Workplace Encounters

I returned to work after court that morning. I’d had a busy week, and hadn’t talked much to my coworkers about my family and legal troubles, but after their initial surprise at the situation we began to talk a bit.

Pierre, the ex-marine, asked me about my arrest. “Well,” I said, “when they first arrested me, they put the cuffs on behind my back and put me in the squad car. The cuffs were a little tight, but what was even tighter was my watch, because it was jammed up above the cuffs, halfway up my forearm. So I’m just sitting there in the back of the car and I’m thinking ‘maybe I can tuck up my legs and step through my arms.’ I tried it, and it worked.”

“Ohhh, they don’t like that” said Pierre.

“Why not?” I asked.

“Well, if you get behind them you could loop your arms over their head and choke them. Or you could just clasp your hands together and hit them on the back of the head. It would be like a pistol whipping, or like brass knuckles; you could knock them right out. Behind your back it’s like you have no arms, but in front of you, your handcuffed arms make a great weapon.”

“Oh, yeah” I said. “But I was only trying to loosen my watch. When they first realized I had stepped through the cuffs, they looked in through the squad car window and asked what I was doing. I had my hands down by my crotch, trying to open my watch clasp with my zipper pull. I said ‘I’m trying to loosen my watch.’ One of them said ‘Oh, we’ll loosen it for you.’ The next thing I remember I was face down in the grass with one of them kneeling on my back. I couldn’t breathe. I shouted to the neighbors, who I saw as I turned my head left and right, ‘Take a picture! Put this on you tube! Take a video!'”

Just then, Bongo Young, our X ray specialist, walked by. He was born in Korea, and had also lived in Brazil before coming to the United States.

“Justin, did you say the police came because your kids called 911? In Korea if your kids called the police on their father the police would come and slap the kids! Police do not involve in family things.”

‘Well, that’s an odd take’ I thought. In a way that echoed what McMurphree had said about “discipline.” In fact, I would later learn, my son, in his mind, did not call for the police, but only for an ambulance. My son had done the right thing; it was the police who overreacted. I mumbled something and excused myself. I had to go talk to Mrs. X about ordering more surgical gloves and radioactive waste boxes.

I walked over and tapped on the jam of Mrs. X’s open door. She looked up from her computer. “Oh, come on in Justin.” I went in and sat down, and before I could say anything she broke the ice. “Hey, I don’t know what happened, but I hope everything works out for you. I know you’re a good father and that you’re good to your kids.”

A bit taken aback, I said “Oh, thank you, but I don’t feel like a good father right now. I feel like the worst father in the world.”

“Something tells me this is a one time thing for you. You know what I’m going through now, right? I’m trying to legally adopt my brother’s daughter. Now there’s an example of a bad father. He’s been in trouble with the law, he’s into some kind of drugs, he leaves his daughter with me for days or weeks on end without giving me any clue when he plans to come and get her. There’s more, too, but I can’t even say the rest. Whatever you’re going through, I think and I hope that you’ve learned your lesson and won’t do anything like that again.”

“Wow, thank you, Mrs. X.”

Perhaps I will get through this. Perhaps I’m not as terrible as I feel. Or as my Jamaican wife (at the time) might say: “Perhaps your nose were a door. Where would you hang the hinges?”