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I Went To Oklahoma and All I Got Was...Arrested! 2004-06-01, 11:17 p.m. I went to Oklahoma over the holiday weekend to see Kate and Dawn in the first of what shall be many partial Redheads + 1 gatherings. They are two of the sweetest, funniest, hottest, most fabulous people I've ever met and throughout the whole visit, I felt like we'd been friends forever. We got absolutely shitfaced on Saturday night and drunk-dialed everyone we knew, drunk e-mailed people we don't know, and looked up phone numbers on Orkut when we ran out of phone numbers and e-mail addresses. I remember Kate licking beer off her couch, and Dawnie double-fisting a glass of wine and a Shiner Bock. I do not remember things that I allegedly did throughout the course of the evening, but I do recall screaming a lot. Crazy Drunken Antics aside, I can't say enough good things about my weekend, pre-departure. I loved every minute of my stay in Oklahoma, and I kind of want to move there and marry a cowboy whose parents have Old Oil Money. But only if I can see Kate and the other Redheads regularly. Kate dropped us off at the airport around 4:00 on Monday afternoon – Dawn had booked a flight for about an hour later, and I was trying to fly standby on a 5:25 flight. When we got inside, the screen said that my flight was delayed about half an hour, and takeoff was anticipated for 6:10 p.m. The terminal was pretty empty, and I didn't have to wait in line at all to check in at the Southwest counter. I was able to book a seat on the earlier flight, and was told to go get my bags screened at the first security checkpoint. So, I plopped my suitcase on the x-ray line, and the short, bald man who would quickly become my nemesis pulled on a pair of blue latex gloves, and gingerly opened my suitcase. I pulled a paperback out of my tote, and started reading. The short, bald man was inspecting every bra, every sock, every single item in my toiletry case. He pulled my Redken Straight Edge whipped hair wax out of the bag and squirted it into a tiny receptacle. He carefully inspected my glasses with his little wand. He stuck his wand inside each of my shoes, rubbed it all over my curling iron, and over every square inch of my compact. I got through half of High Fidelity before the short, bald man pulled his gloves off, summoned a police officer, and held a whispered conversation with him. Then, the officer, whose name was Elmer, looked up at me with his steel-grey eyes and said the words I never thought I'd hear. "Ma'am? You're under arrest. Please come with me." I tried not to hyperventilate, as I gathered up my stuff and followed him down the hallway to a tiny, windowless room. Elmer invited me to sit down at a rickety card table so that he could ask me a few questions. He let me know that his partner, Billy Ray, would be sitting in on our conversation. He read me my rights as a detainee in the city of Oklahoma City. He also explained that I was charged with suspicion of Artfully Concealing a Dangerous Weapon and that screeners may determine at any time that any item that may or may not be on the Prohibited Items List can be confiscated due to the context of the situation and the suggested intent of the possessor. And what, exactly, was I being charged with a felony for? Well, you see, about three years ago (pre-September 11, 2001), my parents borrowed all of my luggage for a trip because theirs was scattered between my brother and sister who were on opposite ends of the country. And about three years ago, my dad lost his monogrammed pocketknife (more a Swiss Army Knife with scissors and all kinds of weapons than a true pocketknife) that his grandfather had given him when he was very small. It's really cool and obviously a loved and cared for antique, but beyond that, it meant a lot to my father. I remember him being really distressed about it, but eventually convincing himself that he'd lost it and it would never turn up again. Except that this knife had gotten wedged into a crevice of my suitcase that I did not know even existed prior to May 31, 2004, and I was arrested for artfully concealing it. I was allowed one phone call, so in between hysterical, heaving sobs, I called my parents. Dad: Are you home yet? Me: Not quite. I just got arrested. At the airport. Dad: …? Me: Yeah, that's right. Arrested. Dad: …? I need more information. Me: I got arrested at the Oklahoma City airport for artfully concealing a dangerous weapon. By cops whose names are Billy Ray and Elmer. Dad: You have weapons? Me: No. It's YOUR weapon. I was just artfully concealing it. Dad: Why would you do a thing like that? I'm going to get your mother on the phone. Me: Argh! Mom: You got arrested? Dad: She got arrested! Mom: But…how? Dad: Weapons! Me: Argh! Dad: So do we need to bail you out of jail? Me: I'm not in jail. Yet. I got one phone call, though. Mom: Dear Lord. Dad: This is like a really terrible episode of Law and Order when your responsible adult child gets arrested at an airport in the middle of BFE. Mom: Please help our daughter get home safely and spare her from any legal trouble because she needs a new damn job and she can't get one of those from jail. Or with a felony on her record. Amen. Dad: You hear your mother? Me: I do. So I am going to see what is going on here and I'll call you back if they take me to jail. Dad: Of course. Because that's what you do when you go to jail. Me: I mean, really. Jail! Mom: You committed a felony, so I'm not sure that we can bail you out so easily. Me: But I didn't! I am not a felon! Dad: But Elmer and Billy Ray think you are? Me: Yes! I have to go. Bye. So, I tearfully explained my story to Elmer and Billy Ray – that that was obviously my father's knife, with his monogram, it had been lost several years ago, obviously it happened when he'd borrowed my bag, and I had no knowledge of this being in my possession. In addition, I'd flown dozens of times since September 11, 2001, and had never once been stopped a security checkpoint for anything suspicious. After about thirty minutes of me sobbing and whispered conversations on their end of the card table, they finally believed my (true) story, and dropped the charges against me. Instead, they issued a $150 ticket from the City of Oklahoma for failure to comply with anti-terrorism laws. So even though the charges were dropped, I can forevermore tell the story of how I got arrested on Memorial Day Weekend 2004 when I went to visit my good friends in Oklahoma. And I am quite confident that Billy Ray and Elmer will rue the day that they fucked with me.
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