Serving Hard Time in San Quentin Pales in Comparison

Okay, it’s time.

It’s time I tell you about my unfortunate incarceration.

This is one of those stories that I file under “Damndest”, cross indexed with “You’ve Got to Be Kidding Me”.

It’s a story that used to make my stomach ball up in knots, but now I hold it close as one of the most notable experiences of my life.

It’s a story that has provided ENDLESS ribbing fodder for those friends and family who know the deal.

It’s the story that desperately makes me want to find my mug shot – because I have one - and put it on a Christmas card with the caption, “From the Big House to Your House, Merry Christmas.”

It’s one of those stories that no matter how I tell it, I always feel the compelling need to begin by saying that when I finally appeared before the judge, I was found innocent. I was innocent, damn it! I had been wrongly accused. Or at least SORT OF wrongly accused…

But that didn’t matter much on May 15, 2001. The day I was arrested in Cisco, Texas and taken to jail. In a black and white. In hand cuffs.

The very best part? I DIDN’T KNOW WHY I WAS BEING ARRESTED. Nothing too scary about that, right?

And the second best part? MY MOM AND DAD HAPPENED TO BE IN TOWN FROM COLORADO ON THE VERY SAME WEEKEND. Nothing like getting arrested when the folks are visiting.

It’s a wonder the anxiety of that day and night didn’t give me a heart attack. Or that I didn’t hang myself with my shoelaces. Oh, wait a minute, the jailor TOOK MY SHOE LACES so that I wouldn’t do myself in.

It’s one of those stories that will be a multi-parter with the first installment coming soon.

It’s a little story I like to call, I Fought the Law and the Law Won.