not since my rebellious teenage years have I been a follow the beat of my own drum kind of person. I’m a big rule follower, and it’s a rule that you go to jury duty when you are called; so I think people should show up and not invent a bunch of wily reasons to get out of it. It’s part of the duty of being an American citizen. I mean, geez – there are Americans out in the world being shot at just to provide folks like me the freedom to post inconsequential drivel on the Internet, and I can’t even remember to hold up the rules back home.

(* I totally realize that the freedom to post inconsequential drivel on the internet isn’t really the main thing anyone’s fighting for. But I do appreciate that freedom, so I just want to say thanks.)

Anyway. Speaking of freedom, mine’s probably over.

I like to be prepared, but I don’t know much about prison other than stories I got from Dad (and we all knew about his use of exaggeration as a deterrent) and from what I gather from TV and movies, which leaves a few holes in my comprehensive understanding of incarcerated life. So mom since you were married to a cop for more than 40 years feel free to chime in if you know the answer to any of these questions:

• BACON: Do they serve it in prison? If so, is it loaded with additives? My farmer’s market has fabulous bacon. Do you think they’d let me have it sent in weekly? I’m completely willing to throw some kind of fundraiser (heaven knows I have tons of experience from my PTA days) to stir up the cash to pay for enough bacon for all my fellow prisoners, too. Like, “Dancing With the Stars… of Prison.”

• TATTOOS: I don’t have any yet. I want to fit in although Dane wouldn't like it, but he would want me to play it safe. Can you get tattoos in prison? And if so, is that sanitary? Is the tattoo artist any good? (Again, I’d be happy to make arrangements to bring in a good artist not only for myself, but for others. It's quite the booming small business venture here in my neck of the woods). If they don’t offer this service in prison, will I be allowed adequate time to get tatted up before I get put away? I’m picturing a pastoral scene across my bosom, and I think it’s one of those things that has to be done in installments.

• POSTERS: I know I have to have a poster for my wall to cover the hole I’ll be chipping away at with my oatmeal spoon. The only posters I currently have are leftover movie posters hanging in Wes' old room. Is Benjamin Button and Master and Commander cool in prison? Or am I just going to have to keep explaining it again and again? And will we have access to an iPod or CD player? Because Master and Commander has an awesome soundtrack that may help explain the poster.

• SOCIAL GROUPS: How do you make friends in prison? Are there clubs for various interests? How can you tell who’s popular? I need to find that mid-level crowd. It’s no fun to be at the bottom of the food chain; but then again, top of the pyramid doesn’t seem like a good idea either. If I’m the homecoming queen of prison, everyone will want to hang out with me every day in the yard, which means that when I escape (and I will escape, because you know when I stop following the rules? when I’m in prison), my absence will be noticed.

So that’s the news. If I don’t post here again for the next 10-15 years, you’ll know why. I’ll just be doing pushups on the concrete floor and writing blues songs about my life in the slammer. And playing the harmonica if they let me have one. Which they probably won’t. Because it’s PRISON!