I Left My Head And My Heart On The Dance Floor

While I bang my little tin cup up and down the bars of my jail cell, I sing Lady Gaga's "Telephone." I wish I had done the proper amount of research before being jailed-- I would've looked up traditional jail songs and brought the list of them in with me to sing ad nausea. Because I didn't know I was headed to jail, though, I had to work with what I have in my head, which is to say that I had to try and remember the last video I'd seen that took place in a jail cell. 

The best I could do was Gaga. And, it wasn't until I threatened to strip down to my Crime Scene undies that the police finally decided to let me make my one phone call. 

Who to call, who to call?

Me: Hi.  Um, Dad?

My Dad:  Yeah. What's up?

Me: I'm in jail.

My Dad: What?

Me: I'm in jail. 

My Dad: I don't know what to say. Why did you call me? Is Husband on the moon? Where are the kids?

Me: The kids are... actually could you have mom go pick them up? Kiddo #1 is at school and Kiddo #2 is at the sitters.  Huh. Anyway, uh, no. I. I thought if I could explain to you what happened, you could maybe tell Husband.

My Dad: Oh. Wow. You think the story you're about to tell me sounds better coming from me than from you?

Me: Well... kinda.  You're the best story teller I know. If anyone can make this into something Husband won't divorce me for, it's you.

I learned to do this from my mom.
She can hold more than 10 straight-pins
in her mouth at a time. I am not as talented. 

My Dad: No pressure.

Me: No pressure.

My Dad: ... (exasperated sigh as he wipes his whole face from top to bottom with his enormous hand, exhales loudly and prepares to hear what I have to say) Wife! You'd better get in the car. Elizabeth Jean needs you to pick up the kids from school and the sitters... No, you need to do it. Stop quilting and go get them. I'll explain later but everything is ok.  (the sound of my mother gathering her things and muttering conversation to my father with pins in her mouth, then the sounds of a car leaving) ... Ok girl. Let me have it. And it had better be good to stop your mother from quilting.

Oh it's good.

It all started when we moved back to Canadia. See, they put in this law where you can't talk on your cellie while you're driving (or text or check email or check Facebook or anything like that!). I was, at that time, pregnant with Kiddo #2 and hopelessly addicted to chatting on my phone while driving. I'm not saying it's right, I'm telling the truth.  

I can hold many things with my body parts but I won't hold straight-pins here. 

But, I was also hopelessly paranoid of being caught by the police.  So, one day I realized I could put my new found pregnancy boobs to work and started putting the phone on speaker, upside down in my cleavage so I could continue my obsession with chatting-on-the-go.  Fast forward another year, and my magnificent hooters have gone the way of the ... deflated pool toy. No longer able to hold up a cell phone, but also not willing to shell out $120 for a Bluetooth piece, I was caught between a soft and a crap place. So to speak. 

After my mother was sick of listening to my muffled voice over speaker placed on my lap, and because both my mother and I ADORE doing 10 000 things at the same time and therefore always have our speakers on, and therefore also cannot hear a DAMN thing the other one is saying, I got a sweet Christmas present. Or birthday? Easter? I forget. Anyway, I received an amazing Bluetooth headset thing, and the best part is that it does voice recognition, so I can even type emails, update Facebook, text and all that jazz from the thing. And it'll read whatever I want back to me. 

(it's got some flaws-- sometimes I send wacky texts because I don't have the "computer accent" it's used to but whatever, right?)

So, I began using the crap outta my headpiece loving life and getting stuff done. There's nothing like talking to your Mom about fabrics while changing a diaper. Seriously. Simple pleasures.

Anyway I've taken to holding my phone at all times, too because of the headpiece-- if you're too far from the phone, it disconnects and you're stuck doing the "Can you hear me?" thing from Verizon  in very strange places.

Fast forward to last week. I was at the supermarket buying groceries. Like many four-year-olds, mine was pitching 93 fits in the middle of the coffee aisle. Rather, I have no idea where she began having a fit but it climaxed in the coffee aisle over bendy straws. After listening to her whine about bendy straws for the last 45 minutes, while trying keep Kiddo #2 in the cart, with his boots on, and without losing beloved Poochie (which could be an Olympic sport-- one I could never hope to win Gold in, though), I looked in my cart and cut my losses.

I didn't have any frozen or cold stuff, but I feel confident enough in my rage that had there been Popsicles and ice cream laying beside chicken and milk, I would've left the cart anyway. (I probably would've told some sweeper or random person that I'd left all that stuff to rot in aisle 4 and that they should put it back for me and I'm sorry, but I was feeling pretty rageful and needed to exit STAT, so I'm making no promises.)

I am not sure how we got to the car, but I remember Kiddo #1's huge eyes  begging me to go back to the store and I remember with wind whipping my hair around my head like flames. I also remember speaking to her in tongues and how the baby went so still and I knew he was using the old "Rabbit-in-front-of-a-T-Rex" trick. Sigh.

So, the kids got into the car, buckled safely. I got back out of the car and counted to 10. I counted to 10 roughly 100 times waiting for me to calm down. I more or less counted myself into meditation, and managed to lessen my rage from about an 8 to about a 5. That's significant. Feeling much more in control, I got back into the car and told the children they were in time out until further notice and if I hear so much as a peep from either of you, you will go to bed without supper.  Kiddo #2's eyes got very big, again, and I said to her, "Listen! Your behaviour was entirely unacceptable in the supermarket today. I am embarrassed that you behaved that way, but more importantly, you should be embarrassed at the thought that any of those people might recognize you in the future and remember how terribly you acted.  It is entirely inappropriate for children to be whining about bendy straws. Do you know how incredibly fortunate you are just to have been born in North America? Just from being lucky enough to be born here you are getting an education! You will be able to go to University and buy as many bendy straws ... hold the phone? Why are there lights in my back window?"

I pulled over, and so did the lights.  Incredulous, I tried to figure out what I'd done wrong.  Looking back and forth like a chicken, I relented that I must not have signalled my turn. Shocked, I prepared for the ticket.

Police Officer: Do you know why I pulled you over, Ma'am?

Me: (incredulous) No, actually.

Police Officer: You were talking on your phone.

Me: (incredulous) I was? When?

Police Officer: When we passed you going the other direction, you had your phone up to your ear and you were talking on the phone.

Me: (incredulous) I actually, for real wasn't. (shocked that I, for once, actually wasn't on the phone) Um. Can I show you my phone log?

Police Officer: Uh, ok? (checks his watch to verify a 10 minute window of call times he can nail me for)

Me: See? (showing him my call log, which, through some rare feat proved the last call made or received was at 9:28am, and it's 4:43pm)

Police Officer: Huh. Well, it was still in your hand.

Me: I was reading my child the riot act for misbehaving in the supermarket. I was holding it, waving it, that's it. Promise.

Police Officer: Well, I could still give you a ticket because technically you're holding a communication device.

Me: (eyes wide like Kiddo #2's were) Really?

Police Officer: Well, I won't this time but get yourself a bluetooth thingy.

Me: Ok. 

I decided I wouldn't tell him that I already had one or that it's so fancy it can type emails from my speech because I don't think it will help my case.  When the police leave Kiddo #1 says, "Phew! I'm glad you didn't have to go to jail, Mom, but at least we were stopped on our street so Kiddo #2 and I wouldn't have to go with you. We could walk home."

Thanks for the support.

See, but then over the last week I've been thinking about it-- it's not illegal to drive with a coffee in your hand, or a taco or an iPod playing music, so really, since there was proof that I wasn't using it as a communication device, essentially it was exactly that-- same as a taco or a coffee and just as distracting. So I've been feeling mildly annoyed that I almost got a ticket for doing nothing wrong. 

Then today, I was stopped at the end of my street waiting to turn right into the bigger street. While waiting, a police cruiser drove by-- and the driver was clearly on the phone. I turned right and felt mildly indignant -- why should a police officer be able to just drive around with her phone to her ear? If she messes up from distraction it's bound to be worse on her, or at least comparable to if I did something horrific.

Then fate smiled at me and made sure our cars were directly beside each other at a stop light. So I (at first) glanced over to see if I was mistaken. Nope. There it was, a beautiful pink-cased smart phone, up at her ear with the camera lens looking at me.  So I stared at her. Stared and stared and stared. I watched her have a heated conversation, with hand gestures and everything. I looked at her (while glancing at the light, which was taking forever to turn green, by the way) and finally she looked at me.  I smiled and put down my window.  I tapped my bluetooth and said, smiling, "Hey, you should really get one of these. You might get a ticket for talking on the phone."  

And, as fate would have it, the advance green arrow turned on and away I went feeling smug and happy and purring like a cat.   Purring like a cat with more lights in my back window. 

My Dad: Are you kidding me?

Me: Um. No. I was arrested for insulting an officer.

My Dad: Assaulting an officer? WHO ARE YOU?

Me: No, no, no. Not AH-sault, IN-sault. 

My Dad: Well, you can cool your ass-ault off in jail. I'm not telling Husband anything. You chose poorly, Indiana Jones. Good-bye.

I sit down happier than I've felt in months. Sure I have to do jail time, but let's face it: I'm in the only place in the world where I can eat by myself (and while the food is still hot), go to the bathroom without anyone else touching me (watching, sure, but I'm used to that already), sit down as much as I want and go to bed when I feel like it.  This is the crappiest, best hotel in the world and I just bought myself at least 3 more days. 

This is better than a jacuzzi. 

Sigh.