Acme Acres

Pellegrini recounts his seventeen days at the Mono County Jail.

Boom Boom Boom! Sheriff’s Department! Open the door!

I unlock the door, turn around, get on my knees, hands behind my head. MONET rushes in, knee to the back, slams me to the hardwood floor, forearm to the back of my head. Hand cuffs on, and they stand me up by pulling on the cuffs.

Even if you do not resist they still manhandle the s&^t out of you.

Handcuffed in my boxers, they finally let me put some clothes on after 10 minutes. Then MONET officers lead me onto my porch.

Callanan, the ring leader of the task force, sits me down. He asks, “Where are all the drugs, money, and guns?”

I reply, “I do not have any drugs or guns, but there is seven dollars on my table if you need some money.”

He asks the same questions again. I give him the same answer. They find my safe. I hear in the distance, “BINGO!”

Callanan continues his interrogation. Ten minutes go by, and they find all the medicine. I had a quarter pound and 2.5 grams of “wax” (a cannabis concentrate). I tell Callanan that my girlfriend and I have legit medical cannabis cards, and he becomes frustrated. Calls me a liar. He says, “I know you slang weed and other drugs.”

“No, I don’t sell drugs,” I answer.

He says, “You sold a bag of weed to someone I know. I was in your house.”

I say, “Bulls*$t. You were never in my house.”

“Yes I was,” he says, then walks away. Goes inside and tries to get info from my girl. No such luck. I love that girl. Comes back out. Says, “You sold a bag of weed to one of my guys and you know you did.” Realization comes through – yeah. I did. And I know who ratted me out. Disappointed in myself, I sigh. Yeah, it was a friend of a friend. I shouldn’t have done it.

While all this is going on, two of the cops don’t ask me the code for the safe. Kept locking themselves out.

They take the safe out into my front yard and smash it. I tell them that all that is in it is my medical paperwork and other bills. Smashing it anyways, they find I was telling the truth.

Callanan pulls me aside again. So tell me who you know and you can go free.

“I would rather you put that 9 mm in my mouth and pull the trigger than disrespect myself like that.”

Sits me down, tells me I’m getting nine felonies. Damn. A sheriff stands me up and walks me to the cruiser. Off to Bridgeport for three days in Camp Snoopy. Released on O/R (own recognizance). Back home to fight my case for about the next ten months with Public Defender Gerald Mohun serving as my attorney.

The plea bargain reached was two felony counts (maintaining a residence to sell narcotics and sales of narcotics), which will be downgraded to misdemeanors after three years; 100 hours of community service; 40 days in jail; $1,250 in fines and three years informal probation.

I am given time to gather my affairs and prepare to go to jail May 1, 2014.

Wile E. Coyote

Looney Tunes, Acme Acres. With Elmer Fudd at the reins, Mono County’s cast is nothing more than a cartoon show. Undercover Callanan (MONET) as Wile E. Coyote, mostly capturing nothing but bird seed and air. Callanan sinks, wondering what sign he will be holding as he drops from the sky. Callanan wrote in my warrant, “I pray to God you sign this warrant.” Then he writes in my discovery that there were “no medical cards found on the premise.” If you look at my discovery on the last page of photos, it is plain as day: my medical card. Callanan and his forensic analyst must not have been on the same page.

My face was on the Reno news for a huge drug bust of a marijuana lab in Mammoth Lakes. A quarter pound of cannabis and 2.5 grams of wax is a huge bust? I think not. Normal consumption for two people with medical cards over the course of a month. The Sheriff Department’s press release states 98 plants were confiscated. Hmm. I had 88 plants when they took me into custody. When I was released from custody, I went home to 88 plants. No plants were ever taken.

The day of reckoning 

As the sun glistens off the Sheriff’s symbol on the front of the jail door, my hand clutches the handle of incarceration. Taking the last pull of fresh air for a while, walking through the door feeling my freedom beginning to be stripped from my grasp. Big glass window with a 3” slit to slide my paperwork through. Signed by the Honorable Judge Magit. Sylvester the Cat (Officer Lerg) says with a smile, “Take a seat. We will be with you in a moment.”

My mind spins. What block will they put me in? Will I get a bottom bunk? Bottom bunk is a better place to sleep. Why, you ask? Well, the lights are left on at night. If you’re on top bunk, it’s like sleeping in a tanning bed. Waiting for my name to be called, this familiar aroma of grade school slides into my nostrils. Getting this sickening feeling like when I was forced to go to church, stand up, sit down, repeat what I say when I say it. Back to another dictatorship I find myself in.

The blue door buzzes and opens as if this is a doctor’s office.

“Pellegrini.”

Stand up and walk through the door, the point of no return.

“Freedom gone,” I mumble to myself. Brain going wild now. Man, is this really worth 3.5 grams (4.5 with the baggy) of “weed”? Forty bucks? Sylvester walks me from the waiting room to another room. Shoes, jacket, hat taken, strip searched then locked in a 4’ x 6’ mesh steel cage. Another glass window with a slit. The “jolliest” jailor I have ever met, Porky Pig comes to mind, walks behind the glass window. “Hello,” he says with a smile. He begins asking me various questions, then says, “Slide your jewelry and hands through the opening.” He proceeds to put my earrings and ring in a bag. He also puts a white wristband on me. It reads “Pellegrini, J, ID: 17646.”

My cheeks perk up in a smile. “Does this get me on all the rides at Camp Snoopy?”

The officer smiles, kind of shakes his head, walks around, unlocks the cage, and escorts me to the camera. New mug shot, my favorite! Snaps the shot and kindly lets me see it.

“Wow, Charlie Manson, we meet again,” I say.

I look like a serial killer, but the only cereal I may kill comes in a bowl. The process continues. Porky turns me around into a long rectangular box and tells me to strip. He hands me my “roll” (towel, my stripes, pants, shirt, t-shirt, socks, boxers) then hands me the junkiest pair of used slippers I’ve ever seen. Naked and afraid. Turn, squat and cough. When I do so, my genitals touch the floor. One word comes to mind: uncomfortable. Heavy coughs to make sure there’s no contraband stuck up in there. Porky says, “Get dressed.”

Feeling totally violated, I’m walked from my room and grab my “box” (sheets, blankets, comb, razor, toothpaste, bar of soap, and a handy inmate handbook). Through the first door, left, push second, walk to B and C block door and stop. Door opens. Walking through the door, back to third grade. Day Care 101 to C-Block. Walking in, there are four bunks to the right and one single bunk on the left. It was bottom bunk for me. Stoked as I could be, for being locked up. The Bridgeport locals come say hello. Tyler, Javier, and Cameron.

After getting settled in, I make my bed and get my area tidied up. Going out to the common room for the first time, I see the three amigos await my presence at the blue table bolted to the floor. Sit down and the cards are dealt. Spades already.

Three of the six of us thought it was a good idea to inhale from the two gallon jug of liquid wax.

The game finishes and back to the bunks for lights out. As I said previously, lights out isn’t really lights out. Hanging my clothes and towel, I get ready for bed. The dorm door closes. Boom. Heater blasting feels like I’m being cooked alive. Finally fall asleep.

Boom, door opens, lights (well, more lights) go on. 6 a.m. already. Walk some laps. Over the intercom we hear “ten to chow.” Being treated like a dog, I get into the chow line. Fed pancakes which were quite good. As the days go by, Cameron sleeps and sleeps, doesn’t get out of bed until dinner. The rest of us watch whatever is on the 15” TV.

The days go by slowly, but I start to notice the food is better than most restaurants in Mammoth. A few eateries in Mammoth would be well-served by spending a few nights in Bridgeport and taking notes.

The first Saturday night I was locked up, six of us were asked to wax the floors. We started at lights out, 11 p.m., first goes the stripper. We laid that down with mops. The fumes were outrageous. Imagine being in a closed off box with ether on the floor all around you. It felt like the six of us were floating around the room. No fans, no circulation, zero venting, straight up buzzed from the fumes. I’m higher in jail than I’ve been in months. Now we mop and mop again. Eight times, to be exact. Then we wait for the floors to dry.

While waiting, the childish antics start. Three of the six of us thought it was a good idea to inhale from the two gallon jug of liquid wax. When the last of the three smelled it, one of them squeezed it as hard as they could. It exploded into two of the three faces. One of the two had closed his eyes. I cannot say the same for the other. He got the money shot to the face. We rushed him to the sink to flush his eyes, can’t see, and he turns on the hot water, making it worse for himself. Screaming at the top of his lungs, “My eyes! My eyes!”

The kid turns and runs with his eyes clenched shut towards the dorm door, running like a zombie. Almost clips the door frame on his way out to push the emergency button. Looking out, it’s like he is playing pin the tail on the donkey. Finally, he hits it. Screaming into the speaker until the officers open the door and rush him to flush his eyes out. The five of us wait in the dorm, wondering what is going to happen next. This kid told me the day before that he was in here for having sex with an underage girl, a 14-year-old, when he was 20 years old. That’s why he was in jail. Karma’s a bitch. The day before, he was preaching about Christianity and told me I’m going to hell.

Wax sniffer.

The officers came back in, looking super-pissed off. Right in their face, he tells the other two sniffers to pack their gear. Takes them out of B and C Block to lock them down in A Block (Lockdown is when they put you in a two-man cell for 23 hours, one hour out). Vass, Cameron and myself got back to work laying down the liquid wax. It was 4 a.m. by the time we finished. The fumes were unbelievable. My lungs and throat were burning. The officers on duty tried to vent the dorm room but no such luck. The three of us basically slept in a gas chamber.

A couple of days off for the weekend, and now the weekdays are spent working. Officer P kicks my bunk. “Wake up, do you want to work?” he says. “Yes sir.”

I immediately dress myself, shoes on, Denim Dan (jean) jacket in one hand and head out of the cell. Walking down the hall, greeted with a smile, a large coffee, plus a sack lunch (one apple, one orange, two sandwiches fully loaded with everything, milk and grape drink).

“Door 8 open,” says P. Outside, seven souls move slowly to an unmarked van. The van, a steel cage on wheels. Walking up the stairs to another swiss cheese looking box in the back of a long white van. Doors slam shut. Engine starts, off to Walker Town Hall. Driving through Walker Canyon is beautiful. It’s so nice to be out of jail. Our twenty-five minute drive feels like ten. Arriving at our destination, doors open, cage unlocked. The outside is so refreshing. the smell of cut grass fills my nostrils. Sneezing away, following the group of stripes into town hall. After entering, we all put on one-piece white suits. Sliding it on, it reminds me of a spray suit from the family farm in Michigan, hot and itchy.

We’re greeted by the seven dwarves, who look to be in their sixties and seventies. These old men are happy, so happy they almost seem dopey. We work circles around them, putting up insulation around the walls of the town hall. Hours later, I’m still stapling the insulation and putting it in the ceiling. Breathing this can’t be good for me, but I just keep going. Job needs to be done. Would rather be doing this than sitting in my cell.

Officer P paces, making sure none of us decides to bail.

Rene, a trustee at the jail (an inmate with extra privileges and responsibilities), along with myself, goes under the hall and puts insulation in the crawl space. As I’m moving under there, the support beam catches my back. I reach back to find a 3” piece of wood still in me. Trying to pull it out, it doesn’t budge. I unzip my white suit, pulling it down, and do the same with my t-shirt. Look at Rene and said, “A little help?” Grabs a large piece of 2’ x 4’ and pulls. Relief. A large splinter stuck in me about 3/4 of an inch, but I’m right back to work.

The day is coming to a close. Officer P says, “Let’s go everyone. Grab your stuff. Finish what you are doing and pack up.” Back to Camp Snoopy isn’t where I’d like to go. As my daydream comes to a close, so do the van doors. Engine starts, we’re off.

About halfway through my stay, I hop in the shower after work. Avoiding the jellyfish (aka semen) requires sperm skates (sandals). Let’s just say the showers are multipurpose. As I’m washing my beard, I hear some commotion and a bit of cussing and yelling, and peek out the shower curtain. Toothpaste goes squirting by. Hits a kid in the face and shoulder. Toothpaste squirter gives the kid a quick stab to the forearm with a pencil. Brawl breaks out.

Not really caring anymore, back to showering. But then I feel a shake in the floor and a loud thud, and look out the shower curtain once again. I see the toothpaste stabber hitting the floor. A few quick punches to the face, a miss, BAM, and the stabbed kid punches the concrete. Broken hand. He hits the emergency button. Door opens and he goes out, never to be seen again. The other toothpaste bandit is in lockdown the rest of my time here.

A while later, two of the CO’s (correctional officers) come in and chew us out for not hitting the emergency button fast enough. Take our 15” TV away for 24 hours.

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Some read, others just stare off into the ever-glowing white walls. Nose plugged even though I take Benadryl, my mouth is completely dry. So restless. The air vents put out more dust than an old vacuum cleaner. Vass wraps a towel around his head over his eyes. He looks like a blindfolded Asian warrior, so he can block the never-ending light. My beard has now split in two, and I look like a walrus with giant tusks. I ponder my next move, but before I can make that move, I’m out. Falling asleep with a pencil in hand, notebook on my lap, waking up to see the lights on. The loudspeaker sounds: “Ten to chow.”

Then another day at town hall. Five-eighths drywall is very heavy and it takes two of us to carry one sheet. Starting with the ceiling, hoisting twelve foot 5/8” drywall on the lift. Screw after screw, sinking them just deep enough. The day goes by fast. Five hundred plus screws in the ceiling, my shoulder feels as if it may break free and I might see my right arm hit the floor.

More drywall the following day. Carlos, an inmate/trustee, runs the drywallers so they hang sheet after sheet like they’ve done it for years. I can’t say the same for the County employees. I realize a little while into the workday that one County employee decided to finish the ceiling where we had left off the day before. Uh oh. The inmates are a bit more proficient than the government workers. Down comes the drywall. A 4’ x 4’ piece of drywall hits me in the face. Nose bleeding, knowing I’m going to get a black eye, I’m kind of bummed out.

Luckily, we have Ian, an inmate at Mono County Jail, and a hardworking construction man. Ian basically runs our crew and the County employees. If Ian weren’t there, a lot more would have gone wrong. For example, a large concrete pad was going to be poured, 4’ tall, 3’ wide by 6’ long. If they had poured concrete in the frame they built, it would have exploded. Lucky for the foreman, Ian called him out on his mistakes and rebuilt the frame, which ended up with a mirror perfect finish.

We pack up, engine starts, we’re off in the unmarked white van. Walker Canyon is winding away, P making our 25 minute drive into 10 minutes. I look out the back window to see a CHP car coming up fast with its lights blazing. It signals us to pull over.

A brunette Gary Busey gets out of the cruiser. He slowly walks to the passenger door, looks in and says, “No s*&t.” Kind of frustrated, says, “Thanks for making me get my fat-ass out of the SUV.”  Turns and walks back to his car, barely fitting inside. We all laugh, smiles ear to ear, asking ourselves, “Did that really just happen?”

Back inside the jail, a fresh change of clothes, a shower, then dinner. Cameron asleep, still tossing and turning for 85% of his 24 hours. Dinnertime, Cameron emerges from his slumber. Dinner is hot, good, and filling.

After chow, I just relax in my own personal cabana with a great view aimed right at the common room TV. Best seat in the house, I think. News, sports, movies, all in bed. I couldn’t ask for more. Well, maybe a beer.

The toilet tonight has been a never ending slaughterhouse. We got breakfast burritos for breakfast, burritos for lunch, and quesadillas for dinner. for lunch, and quesadillas for dinner. Beans for three meals a day is not a good idea in jail. That is heavy.

Officer Lerg makes an appearance to check on all the birds in the cage. As the two other CO officers later that evening control the adolescents, our night winds down. Meds, then off to what I begin to hope is an eternal slumber.

The following day is a day off. Breakfast and back to bed until lunch. After lunch it’s time for “Yard” (a big steel bird cage outdoors). Handball is the game. The others pace, or sit and watch. We play handball and more handball. Tyler Flanagan – the kid doesn’t lose. Flanagan is a snowboarder, has another 13 months in. Beat up his girlfriend. He’s positive these days and off the drugs. I have faith in Flanagan. I think he’s gonna figure it out.

A few days prior, this older gentleman, Danny, comes in smelling like a wet dog – the spitting image of a burnt out Willy Wonka with a Pinocchio voice. He is here for his fourth D.U.I.

He’s a character, a little wet-brained and delusional.

That night, he tells us, “When the Mono County Sheriff was driving me, I kept telling him, ‘I have to poop, I’m going to crap my pants.’ He didn’t get me out of the car fast enough, so I went a little in my pants. Finally he got me out of the car and into the the rest stop. The officer on duty had to pull down my crappy pants, then did the rest of my business. He had to pull up my pants that I had pooped in.”

He laughs. I look at him in complete shock. I honestly felt bad for the officer on duty … well, on double duty.

Breakfast and a short nap. 12 hours left. My freedom is on its way. Each minute that goes by is a minute closer to me being released. Happy and with a smile, I walk around the common room trying to get all my energy out. A movie passes the time. Dinner another excellent meal, and back to my bunk to let it settle. My stomach still uneasy. I swear I look down for a second, but I hear the call for meds, and I know it’s close to the end.

One hour, thirty minutes left.

As my time comes to a close, I’m thinking strictly about how I need to make changes in my life. Pondering my new goals and expectations for myself. Realizing the path I was on could be destructive to my goals. It’s time to cut back and move forward in my life.