My criminal past is like Alice's Restaurant Redux...
Back in 1989, I went to a job interview at the Kaiser building in Oakland, and parked my car in the downstairs garage. A few hours later as I was exiting the garage, I discovered that I had no money to pay for the parking, which was less than $3, literally. Those were the good old days before ATM cards were debit cards and the various networks became ubiquitous, so I would have had to go to one of my own banking branches to come up with the cash and there weren't any within several miles---Lafayette, to be exact. So, left with no easy solution to the problem, I was left shrugging my shoulders with a "what can I do?" look as the attendant stubbornly refused to let me pass. The scene became even more surreal as cars were lining up behind me, honking to the heavens.
I don't know whether the parking guy was just new to the job or if he was having a bad day or suffering from some other malady, but there was no talking my way out of the situation[*] and he proceeded to call the police. While we waited, we successfully got my vehicle backed up and out of the way so others could pass. A motor cop came along about 15-minutes later (in Oakland!) and, after about 10-minutes of jawing with the irate parking attendant, the cop mournfully told me that the guy was insistent that I be arrested, so he sighed and told me he was going to write me up for "defrauding the inn-keeper" and that I'd have to go to the jail on my own time to get fingerprinted and booked by a certain date.
I complied fully with my legal mandates and got fingerprinted and photographed at a later date, and then showed up on my appointed court date and learned I was not on the docket. After speaking to the DAs office about it, they told me they had better things to do than prosecute a fraudulent creep like me. Whew! End of story, thought I.
Not so fast! This has come back to haunt me twice since then. The first was when I had to undergo a background investigation to get my reseller's license in Las Vegas so I could operate my business. That was an amusing scene as my case worker asked me if I ever recalled being arrested, several times, and I eventually told her, "I give up! What do you have on me?" She then hinted, "Do you remember an incident in Oakland...?" and then the lightbulb went off in my head. It was easily explained away and she thought it was kind of amusing, but told me that "just because they didn't prosecute doesn't mean they can't." This was 2004 and I had thoughts of a statute of limitations going through my head at that point, but, whatever. Maybe I'm a wanted man in California. Who knows?
So, this all hit me again last week. I had to travel to Mississippi to participate in a slot floor conversion, and Mississippi requires that I have a gaming license to work in the casino. So, I had to fly out a day early and fill out some paperwork where the inevitable, "Kid! Have you ever been arrested?" question came up, and The Great Parking Garage Massacre again totally slipped my mind, because, after all, nothing happened. End of story, right?
After getting fingerprinted and photographed, I went back to the hotel to sleep the day away since I was on 2-hours sleep due to the late flight, the longer than expected drive from MSY and my own insistence that I had to see the BrBa finale before anyone could spoil it for me.
At 3PM, I was jolted out of my sleep. It was the project manager: "You better get your ass down to HR right now! They're not going to give you your license!"
Not knowing what it was about, I flew downstairs and the gal in HR explained that I needed to call Regina at the licensing bureau promptly because they'd be closing in a half-hour. I called her up, and she related the story of the 27 8x10 glossy-pictures-yada-yada-yada and all that crap and told me I was confined to the Group W bench. After explaining the whole fiasco, she said she'd have to run it by her supervisor. I think that they were more miffed about me not disclosing it on the forms rather than the nature of the offense.
About a half-hour later she called me back saying I was golden, and helpfully told me I should deal with it and get it off my record, because if I need to get renewed later, they might not be so nice. She gave me a litany of case-numbers and that was that. After I got off the phone with Regina, and figuring that California was a few hours behind, I went ahead and made about a dozen phone calls, sometimes calling the same number twice, and no one, not the DA, jail, police department, courthouse, etc., had ever heard of me or this case. I haven't yet felt inspired to actually write a letter to any of those agencies about it because I'm pestered by the image in my mind that it will just sit in someone's inbox for six-months before it gets thrown down the memory hole.
I guess the lesson learned here is that I should probably remember it next time I'm confronted with, "Kid! Have you ever been arrested?"
[*] I fully realize that back in those good old days I was a pretty abrasive guy, unlike my now mellow, hippie-self, and probably did much to create, or at least exacerbate, the situation.
I don't know whether the parking guy was just new to the job or if he was having a bad day or suffering from some other malady, but there was no talking my way out of the situation[*] and he proceeded to call the police. While we waited, we successfully got my vehicle backed up and out of the way so others could pass. A motor cop came along about 15-minutes later (in Oakland!) and, after about 10-minutes of jawing with the irate parking attendant, the cop mournfully told me that the guy was insistent that I be arrested, so he sighed and told me he was going to write me up for "defrauding the inn-keeper" and that I'd have to go to the jail on my own time to get fingerprinted and booked by a certain date.
I complied fully with my legal mandates and got fingerprinted and photographed at a later date, and then showed up on my appointed court date and learned I was not on the docket. After speaking to the DAs office about it, they told me they had better things to do than prosecute a fraudulent creep like me. Whew! End of story, thought I.
Not so fast! This has come back to haunt me twice since then. The first was when I had to undergo a background investigation to get my reseller's license in Las Vegas so I could operate my business. That was an amusing scene as my case worker asked me if I ever recalled being arrested, several times, and I eventually told her, "I give up! What do you have on me?" She then hinted, "Do you remember an incident in Oakland...?" and then the lightbulb went off in my head. It was easily explained away and she thought it was kind of amusing, but told me that "just because they didn't prosecute doesn't mean they can't." This was 2004 and I had thoughts of a statute of limitations going through my head at that point, but, whatever. Maybe I'm a wanted man in California. Who knows?
So, this all hit me again last week. I had to travel to Mississippi to participate in a slot floor conversion, and Mississippi requires that I have a gaming license to work in the casino. So, I had to fly out a day early and fill out some paperwork where the inevitable, "Kid! Have you ever been arrested?" question came up, and The Great Parking Garage Massacre again totally slipped my mind, because, after all, nothing happened. End of story, right?
After getting fingerprinted and photographed, I went back to the hotel to sleep the day away since I was on 2-hours sleep due to the late flight, the longer than expected drive from MSY and my own insistence that I had to see the BrBa finale before anyone could spoil it for me.
At 3PM, I was jolted out of my sleep. It was the project manager: "You better get your ass down to HR right now! They're not going to give you your license!"
Not knowing what it was about, I flew downstairs and the gal in HR explained that I needed to call Regina at the licensing bureau promptly because they'd be closing in a half-hour. I called her up, and she related the story of the 27 8x10 glossy-pictures-yada-yada-yada and all that crap and told me I was confined to the Group W bench. After explaining the whole fiasco, she said she'd have to run it by her supervisor. I think that they were more miffed about me not disclosing it on the forms rather than the nature of the offense.
About a half-hour later she called me back saying I was golden, and helpfully told me I should deal with it and get it off my record, because if I need to get renewed later, they might not be so nice. She gave me a litany of case-numbers and that was that. After I got off the phone with Regina, and figuring that California was a few hours behind, I went ahead and made about a dozen phone calls, sometimes calling the same number twice, and no one, not the DA, jail, police department, courthouse, etc., had ever heard of me or this case. I haven't yet felt inspired to actually write a letter to any of those agencies about it because I'm pestered by the image in my mind that it will just sit in someone's inbox for six-months before it gets thrown down the memory hole.
I guess the lesson learned here is that I should probably remember it next time I'm confronted with, "Kid! Have you ever been arrested?"
[*] I fully realize that back in those good old days I was a pretty abrasive guy, unlike my now mellow, hippie-self, and probably did much to create, or at least exacerbate, the situation.