40!?

Last week my beloved husband turned 40 years old...and while this is not a post about him, mid-life crisis and all that (that's to come! For ME!?) it's a fun story I've told many times to people...because whenever I hear "40" I think of this...

December, 2001...A kid I was not even that close to had recently gotten locked up for some stupid crime and had written me a letter, asking me to visit him in jail. "And if you come on Saturday, it's  my birthday". How could I say no?  I got the proper "ok" from my supervisor and prepared for my first ever jail visit.

Back then, visits at the county jail were from 9am to 9pm. I had some Christmas shopping to do, so I aimed my time to arrive at mid-morning. I was dressed conservatively=jeans, loose shirt...I entered the waiting room and was met with a crowd that was 90% female--mothers, aunts, girlfriends, baby-mommas, sisters, etc...and I was clearly in the minority.  I had no clue what to do so I asked someone and they said to go register. I got to a desk that was manned by a sleepy officer that had a bunch of deli-looking tickets in front of him in a pile. I gave him my information and he handed me a random ticket=#40.  "Wait until your number is called and then go back there", he said, pointing to an area where visitor and inmate meet face to face 10 or so at a time  (but glass in between w/ a disgusting phone to talk through).  I went back to the waiting room, pulled a book out of my purse, and sat down. They were on number 17 so I settled in for a long wait.

I was sitting amongst a few mothers, aunts, sisters, baby moms, or wives (who could tell?) who were there when I arrived.  As I tried to stay busy with my book, I couldn't help but overhear their chatter. "Man, I hate dees visits!" "Yeah! Take so long!" "What number you got?" "I gots 32. How 'bout chew?" "I gots 39. Dat's an hour from now". "I gots 47". (Huh? A number higher than the one I got and they were here before me!? My face started to redden...) And the murmuring continued...until they turned to me and asked, "What number you got?"

What could I do? I held up my "deli ticket". "40".  Immediate eruption="40!? How you get 40!?" Turning away from me, sucking her teeth, and muttering amongst the crowd seated around, "Ain't that som'fin! She come after me and get 40! What the f---- is that!?" Displeasure all around...Injustice! Unfairness! "I got here at 8:30 and waiting in line and got 47 and she come in at 10:15 and get 40!" A low impending cloud came over the small area we occupied...I didn't control the deli tickets! It wasn't MY fault! All I was doing was trying to see a kid! Still...

I leaned into the #47 woman who was making all the fuss and said, "You know what, you're right. You were here before me so you should get the earlier visit. You can have mine", and we exchanged, sucking of her teeth not going unnoticed even though I was doing a good thing. The murmuring died down a bit...but it was not lost on me that I had just avoided a major incident.

So whenever I hear "40" it causes me to remember this event...injustice, fairness, and the lessons of an inadequate visiting system at the local jail.  As far as my beloved turning 40 last week, well...I also love that, since he is also well acquainted with this story, "40" has been less of a milestone to reach but more of a funny story to remember.