That’s when everything went black.  Power went out all through the hotel.  No lights, no TV, no phone.  Since I was close to going to sleep anyway, I figured there was nothing else to do but go back to my room and hit the sack.

  I had to feel around since the room was still foreign to me.  I crawled into the bed and immediately thought to myself, this feels like I’m in prison.
I pretended the guards had just called lights-out and I was in my cell.  It was a strange feeling because I had never been in prison before, and not once had I ever been arrested or in any trouble.  But the sensations of helplessness, punishment, immobility, and isolation excited me!  I couldn’t possibly sleep.

What I wouldn’t give now for a pair of handcuffs, I thought as I tossed and turned.

  For months after that night, I fantasized about being arrested.  I had bought a pair of handcuffs and had fun with those, but it wasn’t completely satisfying because I could unlock them myself whenever I wanted to and everything would be back to normal.  But I needed more.  I wanted to succumb to authority, and be controlled and detained.  My obsession got so bad that every time I saw a woman get arrested on TV, I would dream it was me being hauled away to the County.

  Finally, I decided I wouldn’t be able to function properly unless I gave in and fulfilled my curiosity.  I had been talking myself out of it for months because, like I said before, I watch TV and I’ve seen horror stories about women’s prisons.  Besides, I didn’t want to ruin my life.  I was pretty successful.  Not rich, but I was comfortable.  And I certainly couldn’t afford to get fired from my job, or commit a crime that would put me behind bars for a lengthy sentence.  All I wanted was to spend a night, or maybe a weekend, in jail just to see what it was like and if it was as exciting as I’d imagined.

  My plan was to get brought in as a Jane Doe on a Friday night.  If I didn’t like it or got scared, I would use my phone call and have a friend come get me out on Saturday.  But if it was fun, I’d stay until Monday.  I imagined that phone call: "Mr. Haggerty, the reason I’m not at the office is I’m in jail.  But don’t worry, it’s a case of mistaken identity.  By the way, could you send someone to get me out?"

  So last Friday evening I left all means of identification at home and got in my car at 9:00 P.M.  I was completely sober.  Maybe I’d have to pay a little fine when this was all said and done, but no way was I flirting with a DUI.

I hit the interstate and just sped.  I drove up and down the highway at about 75 miles per hour.  But it was a careful 75.  I’m always aware of my fellow drivers, and I didn’t hit anybody.  I knew a trooper would come around eventually, and after 45 minutes I saw the red-and-blue flashing lights in my rear-view mirror.

  The officer was female, which was a minor disappointment.  Of course, my real goal was to get arrested, no matter who did the arresting.  If I was lucky, I’d be handled by some men-in-blue at the County Jail.  She asked my for my license and registration.  I acted surprised when I couldn’t find my purse.  "Oh my God," I said.  "I must have left my purse at home, and all of my ID’s in there."
  The officer had no reaction and just asked if this was my car and for the registration again.  I said it was and got it of the glove compartment and gave it to her.  "My name is on there," I said in a shrill voice, pretending to be scared.  The officer wrote on her clipboard and attached the registration to it.  She hadn’t given any indication that she was going to arrest me and I started to get worried that she’d let me go.  But then she said: "Ma’am, will you please step out of the car?" I fought hard to keep from smiling, and my eyes were probably beaming when she commanded me.  I had a feeling that asking me out of my vehicle was the point-of-no-return.

  She was a friendly cop, and probably thought I had made an honest mistake of forgetting my license and was sorry she had to take me in.  "Ma’am, you know driving without a license is illegal.  We can’t take any chances because this could be a stolen vehicle or you could be wanted for another offense.  You are under arrest."  She probably expected me to start crying or yelling at this point, so I played the part.

  "What?  No!  You mean I forget my purse and you’re arresting me?!"  "Please!  Do not interrupt me.  I’m bringing you in, and you can call someone who will either prove you are who you say you are or sign an affidavit stating likewise.  If no one corroborates your story, we’re still obligated to release you after 48 hours if there are no warrants out on you."  She was being very official.   "And you will also be getting a speeding ticket and your car will be impounded.  Now turn around, spread your legs and put your hands on the roof of the car.  You have to right to remain silent..."
 

She told me the Miranda rights while she patted me down.  Right when she asked me if I understood my rights and I nodded, she pulled my arms behind my back and cuffed me.  At that moment, I really felt like a prisoner for the first time and it was incredible.  The clicking of the handcuffs was the sexiest sound I had ever heard.  I had my own cuffs at home and they produced the same noise, but to me it never sounded as good as when I met the long arm of the law.

 
  The handcuffs didn’t quite feel the same as I was sat on a waiting-room bench for what seemed like an eternity.  I was wearing a watch (so I’d know when to go home in case I never got pulled over!) but couldn’t look at it and there was no clock in the room.  It was very uncomfortable because not only were my wrists being chafed but it hurt my shoulders when I’d sit back and pin my arms against the wall.  It was a Friday night, and the jail was backed up.
 

I figured it was typical.  The room I was in was not a cell, but where they deposited prisoners before processing.  We were all dressed in normal clothes and handcuffed behind our backs.  The cops were bringing in a lot more women than they were taking out and most of them looked like hookers.  A uniformed guard finally came and got me.  He led me out of the room and I heard some of the other women complain: "Hey, why does she get to go?" and "When I can call my man?"  The guard walked me down a hallway and I saw a clock.  10:50.  I had been there about an hour-and-a-half but it seemed a lot longer.

  I gave a statement, saying the car was registered under my name and I just forgot my ID.  Again I was told I needed a friend or family member to confirm that.  I thought they would offer me a phone call, but they didn’t.  I wasn’t going to call anybody anyway, at least not tonight.  They released me of the handcuffs and it felt like my wrists were on fire.  I was fingerprinted and photographed.  I made a mental note to myself to come back next week and get a copy of my mug shots.  I was searched, stripped, and showered.  Then they gave me my jail uniform - a classic orange jumpsuit with "COUNTY JAIL" stitched on the back.  I wondered if I could buy this outfit.

  I changed into the uniform in front of a female guard.  She handed me sheets and a pillow and told me to walk the yellow line on the floor with my arms outstretched.  She followed right behind me as I came to the women’s cell-block.  I heard a buzzer, the door opened, and I walked through.  There was a very long corridor with the cells on my right.  This is the real thing, I thought to myself, noticing the cells all featured the gray, steel bars you see in the movies.  Most of the women behind them ignored me.  I went about three-quarters of the way down and I was instructed to stop.  The guard unlocked the door and I stepped inside.

   I heard the slam behind me.  I’d read somewhere that there was no more frightening sound in the world than a prison cell being closed behind you, locking you in.  But to me it wasn’t frightening because I wasn’t a real criminal.  It was intoxicating.  When it closed, I stood there for a few seconds with my eyes closed and took a deep breath, soaking in the ambience of jail.
  "You gonna stand there all night?"

  Those words were spoken by my cellmate.  She was laying on the lower of the bunk-beds, which were against the right side.  The only other thing in the cell was a toilet in the back left-hand corner.
  Her words jolted me.  "Oh, hi," I said and smiled, like I was meeting this woman in a bar or had run into her at the store.

  "You’re up top," she said.  She wasn’t offering very much in the way of conversation but I didn’t care.  She seemed angry.  Of course, most of the inmates probably were and I was likely the only one happy to be there.  Unless there was someone as crazy as me in one of these cells.  But my roommate for the night was not.  I wasn’t happy about sleeping on top but I didn’t protest.
I placed my sheets and pillow on the bed and stepped back toward the front of the cell.  I couldn’t believe where I was, and I grasped the bars to make sure they were real.  That made me realize that this was not a dream.  I was trapped and I could not go anywhere nor could I call for help.  What I felt next was a mixture of pride and peace.  I was proud of myself for overcoming my fears of jail and going through with my fantasy.  I also thought this was a nice escape for a weekend.  Most women go to a spa, but in here I wasn’t responsible to anyone, I had no identity, and none of my friends or family knew where I was because I was too chicken or embarrassed to tell them.

  I backed away from the bars and that’s when I noticed my cellmate had been staring at me.  Neither one of us said a word as I climbed up onto my bed.  It turned out to be a very long night because they never called a lights-out, the guards kept bringing in new prisoners all night, and the noise in the block reminded me of my old college dorm.  I probably slept about two hours.

  The next thing I remember hearing was The Bell.  Have you ever been awoken from a stone-cold sleep by a loud, ungodly noise and at first you don’t even know what is happening?  It’s one of the worst feelings in the world.  I am not having a good time anymore, I thought to myself.  I cursed out loud and sat up.  Then a loud voice over a P.A. system told us to be up and alert in two minutes.
  "Not much fun now, is it?" I heard from below.  I must have been had a happy look on my face last night that she noticed.

  "What’s going on?" I asked.
  "You heard him.  Get up.  We’re going to the caf for breakfast, and then shower."

  I got down from the top bunk and now we were both standing and stretching.
"What if I don’t feel like eating?  I mean, I want to go back to bed."
  "Tough.  What’s that saying?  Don’t do the crime if..." I chuckled at that one.  Sounded like an ironic statement.  "Did you get any sleep?" I asked but then a guard appeared on the other side of the bars.  He unlocked our cell.  My roommate walked through and I started to follow.  She stopped right after she was outside of the cell and held out her right hand, obviously knowing the routine.  The guard placed a handcuff on her right wrist.

  "Come on," he ordered to me.  I stepped out and my left arm was cuffed and hooked me to my cellmate.  I was still too groggy to be turned on by it, though.  Led by new friend, we turned to the right and stood stationary.  Directly behind us were other prisoners, all handcuffed two-by-two, and ahead of us the guards secured the remaining women.

  As we waited, I remembered that I still didn’t know my cellmate’s name.All I knew about her was she was about three inches taller than me.  I started to give her my name but shushed me, like she warning me.  "Quiet!" a guard snapped.  The order jolted me and scared me a little too.

I couldn’t understand, and still don’t, the need for this regimented procession to the dining hall, handcuffed and in silence.  After a couple of minutes of waiting, we all were led in for breakfast.  Not until we reached the cafeteria were everybody’s handcuffs taken off.  Breakfast was untouchable.  It was yellow and green, that’s all I remember.

There was a clock on the wall.  It was 7:20 A.M.  I also didn’t know why we were up so early.  None of us had any plans for the day.  Sitting at the table, I decided getting arrested was more fun than being in jail.  Unfortunately, the two went together.  I wasn’t in the mood for another sleepless night and disgusting food.  I tried to think of who to call and how I could get to a phone.   My cellmate was next to me.  "When do they let us use the phone?"  I asked her.

  "Afternoons."  Which meant I was having lunch and probably dinner in this very restaurant.
  "Thanks," I said and then told her my name again.  "I’m Paula," she replied.  "So why were you in such a good mood last night?

Were you drunk or do you like it here?"

  Some of the other women at the table raised their heads.  Thanks, Paula, for putting me on the spot.  I didn’t know what to say.

   "Never been in jail before," I struggled to say.  "I was just thinking I had a funny story to tell people because all I did was forget my driver’s license and got pulled over for speeding."
  "What, you think this is a joke?"
  "No, but..."
  "Well I’ll tell you a funny story."  Her eyes met mine, and if it were possible she’d have burned a hole right through my head.  "I had a good job as a manager at Penney’s.  I have an 11-year-old son and an 8-year-old girl.  Last year I got divorced and in the confusion of re-arranging my finances and starting my life over, I wrote two bad checks.  I’m arrested at work, in the mall, everyone in the place sees me dragged out of there crying.  The judge gives me three years probation, but I got fired and I have to support two kids.  I was unemployed for three months before I get this little job as a clerk in a bookstore.  I just started there when my car breaks down.  I borrowed my friend’s car, and like you I got caught speeding." "Now here’s the good part.  There was a gun in the glove compartment which she didn’t tell me about, and that’s a probation violation."  Paula started to tear up, and I’m sure my face was white.  There had been a biting, scary tone in her voice but now it started to quiver.  "I haven’t seen my children in five days, and on Monday I’m being transferred to a state prison a hundred miles from them."

  The tears were coming pretty fast now.  I opened my mouth to speak but couldn’t say anything.
  "You think this is fun and games ‘cause you’re going home.  This is a vacation for you?  Well, it’s hell for me and my life is destroyed.  How dare you laugh at me."  And then she stood up and stormed away from the table.
I let out a big breath because I thought Paula was going to attack me.  She certainly looked mad enough.
  "Don’t worry about her," another woman at the table said.  "She think she the only one in here with problems."
 

Then the guards said breakfast was over and soon we were led out of the room and back to our cells.  I laid back on the bed and tried to recoup some of the sleep I lost overnight, but it was hard.  There was still a lot of noise (how could anybody sleep in this place?) and I couldn’t stop thinking about the confrontation with Paula.  We were kept in our cells all morning, and Paula and I didn’t say a word to each other, even when we were handcuffed together on the way back to the dining hall for lunch.

   After something pinkish-white that they called ham for lunch, I was finally allowed to use the phone and called my friend Rich.  He became very worried when I said word "jail" but I assured him I was OK and said he’d be down to get me out as soon as he could.  That turned out be three hours later.  I spent some of that time in the rec room watching TV.  Trust me, there are nastier fights on the Jerry Springer Show than there are in the slammer.  I had returned to my cell by the time a guard came by to tell me my friend had vouched and signed for me, and I was free again.  Before leaving, I had the strange feeling to make amends with Paula even though I didn’t really know her.  She was on the lower bed reading a magazine and I leaned down beside her.

  "Goodbye, Paula, I’m very sorry," I said.  But I felt sorry for her, not for feeling the thrill of incarceration.  I’m not sure if she understood that but she did say everything was fine and was sorry herself for lashing out at me.

  "I know now this is not fun, believe me, " I said.
  "Are you coming?" the guard snapped from behind.  "Yes, I’ll be right there."  I turned back to Paula.  "I’d like to come visit you.  Would that be OK?"
  "Are you serious?"  I nodded.  "Thank you. I’ll need visitors, " she answered and smiled.  "Now will you leave already?  Seriously, you’re liking this too much."

  On my way out, I decided that the whole experience was worth it, even after one of the guards handed me my speeding ticket and impound charge.  Getting arrested would cost me almost 300 bucks, but for the chance to live out my fantasy, I’d have paid a thousand