 | "For The Love Of Grease" is an excerpt from Life Bits and Other Chunks: Memoirs of an untrained man, by Stephen L. Wilson. Available at Smashwords. All rights reserved. © 2013-2021. |
Lately I saw a story about someone who was recently in trouble over a rented VCR tape.
I have a similar story. I hope you enjoy it!
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I was fishing on a Friday, in the early '90s. The fishing hole is actually a place on the river where a basalt dike edges the water for miles. The walk to the fishing hole is only about ten city blocks, and it is at the base of a bridge, making shade a whole lot easier to come by. People don't know this, but the Eastern Washington sun can be relentless and brutal.
Where I fish is on the downstream side of a pumphouse jetty that obstructs my upstream view. This is the direction that the game warden boat came from, and it startled me a bit to look up and see him right there beside me.
"Good day. Catching anything?"
"No sir. Maybe a tan."
I wasn't worried. I was papered up.
"May I see your fishing license and state ID?"
"Sure!"
I opened up my tackle box and retrieved the requested documentation.
"Mr. Wilson, you have a warrant issued from Benton County for criminal possession of leased or rented property. I'm afraid you will have to come with me."
Now thIs was quite a bit to process all at once. A warrant? For criminal possession of property? And I was supposed to come with him, in his boat, across the river?
"Hang on a minute. Are you sure you have the right Steve Wilson? There are a few of us, and even my dad is one. You have the wrong one, I can tell you that."
He confirmed my social security number and address. It was me, apparently. My day of fishing was wrecked, and I didn't even know why! I tried to talk my way out of it.
"Say! You are a game warden, not a cop. I will wait for a cop to show up to arrest me, if that is the case."
"I will have you know, Mr. Wilson, that as a fully commissioned peace officer for the state of Washington, I am not only permitted to arrest you, I am obligated to do so. Put this on."
He tossed me a life vest. I put it on.
"Is there anyone you know who can pick up your gear? You will have a chance to call someone when you get to booking."
I said that there was, and stashed my pole and tackle box in the rocks nearby. I asked him again what the charge was, because I had no idea why I had a warrant. Again, he stated that it was for criminal possession of leased or rented property. That was all he knew, and if I would put my hands behind my back so that he could get along with his day.
He cuffed me on those heavy, jagged basalt rocks on that hot summer afternoon and helped me into his boat. Directly across the river was a marina, with a hotel and restaurant. This time of day, the restaurant deck was stocked with upwardly mobile scotch and cocktail drinkers, polishing off a week of white collar work. As the game warden escorted my cuffed arms up the dock, towards the police car in the marina parking lot, I saw these hoity-toity types peering out at me, seemingly amused at my situation. At that moment, I acted on impulse and shouted loudly:
"Don't worry John! I didn't tell them anything!"
I don't know how many up there were named John, but hopefully I spooked a couple of them. Gawkers, anyway.
On the way to the police station, I had a good chat with the police officers. I asked if they knew what criminal possession of leased or rented property meant. One suggested that maybe I rented something and did not return it. The only thing I could think of was a washer and dryer that had already been repossessed. I swore that I shouldn't have anything like that, but I could tell that he heard that kind of stuff all the time.
My wife and I were supposed to go to a Brooks and Dunn concert that night. Because it was Friday, I would not be able to see the judge until Monday. I was going to spend the weekend in the pokey, and I STILL did not know why! Luckily for me, my cell faced the parking lot to the venue where the concert was. To pass time, I stood on a chair and watched out the small window for the white 1976 Pontiac Grand Prix that we owned at the time. I never did see it.
I decided to take advantage of the opportunity to talk to some of my temporary roommates, in case they had any understanding of my warrant. None did, but I learned a couple of things in the process. Spades is a very serious game "on the inside," and, after a day or two, I missed my own cooking.
Come Monday morning, I was ready to get out of there. About eight of us were rounded up and escorted to the courtroom. It wasn't much of a courtroom, really. More of a space carved out so that the judge could make quick work of minor miscreants such as myself. There were a few guys in front of me, so I had an opportunity to size up the judge before I met her. She seemed kind of cranky, so I thought I would throw in as many "your honor"s and "yes ma'am"s as possible.
As luck would have it, my preparation was all for naught. The guy in front of me got her all riled up! He was raising his voice, sternly pounding his hand on the podium, saying things like, "Look here, judge" and "No, let me tell YOU..." I was about ready to give that guy a whack! The judge straightened him out real quick though, and put him on this new work crew for Benton County. And then it was my turn.
I nervously smiled and nodded quickly.
"Hello your honor."
"I understand that you are here for criminal possession of leased or rented property. How do you plead?"
"About that, your honor. I still don't understand what the charges are for."
"Do you have property that you rented but have not returned?"
"Not at all! I mean, with my credit the way it is, I can't rent much of anything. I have been in jail over the weekend, wracking my brain, and cannot figure out what it is that I did wrong!"
The judge scrutinized my eyes for any hint of deception. I guess she believed me because she grabbed my paperwork and took a quick look through it. She nodded knowingly.
"The plaintiff is [Such and Such] Video, in Kennewick. Apparently you did not return a video."
I was stunned. A video? I mean, maybe, but I had no idea that misplacing or forgetting a video would lead to an arrest warrant!
"You mean that not returning a video results in being able to arrest somebody over it?"
"Yes. It is not your property. If you don't return it, you might as well have stolen it. How do you plead?"
"Um. Well. I guess if the paperwork says I rented it, I guess I rented it. Does it say which movie?"
"Mr. Wilson. Please. I have four other people behind you and the rest of my day to finish. How do you plead?"
"Well, guilty, then."
"OK then. You will work off your fine either in jail or on the county work crew. The work crew is a privilege, so don't mess it up."
I thanked the judge and was promptly processed out of the jail house. For the next two weeks I spent my days on a short bus full of indentured servants for the county. It is windy here, so there were plenty of vacant lots full of tumbleweeds and blown-in paper trash in various areas in the county. I would arrive at the jail house in the morning, and was picked up in the evening. Usually my ride was my '76 Pontiac Grand Prix. It had a huge trunk that I kept filling, but never emptying.
One day, much later, I decided to go ahead and clean it out. I had the expected items - tools, a blanket, a jacket. There were also all kinds of other items. The trunk was full, and it took me the better part of a Sunday to clean it all out. At the end of it all, I discovered that between the side of my trunk and the body of the car was a narrow space. Just narrow enough for a movie to slip down there. Guess what I found?
Grease was my wife's favorite movie at that time. I am sure that I happily agreed to rent it. I may even have watched it with her. What I can tell you is that the movie was rented from [Such and Such] Video, a long time prior to me discovering it in that void. I took the movie to my wife, and gave it to her. I mean, I already paid for it. She might as well keep it.
I suppose that it is good for me that renting VCR tapes is an action of the past. One less thing, right? Except that I just ran across this in an old box in the garage . . .
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