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Friday January 5, 2007

The Plea's Turn for the Worse

It takes a lot to piss me off. You can call me a pussy, tell me how small my penis is, say I'm a loser and will amount to nothing in life, and it really won't bother me. In fact, getting me genuinely angry is a lot like bringing a girl to orgasm from a previously apathetic state. First you have to get me nice and warm with the bump and grind of thorough frustration, then tease me a little with complete incompetence. Really work the hips. Follow this up with some aggressive foreplay using personal attacks disguised as completely irrelevant points, and then once you can tell I want it, set me off with a snide comment. It is a process, but this morning some huge prick in Scottsdale had me painting my walls white.

I had been postponing calling the local jails since before I left for Christmas. My plea agreement allows me to serve my 10 in Virginia, providing I can find one willing to accommodate.. and therein lies the problem.

Montgomery County Jail (dist: 7 miles): "We're too full. We're not allowed to take in anyone we're not ordered to. Try the New River Detention Center in Dublin."

New River Detention Center (dist: 21 miles): "Sorry bud, we're way over capacity; we've got guys sleeping on the floor on mattresses."

*sounds enticing*

Roanoke City Jail (dist: 42 miles): "I don't think we can swing it man. I'll have to check."

Me: "I would really, really appreciate it if you would let me go to jail there." *Currently topping my list of things I never thought I would say*

Jailer: "Sorry, we're at three times capacity right now."

So the plot thickens. If I can't find a jail around here, I'll have to go back out and serve as the mayor of Tent City in Phoenix, and I'll probably have to do that over Spring Break. I can't wait to put "Spring Break '07 Tent City!!! SOO Crazy!!!LOL!!" in my profile and leave it in there for six months like the rest of you.

So after finding out that little sliver of good news, I tried to get another requirement, the alcohol screening and treatment, squared away. Please refer to my flash flowchart:

So Virginia doesn't have anyone to screen me and see how much 'therapy' I need. The VASAP program we have qualifies, but there's no screener to tell me how many hours I need. I called Scottsdale to figure it out:

Me: "(Explain that Virginia doesn't have a screener) So I need to set up an appointment over the phone to see how much (many hours of) therapy I need to have, so that I can do it in Virginia.

Lady 1: "We only do telephonic screening with a court order."

Me: "Does my plea agreement count?"

Lady 1: "I'm not sure, let me transfer you."

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Huge Bitch: "Hi, so you want to make sure the program in Virginia is qualified?"

Me: "Yeah, (Explain whole thing again) so our program is 15-20 hours, but we don't have screening, so I'm going to need to do that over the phone."

Huge Bitch: "Is it a state licensed facility for court order screening?"

Me: "....What? (Explain no screener again) And so our treatment program is... (explain VASAP again). The treatment is court ordered, and we don't do screening."

Huge Bitch: "Well you're going to have to get screened with us."

Me: "Yes, I understand that. I want to do screening over the phone with you, and treatment out here in Virginia."

Huge Bitch: "You need a court order to do it over the phone."

Me: "Oh my God" (under my breath) "Yes, thankyou. Does my plea agreement count as a court order?"

Huge Bitch: "Hang on, let me transfer you."

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I was about at my boiling point. I was 100% clear about their process, and EXACTLY what I have to do, but out West everyone was squawking and running around like headless chickens. Finally, the Imperial Asshole got on the phone with his weak, slightly raspy voice.

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"Hi, this is Imperial Asshole, can you explain your situation again?"

Me: (explain everything in detail)

Imperial Asshole: "Ok well you must get screened with us."

Me: "Yes. And then once I do, this program in Virginia will qualify, right?"

Imperial Asshole: "Nothing qualifies until you are screened."

Me: "I know. I want to get screened over the phone, and then take this program if it qualifies."

Imperial Asshole: "You need to come to Arizona to get screened."

Me: "I'm in Virginia and I want to do it over the phone, so that I can get my treatment here."

Imperial Asshole: "No you need to come out here. You did your crime in Arizona, so you should do your time in Arizona."

Me: (Struggling to keep my wolves at bay) "Ok well I can get a court order to do it by telephone, right?"

Imperial Asshole: "No, you need to come to Arizona. We want to do it in person."

Me: "Well my plea bargain is designed so that I don't have to go back, and it says that your office has agreed to monitor the whole thing."

Imperial Asshole: "We haven't agreed to anything. I've told the court system specifically not to issue court orders for telephonic screening. Tell the prosecutor that we must screen you before we will take any part in it, and that he can call me if he wants."

Me: "Alright I'll let my lawyer handle this."

Imperial Asshole: "(Again) You did the crime in Arizona, so you should do the time in Arizona, not Virginia. You need to come out here and do it."

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As soon as I got off the phone I actually did want to settle this in Arizona. I wanted to go out there to look him in the eye before I spit in it. I couldn't even tell him to go fuck himself over the phone because I knew it would come back to haunt me later. The last time I've been that mad was almost a decade ago, when I almost punched out a 60 year old bishop in the middle of a BYU dining hall, and his discourse had been similar. It felt like a ball of acid was stirring in my chest right behind my breastplate; it took everything I had not to spike my phone off the brick wall. I couldn't even get it up in the shower.

I don't know who this little cunt-rag thought he was, but he has no business imposing on me his philosophies about the flaws in Arizona's judicial execution practices. Take it up with the fucking legislature. If you want to tell me that I should come out there to be screened because it's harder to diagnose someone over the phone, that's fine. I can respect your professional opinion. But, I'll go get a court order anyway because I don't want to disrupt my work, school, and wallet to fly out to Arizona just to spend one hour lying to your face, when I can do that perfectly well over the phone from 3,000 miles away.

Cocksucker.

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