By Anthony Martin
Let me first clarify that the the ‘Court System’ to which I will be referring to is actually just the ‘summons’ process. For full clarification, here is my account, as published in the Gator Crime Blotter, of what I think happened, I was drunk (so college), sorry.
On the night of October 25th, the subject in question (that’s’ me) exhibited drunken behavior somewhere on Bowery in the Lower East Side. While on foot, the individual cut off a police vehicle. When officers interviewed, he may or may not have become belligerent. (He doesn’t remember, he thinks he flipped them off). The officers moved to make an arrest; when officers move to make an arrest, this means their knee moves to the back of your neck while your face moves very close to the pavement.
After this charming moment, the car ride to the station was as amicable as a taxi to the grocery store, save the single exception that one’s hands were tightly bound and oh, yeah, the drivers had guns. Good thing these officers were a catch and release type. They issued me a summons at the station, left me in a holding cell for about an hour (this is a lot like the YMCA club, if the Y made you take you shoes and belt off, wasn’t any bigger than 10×12 and only let drunks and homeless people in.) They shortly after let me back on the streets to subsquently take a $40 cab ride home.
Just over two months later, I was to report to the Broadway court house to answer my summons. This consisted of me lining up along side all the other ne’er-do-wells. It reminded me of cows going to slaughter. I figured we’d probably be McDonald’s beef, judging by the fact we were all questionably criminal. The process wasn’t too entirely painful, though. It seems like New York has figured out how to do this shit efficiently. This wasn’t their first rodeo.
But maybe I’m only saying that because my charges were conditionally dismissed. (This means 6 months probation. No more shooting at cop cars, I guess.)
But F’em. A Gator don’t take no shit. Except when you have a badge and a gun. For now, I’ll just continue to pretend to be hardcore. Though next time I’m crossing the street, I’ll be sure to yield to cop cars.