I was working as a dish washer in the Department of Corrections building. My boss was a horrible alcoholic. But the good part was that I was also a horrible alcoholic. So every morning he would bring two 24 packs of Budweiser to work and we’d start drinking them at 6 a.m. and they would be gone by 3 p.m.

My boss was this tremendously white trash dude. He had feathered hair and a mustache and wore clothes that he got from his Marlborough points. He listened to new country music that he’d  blast in the kitchen and it made me want to kill myself. Actually, a lot of things made me want to kill myself: being a dish washer, drug addict, alcoholic, and being a wasteoid working around a bunch of cops all day.

One day,  we finished all our beer and decided to go to the bar after work. At the bar, my boss fell off his chair after only a few more beers. He just laid on the floor for a few minutes with his legs up in the air. It looked like he was giving birth. Since we were the only people in the bar it was just me and the bar tender laughing at him. I switched from Bud to drinking Jack & Coke. We were really fucked up and the bar tender cut us off. We left after about an hour.

My house was the first stop and it was only about four blocks away from the bar. But after we walked for a few minutes I felt my boss’ hand grabbing my head. He was trying to wrestle or something, but I hate when people put their hands on my head. I turned around and got him into a headlock and threw him to the ground. When he was down there he punched me in the shin.

Then next thing I remember I was standing over my boss, kicking him repeatedly in the knee. I guess a neighbor called the police, because all of the sudden, I was explaining why there was a drunk dude with a mustache writhing in pain at my feet to a couple officers.

“A neighbor called us here. She said two people were fighting,” the officer said.

“Do you know which neighbor it was?” I asked. Most of the time when I was drunk I could act really sober. That was not one of the times.

“It’s not important.”

“Everything is important.”

The ambulance came and they took my boss away. The cops took me away. After several hours, they released my boss from the hospital and took him to the county jail. We sat in the drunk tank together till the next day. It was cold and hard to sleep. A black guy sitting next to us had chapped skin and he kept twitching.

We went straight to work from jail. My boss had a horrible limp and could barely walk. During a break, he have me 20 bucks and  told me to go to the liquor store to buy  two 24 packs of Budweiser but they were on sale so I got four instead.

Anyway, I’m kind of bummed out because these mug shots aren’t very mug shot-y. They kind of look like bad photos you’d get at a Wal-Mart photo booth. Maybe that’s what happened, I was so drunk that I went to Wal-Mart and made this story up. Hm.

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Comments

  1. Dave says:

    Oh, I dunno. I think this would’ve occupied a space of honor on The Smoking Gun. “Happiest arrestee.”

  2. melanie d. says:

    haha. you smirked in your mugshot. i wish i could find mine. it was on my wrist all weekend at rccc. i was kind of looking to the side like there was something really interesting just out of frame, and don’t you wish you could see it too?

    we all compared mugshots to kill time during intake and release.

  3. Yanz says:

    Just so you know, you’re pretty darn cute. Don’t let get to your head.

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