Sam Paul - Why I Committed Suicide

A detective was waiting around for me when I went to work this evening and I could tell I was the one he was looking for when I pulled into the parking lot behind the Tomato with my front seat full of dirty laundry. Apparently some asshole trying to make manager at the record store either recognized me on one of my little dashes for cash or maybe from their security videotape and then ID’d that I work at the Tomato. I was preparing myself mentally, thinking “no big deal, I haven’t done anything wrong, right? They just have me mixed up with some other guy probably”, convincing my brain of its own lies.

So the detective was waiting and I tried to play it cool but he’s played this game before and he brought his own deck of cards. The clincher was that he brought Jenifer into the fucking mix. The camera in the parking lot had her license plates and the clerk ID’d a blond-haired driver so they had her on file, not me. Shit! Do what you want to me but please leave her the fuck out of it!

I held out, but he broke me down trying to pin this shit on her. He had me damn near in tears because he kept going on about how he just needed me to finger her as the driver, apparently it would amount to a much more severe penalty because of something or other and it would have meant a bigger arrest for him. Vehicle involvement makes it a felony or something I guess and his spiel was probably a load of B.S., but it worked on me. The dick convinced me he really wanted to pin the shit on Jenifer for some reason. He kept asking about her, all I can guess is he must have had some clues from that mall thing with Donut a few weeks ago and he wanted to get her for that too. I finally just broke down and said that I operated entirely independently and that there was no other driver, that whatever was listed as stolen was entirely me acting on my own. He wasn’t happy about that, but finally figured out I wasn’t going to turn in my girlfriend for a felony and he made me write a list of the shit I took from the store. I named about 5 Cd’s and a video game and that was it. I figured they probably had no idea how long I’ve been stealing from there and so I took a gamble and was right. He took the list, said he would call and tell me when to turn myself in to the county jail and then left. What the fuck??!! That’s the first time I’ve heard of a cop letting someone go after they’ve just confessed to stealing something. I watch COPS, and people always go to jail.

After all that I still had to work all night. Even though my rhythm was fucked I still made some cash off the register, gave out some free beer, did my laundry and went home just like normal.

It really fucking sucks that the cops want to get Jenifer so badly. I told her to cool it out; she’s dropped her semester classes and now rides around with her new friend, Donut, most of the day helping him boost shit. He’s good at it, I’ll give him that, but he doesn’t give a fuck about her or anybody but himself and if it comes down to it he’ll sell her out in a heartbeat. I can at least say that I have a job that I make a little money from, but he doesn’t even care about pretending to have anything like that. He’s either in a jail or out stealing to get heroin. That’s it. Not one other thing of significance occurs in his life.

I really hope we can figure out what the fuck we’re doing soon or get the fuck out of this town. I’m not sure how much more of this I can deal with.

I pulled into work for my Thursday night shift and from behind me the ghostly presence of cheap cologne on a tub of lard stuffed in denim with a badge came driving up in his tan, tax paid-for, gas guzzling “work” vehicle. Apparently that call I was supposed to get from the detective about when to arrange to turn myself in fell through the cracks when the fucker decided to let my charges go to warrant and then pick up a little bonus money from the state by bringing me in himself. It just so happens that I’m so easy to find since I always work the same hours and I was FUCKING HERE LAST WEEK! I didn’t even get to go and tell my manager why my car would be at work and I wouldn’t, so they’ll probably think I decided to go out on Fry St. and party.

Tan Lard takes me “downtown” and sticks me in city jail where he promptly turns me over and I never see him or his belt buckle again. From there it’s all about waiting to be processed. The guards there took my clothes from me right away and put me in a really orange jumpsuit with “DETON CITY JAIL” silk-screened on the back in black letters. I couldn’t believe they spelled the name of their own city wrong on the jumpsuits and I couldn’t believe they took my clothes away before being arraigned or getting a phone call or anything. They even took away my shoes and gave me these tan rubber slipper things they call shower shoes or “slides”. Finally after a few hours they stuck me in this weird-shaped cell with a bunch of Mexicans. I say the room was “weird-shaped” because from what I could gather it appeared to be in the shape of an octagon, with an octagon stainless steel table in the middle and a door in every other wall leading to four branches of cells with a set of bunk beds in each. On one of the walls there was a phone and I tried and tried to reach somebody collect. There’s a block on the house phone that Jerry wisely put there in case one of us decided to get drunk and dial phone sex late at night, but it turns out that same feature also blocks collect calls. I tried Jen’s phone but she likely got called into the Tomato to cover my shift so I wouldn’t get fucking fired because Tan Lard wanted to collect his $20 bonus money for bringing in a wanted fugitive.

I can’t even remember who in the hell I got through to eventually, but I made sure they got a message to the house and to Jenifer to see if I could get bailed out ASAP. Then I sat and waited. The cell was mostly empty and there were only four Mexicans in there with me, none of whom spoke a lick of English. I tried to bullshit with them for a while but they just laughed at my attempts to pantomime and communicate in rough Spanish so that didn’t last long. There was no TV, no clock and nothing to do but wait. I finally picked one of the rooms and got on the top bunk with a blanket and fitfully slept.

Early in the morning the guards came in and pulled me out of bed. One of the fucking Mexicans had taken my shower shoes and hidden them as a prank, so after a bit of bullshit I found them and they hauled us all out like a bright orange brigade to stand in front of the judge. The Mexicans were in there for minor things like disorderly conduct and being drunk. I guess that’s why they stayed up together laughing most of the night. The judge had an interpreter for the Mexicans but to my surprise when they called one of the older guys up in front of the judge he spoke perfect English and explained how he was sorry and that he had given blood last night so the couple of beers he drank got him a lot more wasted than he expected and that he’d learned his lesson and he convinced the judge to let him go with time served. One of the other Mexicans also got let go and the other two got something like fifteen days in jail. When the judge finally got to me, there was a brief consultation about why I was at the City jail with the bailiff and then his old monotone voice croaked out “bail is set at $1,000.” I couldn’t believe it! $1,000! I courageously spoke up and told him how the detective had promised to call me so that I could turn myself in and make arrangements with my work schedule. I told him I was probably going to get fired now and by then I was worked up and my voice was tinged with bitterness and sarcasm at their whole system of doing things. The judge just looked at me for a second and then said, in less of a monotone voice this time, “Bail is set at $1,500. Does the defendant have anything else to say for himself?”