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Snitchin' Bill is Born

a photo of Prison from my Apartment

As I left Spanish class, my teacher warned me about staying out all night and missing class the next day. I assured her that Halloween on a Tuesday could not possibly be eventful enough to prevent me from my responsibilities as a scholar. In the back of my mind, however, I thought that it was poor form to schedule Halloween on a weekday.

This was 10 a.m. The next thing I knew, it was 10 p.m., and sitting in front of me was an empty case of beer. Wrapped around my neck was a large gold chain, with a matching sleeveless undershirt and neon and black tracksuit. My friend had decided to throw foreshadowing to the wind, dressed as “Prison Will” with a Saint Quentin blue button-down dress shirt and gold tooth. We were ready for Fell's Point.

What I think a ginny looks like

Halloween in America must be one of our stranger customs to the rest of the world, especially if one is casting their gaze on the Fell's Point district of Baltimore. A two-block stretch of bars next door to downtown, the Halloween party there stands second in size only to the festivities in Salem, Massachusetts. People in Baltimore live for two things: drinking all day on the infield of the Preakness Horse Races in the summer, and drinking all night on Halloween in Fell's Point.

It surprised me, then, that undercover police officers very quickly spotted me with a can of beer wandering amongst 50,000 people. At first I thought I was being arrested by a hobo, until he pulled his badge out from underneath his costume. I was quickly surrounded by several other officers. Clearly Billy Soprano had just become Enemy of the State. Once they caught me fumbling for my fake ID, however, they lightened up. You can tell because my friend took a picture of the confrontation, and my face is all smiles as they are slamming me against the hood of the squad car.

In their defense, the cops had great costumes

After disarming me of my beer and ID, the Baltimore PD released me back into the wild of the night, where I then bumped into a prospective girlfriend. She was attracted to my newly-found bad boy image, and for some reason I was digging her trucker hat and walrus-thin mustache. At this moment, I should have realized tonight was going to be a manly love kind of night.

Guess which one I've hooked up with?

SHE and I arranged to meet up later, and Prison Will and I kept walking. We basically acted like judges of a costume contest for the rest of the night, realizing that many girls must be impervious to the cold of fall Maryland nights. I was feeling slightly invincible as well, but not as much as my other friend John. It's hard to believe that someone dressed as Super Mario can appear out of nowhere to change your life forever, but that's the magic of Halloween. When we bumped into him, Super John was hungering for pizza (of course) and took us down the street to the local parlor. Along the way, he decided to smash his elbow through a storefront window.

It's always impressive the things that consume your interest when you're inebriated. As soon as Mario showed that he wasn't bleeding, we forgot about that window, and I spent five minutes staring at a run in a girl's fishnet tights. Unfortunately, the police officer standing at the end of the block did not. Mario ordered us a large pie, I took some pictures of girls and posed with my open alcohol container citation, and then Prison Will was escorted out of the parlor by Officer “How Stupid Can You Guys Be.”

Snagging a piece at the Pizza Parlor- Isn't Halloween awesome?

And that's Prison Will- nice costume...

Even more unfortunately, Mario thought that because he was buying us a pizza, he didn't need to confess to the crime. He just kept repeating his family creed, “They got nothing on us.” We never did get to eat that pizza. We all did get arrested however. For me, it had a little extra sting, because one of the cops who had just busted me less than an hour earlier had snatched me again. “We shoulda locked you up the first fucking time, you piece of shit! If my son was running around acting like you...”

At least I was helping her become a better parent.

The process of actually going to jail is pretty time consuming. First, you sit on the curb in plastic cuffs. Then you sit in the Police RV with zip-ties. They've got TV in the RV, but you only get Jay Leno, and the reception is a little snowy. Then they put the metal cuffs on you and throw you in the back of the paddy wagon with the rest of the night's low-lifes. Prison Will and I were a little overwhelmed; Mario, on the other hand, was having a blast. He even got to reconnect with an old friend who happened to be sitting next to him.

Once we arrived at our final destination, we got to mix it up with a few of the jail's other upcoming guests for the evening. It was 4 in the morning and I was sitting across from a very scary man who would not stop staring at me.

“I want one of yo' chains, boy,” he exclaimed, nodding towards my Halloween-themed Mardi Gras beads.

I had necklaces to spare, and would have been more than glad to have given him one, except that the cuffs were on really tight behind my back.

“I'll be seeing you at breakfast,” he fired back at my silence as he was escorted through processing. Not to spoil the story, but they don't give you a communal breakfast in jail. At the time though, I did not know that. It was one of a few things that kept me awake for the rest of that night. My new friend was confirming my suspicions that I looked like a prison bitch.

The moment I broke down was when they put me in front of the pay phone for my only call. In the age of cell phones, I could not remember one phone number, save my parents' 3,000 miles away. I toughened up quickly, and went into my cell quietly, sharing it with a few other guys who were looking a lot worse for wear than me, even though the cops had confiscated my jacket and given me a replacement one made of material akin to insulation.

Halloween is Christmas for the police. They can arrest whoever they want, for whatever reason, and you get to spend a couple hours in the drunk tank. I left the jail being charged with an adverb. Somewhere, I have a record with the word “Disorderly” stamped on it. Prison Will and Mario had to go to court to settle their differences of opinion on who truly deserves the charges of property damage and seven years of bad luck. For me, it all amounted to a fairly effective Scared Straight program.

For my other cellmates, maybe not so much. The guy in front of me at the checkout line joked, "See you next weekend!" as he rolled out with his belongings. I got all my chains back and walked away as quickly as possible.

As we left the jail at 2 p.m. the next day, all I really cared about was, “How was I going to explain all of this to my teacher, in Spanish?”

Winning.