After spewing forth your Technicolor yawn right then and there, you wave a waitress over for more heavy-duty paper towels and rags. This isn’t too much of a problem, you’re told; apparently this happens more often with the Muskellunge Mid-morning Stew than with other platters.
However, as soon as your two feet are out the door, you’re pushed against the wall and handcuffed.
“What the hell?!?”
“Mam, you’re in violation of code 235 section 4-N of Minnesota state law! You need to use your own cleaning apparatus or materials upon regurgitation in a public or private establishment!”
“How am I supposed to know about THAT stupid law!”
When you’re taken in to be booked, a clerk with no desire to sit as her desk today begins her monotone drill, “What’s your social security number?…What’s your address?…,” but then, among these quotidian questions, ones are thrown in to trip up anyone with subversive motives, “Are you a leader?…What has your mission been this week?”
After this, your bail is set at $3000.
“$3000?!” Your outrage lessens when you hear that this is only part of a medieval tradition where the bail is set at a much higher amount and is then paid for by the department. The reduced bail is only $700.
If you use the phone and then wait for someone to pay the bail, try for page 129.
If you’d rather just wait out your stay, go for page 90.
(Back to Index of Pages)