DIELE KAUFENREST
speak
Bailin' out a bud
How bailing a friend out of jail made for a stronger relationship and a great story
Every once in a while, there are times when friendship is truly tested, a time when you have to rely on your buddies for help. During these times, friends really put the
really put their asses on the line for each other. One such situation involved a common element found among hard times; drunkenness. And one particular morning this semester was no exception.
I woke that morning at 9 a.m. to find my cell phone blinking, which meant I had a new message. As I listened, I heard a familiar voice break the news that he had been arrested and needed to be bailed out of jail.
Rory Flynn Jayplay writer
When I arrived at the Douglas County Jail around 10:30 a.m., I found the large double doors within a small foyer locked. As I looked around the foyer, I couldn't figure out any alternative entrances to the building. I had never visited the Douglas County Jail and soon I became frustrated. Who would have thought it would have been so difficult to get into jail?
"Yo Rory, come pick me up, man. Yo, you gotta pick me up man, I'm in jail," my friend said in a scratchy hung-over voice. After a few calls to his room-mates and only hearing the sound of a goofy answering machine messages, I realized I was going solo on this one.
I decided to walk around to the rear of the jail in search of another entry. With no luck I came back to the front of the building, once again met with the great double doors at the front of the hard, steely building. Facing the seemingly impenetrable doors, I imagined a room full of gluttonous guards scarfing down
donuts and laughing hysterically from a surveillance room inside the jail at my weak attempt to rescue my friend. Then I looked up at the ceiling and noticed
a small button. There was no sign reading, "press button for admittance" or "button overhead" or "hey, look up stupid!" So I was hesitant at first to press the steel button for fear that I too would end up behind bars for violating some crazy no-button-pressing law that I was somehow ignorant of. But after realizing I was being ridiculous, I thought "What the hell?"
and pressed the inconspicuous button. "What do you need?" said a seemingly annoyed voice coming from a speaker in the wall.
Feeling a bit like Dorothy entering the gates of Oz, I was then given entry into the jail and led down a long hall to another locked door where I pressed another button to enter through the second door. That was when I found myself in a room like you see on TV or in the movies, where you sit in front of the prisoner and look at him through a thick glass window and have to talk through a small screen.
As I faced my detained friend, the first question I asked him was what the hell happened. As he finished off a tiny box of 2 percent milk and stuffed his mouth with a piece of chocolate cake that looked less appetizing than one pulled from an easy-bake oven, he told me the story.
Following some heavy drinking over the course of an entire day (in recognition of the home-opener football game the day before), he realized he was going to be late for work. So being the responsible lad he is, he knew being late was not an option. His drunken solution: bike downtown to work as quickly as possible. As he swerved along on his bicycle, a couple of police officers took notice of his unique, inebriated interpretation of the fastest way from point A to point B. And just when he thought he would make it work on time at 9 p.m., the officers pulled him over, or perhaps I should say walked him over considering they were merely on foot. They then rhetorically asked him if he had been drinking, for it was quite obvious that he was as drunk as a skunk. And the officers then asked him if he knew that it was unlawful to drink and bike and proceeded to run his information. That was when matters went from bad to worse. Upon checking his record, the officers found a warrant for his arrest from a past public disturbance ticket. "Don't ask," he muttered. Next thing he knew, he was in the slammer.
Illustration by Greg Griesenauer
While being booked, he actually requested a cell so he could pass out instead of contacting his friends to bail him out that night. It seems that in his state of intoxication he might as well have been at the Ritz Carlton hotel. When he woke up and sobered up the next morning, I apparently was the first person he thought of. I was also the only phone number he could remember without his cell phone directory. How sweet, I felt so flattered.
As I sat face to face with my friend, we decided that contacting a bail-bondsman was the next step in the process toward his freedom. So as if we were breaking from a football team huddle, we slapped each other a high-five (through three inches of prison glass).
and I headed back down the hall to make the call.The list of bail bondsmen, was conveniently attached to the wall next to the phone. Looking at the list, I realized my knowledge of bail bondsmen was equivalent to that of rocket science, I knew nothing.I decided one was as good as any and started at the top of the list:A-1 Bonds.
I watched the awkward interaction between my friend and the bondsmen. After the two finished chatting, the bondsmen finished their conversation with, "Well, I hope to never see you again." As I looked at my friend's face I could tell the feeling was mutual as he said, "Let's get the hell outta here!"
As I drove my friend home, I realized how good it felt to help out a friend in a bad situation. We're still great friends and laugh hard at the message I still have saved in my cell phone of his desperate, hung-over message asking to be bailed out of jail.
Sometimes tests of friendship really can strengthen a relationship. Perhaps part of the reason I chose to help him was knowing that he owed my ass big time. But more so, the look of gratitude on his nauseous face was worth the while. Sometimes it takes a bad situation to really know who your true friends are. When the time comes I know I can count on him for the same help.
When the bondsmen arrived he took down my information because I had the privilege of co-signing for my jailbird friend. This meant I was liable if he missed his court date and I would owe the bondsmen $500. Lucky me.
But let's hope that will never happen.
(through three inches of prison glass). 12.