This One's for my Street Cred
I've done time. The slammer. That's right. Me, flip flops, an orange jumper, and a shank I crafted out of a plastic spork.
It changed my life. I joined a revolutionary prison gang and changed my name to Mumia Abu-Mist Jamal. I had my hair braided. It was the worst six hours of my life.
I was arrested one night while driving with expired tags and an expired license. In my defense, I was out of the country for a few weeks and I forgot to take care a few loose ends. I was driving a truck, but could only produce an insurance card for a motorcycle. Just a few minor details.
I should mention that I was arrested after a hair show. At the time, I was employed as a hair model because I have a liberal arts degree.
The officer who arrested me couldn't even look me in the face. I had fake eyelashes and was wearing three pounds of makeup. My platinum and pink hair was teased into a four foot afro.
And that's what I looked like when I went to jail. Also, I was wearing a tee shirt that said, "The Devil Made Me Do It." If I had a wardrobe staff, they all would have been sacked.
The jailers weren't sure if I was a woman or a transvestite whore. After a search for body cavities and then a search of the cavities, I was put in a holding cell for women that looked like men.
I was photographed. They turned out well. I got the photographer's card. "I'll call you when I get out of here. I need some shots for my portfolio," I told him. He said that he had heard that line before.
I was fingerprinted. I was issued a jumper, a roll of toilet paper (doubles as a pillow), a mattress, and a pair of tan flip flops that were 12 sizes too big.
I dragged my mattress to my cell and scratched a mark on the wall to help me keep track of how long I'd been incarcerated. Then I joined the rest of the inmate population for "Wheel of Fortune." We placed our bets. I won a carton of apple juice and a pair of socks.
Just before dinner, my number was called. The guard told me to get my stuff, I had been bailed out. "Can I stay for Jeopardy?" I asked. The guard declined. I bet people on Death Row ask that all the time.
I grabbed my mesh bag of toiletries and pulled my mattress off the bunk. My cellmate offered to carry it down the stairs for me in exchange for my flip flops. Her's were too small. We swapped shoes and she hauled the mattress behind me.
Everywhere I go, I've got b*tches.