It was one of the more surreal “mystery drives” I’ve taken. After driving 86 miles north of Los Angeles, I found myself on some road called Avenue J near Lancaster, California. As I was considering turning around and starting back towards the city, I saw a sign for the California Poppy Reserve, a state park, and realized I had found my destination. I would spend dusk walking trails lined with beautiful poppies, blissed out of my mind, far, far away from the troubles surrounding me at home. To no one in particular, I spoke as I drove about my innate ability to find wonderful places off the beaten path, and how great it is that all my mystery drives end somewhere new and exciting.
Then I pulled into the park. I started up the short drive to the ticket station, but soon realized it was vacant. Slowly, I rolled through the stop sign and began to look for a place to park. I kept checking back over my shoulder to see if someone had come out waving at me to go back and pay the entrance fee. The lot was empty. There were signs posted at the path leading to the stairs stating that something about plant rehabilitation. I started to walk along the trails and then I realized something very important was missing from the park: poppies. There was no vegetation anywhere near me. There was dead yellow straw grass and sandy dirt, but no lush grassland and no beautiful California poppies. I think the park died. I circled back towards the information center, or whatever that building is that sits atop the parking lot, but it was closed. All the blinds were pulled down as if to shield passersby from whatever is/was inside. I read a couple newspaper clippings that were taped to the insides of the windows about how venomous rattlesnakes were being spotted in state parks. I knocked on a door and a window, and then realized I was alone in this huge park. Feeling utterly defeated, I returned to my car.
Five or ten miles down the road, the urge to urinate suddenly swept over me. A sign for a health center grabbed my attention as I started to pass by it, so I slowed and turned awkwardly down a side street. As I looked for the driveway, I realized that I was rolling in front of a state prison. I guess I should have noticed the two rows of barbed wire fences and guard towers overlooking the area, but I didn’t. I was too focused on the slowly intensifying pain centered on my bladder. Not sure where the driveway for the health center was, I figured, “Fuck it!” and I turned into the driveway of the prison.
There was a large gated fence twenty yards up the road, with a brick guard station controlling the electrified gate. As I pulled up to the uniformed guard, I tried to nonchalantly toss my camera under my car seat so as not to arouse suspicion by pulling into a fucking prison with a camera in my lap. That would so warrant a strip search. I didn’t want to be poked and prodded, so I hid the camera. It’s a shame I couldn’t use it to document this illustrious event in my life.
In the five seconds it took to reach the guard (who was armed, whoo-hee!) I concocted my story. The guard greeted me, and asked my purpose.
“This is going to sound weird, but bear with me. I was just down the road at the poppy reserve, and I was walking the trails and drinking lots of water because it’s hot out here, and then I got in my car and started driving, and, like, five minutes later the urge to pee totally consumed me. I know this is a weird request, but I don’t live in this area and I don’t know how far I am from civilization, so…is there any way I can use a bathroom here? Like, maybe in a waiting room or something? It’ll take a minute, tops. I swear.”
The guard furrowed his brow and told me to stay there for a minute, then disappeared into his post. Oh God, I thought, I was totally going to be strip searched and fisted by a meathead guard. They’re going to think I’m some prisoner’s son trying to bust his old man out, using the “I just need to get inside to pee” routine. What a fucking moron. Why the hell am I doing this? Oh God, he’s got a fucking gun and I’m lying to his face. Do I have a death wish? Should I text my mother and tell her I’m so sorry she raised and asshole for a son? No, don’t text anyone. That’ll just arouse more suspicion. Stay cool. Stay cool.
He came back and told me he’d radioed inside to tell the guard on duty about my request. He directed me to a visitor center, pointing to a building maybe twenty or thirty yards inside the gate. He asked me if I had any audio or video recording equipment on me, asked if I had any weapons or explosives in my vehicle, asked to look in my trunk, and then, as I sat there looking uncomfortable and squeezing my crotch so as to appear completely ready to piss my pants, he said he was going to open the gate for me. Not thirty seconds later, I was in a fucking state penitentiary.
I parked in front of the visitor’s center and walked up a short flight of steps. Someone come out of the door as I was walking in, and I made sure not to make any eye contact. What if it was a prisoner? What if he wanted to rape me? Oh my God, how stupid am I for wanting to use a restroom in a prison! How come I didn’t think about the consequences of this stupid joke ten minutes ago! Do you know what happens in prison bathrooms? People get shanked! People get raped! I could have a handle or stick or something shoved up my ass! This was the worst idea I ever had.
Two metal detectors. Not one, two metal detectors before I was actually inside the visitor’s center. I took all the change out of my left pants pocket, turned on an off my cell phone, I even put my cash and ID in the little box so the guards didn’t think I was keeping anything in any of my pockets. I knew that one false step would land me in an interrogation room with a beefy-handed guard suspiciously wearing a rubber glove. I kept my eyes trained on the floor as I told the second guard that I just had to use the public bathroom, and could he please direct me to it. Luckily it wasn’t far away. Walk straight down the hall, bear right at the “T,” and use the third door on the right, near the water fountain. I didn’t want to know what any of the other rooms I was passing contained.
Lucky for me, the men’s room was empty. Rather than use one of the three urinals in the space, I opted for the stall with the lock on the door. I chose not to use the handicapped stall because it was big enough to fit two people, and maybe if some felon busted into the visitor center bathroom intent on raping an unsuspecting visitor while he used the bathroom, a guard might assume I was just an old handicapped man being helped to the bathroom by a guide, not a poor piece of shit being raped over a toilet. I locked the door behind me and started to pee. I closed my eyes and counted to 41, put my prick back in my pants, and made a b-line for the exit. I didn’t even pause to wash my hands. I didn’t want to give the man-raping convict any more opportunities to take me than absolutely neccessary. Besides, I had Purell in my car, I could just use that to erase the memory of touching the handle on a toiler in a prison bathroom. Again, I made no eye contact with anyone in the center. I just walked briskly to my car, hopped inside, locked the doors, and sped towards the exit, Avenue J, and the highway back to Los Angeles.
So…I drove 86 miles to spend 41 seconds in state prison today. What did you do?
Jack Rose – Dusty Grass
Pink Floyd – Remember A Day
Dinosaur Jr – Lose
Kan Mikami – Never Before
