“I Had to Stop” | #EatADick

By Andersen Richards

March 9th, 2016

They made me take a breathalyzer.

“There’s no need for that. I told you I had a drink.”

The security guards escorted me to a separate room, far on the other side of the building, away from everyone else. It didn’t matter how low the breathalyzer said my BAL was. It confirmed that I had alcohol in my system. Even the tiniest sliver.

“You do,” the guard closest to me said. “You’ve violated parole.”

“Do I have to start the program over again?” I asked. I had attended my MADD class, completed my work service. I near the completion of my first offender’s DUI classes.

“That’s up to the judge,” the guard said, rising. That’s shit people say when they don’t you to freak the fuck out until after they’re gone. You can freak out in front of a judge because there will be multiple people on hand to shoot you if you do.

“What about community service?”

“Up to the judge.”

“Am I going to jail?” I asked.

He opened the sliding door to the office, not hesitating to look back, “Yes.” He closed the door and the other guard stayed outside.

Suddenly I remembered that sensation I felt in Rebecca’s kitchen, knowing people were coming for me. My stomach felt like it’d been stepped on so hard, it’d ripped from my esophagus, like bile was pouring down waiting to leak out of me, like I was about to shit out whatever burning substance I felt inside. Accept then, there was also a rising sense of euphoria. It’s what pushed me to crack that broom handle into that guy’s head, to fight back for once.

It was… entitlement. A sense that I deserved to be free, that I deserved to fight back. Sitting there, I knew I could crack that fucking security guard’s head open, make it past the second or crack his fucking head open, too. It might not be easy, but it seemed clear they didn’t want to stop me as much as I wanted to be free.

Making it to the Bronco would be easy.

I’d just drive out before the cops arrived, go back to work in the morning.

I’ve been living off the grid for so long, what would the difference be? I still get paid under the table. My life would continue the way it has.

But that sense of entitlement was not there this time.

I didn’t feel like I deserved what happened to me, but that dumb fucking guard didn’t deserve to have his head split open, either. Certainly I could have tried to get past him without hurting him, but at that moment, it seemed like a better thing to do to just sit there and wait patiently.

After about little more than an hour, I saw the guard look to his left, nod his head and a police man walked in front of the plastic partition. He was maybe six foot five, broad, muscular. But his skin was yellowing. As the door slid open, I could see his eyes had taken on that same pissy pallor. He looked at me, his gums pulling away from his teeth, and I knew what he was. The only question was, did he know me?

“Do you want us to have him blow again?” the guard asked.

“Not necessary,” he said, before looking at me. “Turn around, put your hands behind your back.” His smile was not so evident at first, but it grew by the time he repeated himself. “Turn around, put your hands behind your back.”

At that point, I lunged forward, slamming my shoulder into the Kevlar vest beneath his shirt. It didn’t slow him down the way I thought it would. In fact, he grabbed me, pinned me to the ground and began to spray mace into my eyes. I screamed and cried and kicked and wish I had split that fat fucking security guard’s head open when I had the chance. “This one’s got an arrest warrant out for assault. Some guy caught him making time with his girlfriend, so he beat the guy and his friends with a club.”

Only now do I realize what he was talking about.

I wished I’d run when I had the chance even more now.

I twisted and squirmed but he seemed to drop his body weight against me. The eyes seemed to be peeling open, the burning traveled down the nerves and lit up my brain, and maybe it was something about the smell but I could taste all this happening. I could taste my optics nerves frying.

It was so bad I couldn’t even feel the cuffs go on.

I screamed for help, begged for someone to intervene. But honestly, I don’t know how much of it was clear over my full-throated bellowing from the mace. He pushed me into the car and slammed the door behind me.

Somewhere around the time my screaming turned into moaning, the car stopped and the officer stepped out. My vision was pixelated and confusing, like playing an old Nintendo on a screen that was starting to go. I was still on my side, rubbing my face against the upholstery of the seat. Instead of grabbing my ankle and pulling me out, he crawled in, lingering above me.


So, I found this post saved as a draft. This all happened almost two months ago. I couldn’t really talk about it. Honestly, I was really determined to share everything with you guys but this was just too much. I have a hard time thinking about what happened even now. I just walked away from it all, stopped writing.

Somehow I thought if I walked away from all this, stopped focusing on it that it would stop. That it would blow over if I stopped focusing on these aspects of my life.

But last night something happened that was a little too familiar, reminded me of all this too much. I can’t finish this post. Maybe later. But I will tell you about last night. -Andersen, 4/21/2016

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