Glamor Time

Went to a new jail today.

Not a new jail, but one I'd never been in before.

Some poor unfortunate meth-smokin' chick got herself arrested over the weekend. I thought she might like a visitor, so I grabbed a pee-test cup and walked across the street to the county courthouse.

I'm working in the Wilds of the North today - one of our satellite offices, located in an even more isolated, desolated, and under-populated place than Fake Cow County.

Their jail is still located in the back of the courthouse. I have no idea how many people it will house. I'm guessing seven.

No sign of Otis.

The place was clean, as are most Texas jails and prisons, but old and dark. I made my way down a short hallway that terminated in a heavy duty wire door. It looked like someone had gone to the ag mechanics class at the high school and said "Hey, y'all. We need us a door for the jail." And somebody welded 'em one.

The jailer was very nice. He had all the jail keys on one huge ring. No electronic buzzers and electromagnetic locking systems here. Just a huge-ass key ring with about 20 brass keys, each one probably weighing three pounds. You lock a door with one of those keys and that bastard stays locked.

I waited next to the fingerprint counter for the jailer to bring the prisoner out. As I said, the place was clean, but it smelled. It smelled of urine. No matter how hard you try, there is no hiding the smell of bodies and urine in these places. It's like a nurisng home only more sweaty.

Miss Saturday Soiree was none too happy to see me. I was hurt. She barely spoke, but glared eloquently at my little plastic pee-pee cup.

The jailer pointed us to the unisex bathroom. It was tiny. A one-holer not built for dual occupancy. I hate this part.

I managed to squeeze into the room, along with my companion and we got the door (which opened to the inside, of course) closed.

She sat.

I stood.

And we waited.

And waited.

And...

Then I realized that this was the only place in the whole jail that didn't smell like pee.