I usually have two things that surprise my colleagues. First, I'm a comedian. You would never guess that from my demeanor in the office - I'm textbook introverted. I keep things pretty low-key and don't bring it up unless someone asks. And I prefer it that way. I don't want to be the office clown.
Secondly, I've been arrested before. When I mention comedy, they question and say, "Really?" But when the arrest happened, they are intrigued and say, "Tell me more."
Well, okay.
It was in 2009, I was 23 years old, just graduated from college. I was happy to have a degree, but I was absolutely terrified of having to move back in with my parents. My mom was cool about it, but my dad? He was a bit chatty about having me back living at home. He treated me like a tenant and charged rent for all the furniture in my room. And it wasn't like rent - he was just trying to cover everything. He put price tags on everything in the fridge. A glass of milk cost $5. Three months later, I started thinking, "I have to get out of here."
I was considering graduate school and getting a master's degree in higher education. My original plan was to wait a few years before going back to school. But with my slumlord dad treating the fridge like a convenience store, I knew I had to start working sooner than later.
I applied to a top graduate school for higher education and got accepted. The only remaining hurdle was figuring out how to pay for it. Luckily, the school was hosting a job fair for graduate assistants in a few weeks. I needed my parents to get on board with my plan.
So, I sat them down and told them everything. My mom cried. She didn't want her baby to leave her again. My dad simply said, "Good luck with your future plans." But his facial expression suggested he was already thinking about giving me a week's notice and hanging a "For Rent" sign on my bedroom door.
The drive from Bolingbrook, a suburb of Chicago, to the central part of Illinois where I lived felt like a journey to a completely different world. As I entered town for the career fair, a huge billboard declared, "Not this town, racism." "What kind of town needs a sign like that?" I thought to myself. "If a cop tells you to do something, listen," my dad said. Well, there are signs when you enter a town like this. If you know, you know.
Now, I was often the only black person, or one of very few, in the room. Seeing clear signs of racism, I had to acknowledge it. But I couldn't imagine black people just avoiding a town so bad. On top of that, my plan was to study for just 1-2 years instead of settling down and starting a family. So, despite my parents' advice, I decided to go ahead with my plan.
Anyway, when I finally arrived in town for the career fair, it turned out that no one wanted me. It was like being a football player on draft day, never hearing your name called. In hindsight, I was a pretty bad interviewee. When asked about the RA position, I was asked what I would do if a student got physical, and I said, "Well... I know jiu-jitsu," and winked at the interviewer. You'd think that even my mention of jiu-jitsu would have at least gotten me hired as a security guard. I guess I wasn't big enough.
Having left the career fair with no prospects, I kept my hopes up. Then one day, a graduate assistant position suddenly opened up. I think a grad student dropped out or something. All I knew was they needed someone urgently to help run the tutoring center. I went for the interview and got a call before I even got home - I got the job. They said I would start at 7 a.m. the next day. On one hand, it was great news that the call came. On the other hand, it was Friday night and Halloween. I had already made plans, but as a reminder, I was still in college.
So, I was supposed to go out with friends, but I planned to come home at a decent hour so I could work the next morning. The homies and I resigned, and I was the designated driver. I hadn't been drinking all night, but I was still buzzed. Don't judge me - I mean, I had to celebrate, right? Looking back, I couldn't even believe I got accepted into grad school like this.
After dropping off my friends at their apartment, I went to use the bathroom. I noticed their neighbors were throwing a party, so we thought, why not check it out? We invited ourselves in and saw they had this homemade pumpkin cider on tap made right from their backyard pumpkins. I knew better than to drink and drive, but that cider was too tempting, so I had a cup. I thought one cup wouldn't hurt - I still felt perfectly fine. I was good to drive, so I hopped in the car, ready to head home for work the next day.
As I got home, the weather took a turn - rain was pouring down, wind was howling, setting the stage like the beginning of every horror movie you've ever seen. And being the only black man in a 99.999999 percent white town, I couldn't help but feel this night wouldn't end well. As that thought crossed my mind, lightning cut across the sky, and a tree branch rolled onto the road right in front of me. I tried to avoid it, but it was too late - I hit it.
I got out of the car to check for damage. At first, everything seemed fine, but then I noticed the tire - it was flat. I'm no car expert, but I know you shouldn't drive on a flat tire because it could damage the rim. It was Halloween night in central Illinois, so finding a taxi was virtually non-existent. Honestly, I probably would have had an easier time finding an Amish horse and buggy in central Illinois.
So, I had to level with myself. I had to work in a few hours, and my apartment was only a mile away. I slowly drove the car home, thinking I could call a taxi to get to work. The flat tire was a problem for future Chris. I can't stress this enough - I couldn't even believe I got accepted into grad school like this.
I got back in the car and started driving. I just needed to make it one block, and I'd literally be home. I was creeping along at 15 miles per hour in a 50 mph zone, so I definitely stood out, even on a stormy night.
As I approached the stop sign, I told myself, "I'm going to blow through this stop sign, but it's okay because there's no one on the road." As soon as I crossed to the other side of the road, I saw flashing lights behind me. My first thought was, "Oh great, a cop! Maybe they'll call me a tow truck or help me get home." But then, my dad's stern face flashed in my mind, followed by memories of the billboard declaring, "Not this town, racism." The reality of the situation dawned on me, and anxiety crept in.
As the officer approached, I couldn't help but notice his small beady eyes that seemed to suggest I was in violation just by looking at his wide face. When I rolled down the window, his flashlight immediately flooded my car with intense light. "Hey, did you know you blew through that stop sign?" he asked, his voice gruff. He seemed tense, fiddling with something above his belt. I realized it was his first time dealing with a black man, so I kept it simple and told the truth. "Yes, officer," I replied. "I have a flat tire, and my apartment is right there." I pointed to my apartment. He ran back to the passenger side, rummaged through his bag, and pulled out his wallet, taking out his driver's license. "If you don't believe me, here's my ID. Yes, I intentionally blew through the stop sign, but I was trying to get home."
The officer took my ID but didn't say anything. He just sniffed, his nostrils flaring up like he was a bloodhound catching a scent. "You smell like alcohol, are you drinking?" he pressed. Again, I went with the truth. "So, I didn't do anything wrong, and I can't get in trouble for admitting to having one cider, right? Right?" I thought to myself. I know all the black people reading this are shaking their heads right now.
Soon, the officer responded, "Get out of the car." Confused, I asked, "Wait, why?" His tone was firm. "You admitted to drinking and driving. Get out!" I got out of the car, dressed like Batman - after all, it was Halloween.
He wasn't impressed with my outfit. Instead, he simply said, "I'm going to have you do some field sobriety tests." So, I performed them - walking straight, looking at the flashlight, standing on one foot. When I finally looked up, the whole gang of cops appeared. After confirming I passed all the tests, I looked at them and asked, "Can I go home now?"
"Well, you passed the field sobriety tests," one officer began. I was still pretty naive about most things, but a strong inner feeling prompted me not to comply. It was as if my ancestors who had seen my foolishness for the night were speaking directly to me, saying, "Enough, child!" and urging me to make some sense of it. "What happens if I don't blow into that thing?" I cautiously asked.
"The officer asked you to blow into the breathalyzer for a possible arrestable crime, a Class D misdemeanor," he explained. "So, you're going to be arrested."
"Well, what if I blow and pass, then what?" I asked, still hoping for a way out.
"Well, since you admitted to drinking and driving, I'm still going to take you to the station and order a blood test. So, you'll be arrested either way," he answered matter-of-factly.
"Well, those options suck," I said. It felt like I was choosing the reason I wanted to be arrested. The officer seemed to grasp the dilemma. "Yes, I know," he said firmly as he handcuffed me. "So, what's it going to be?" It was like being in the worst adventure book ever. No matter which page you turn to, you end up in trouble.
"I'm not blowing into that thing," I firmly decided.
They arrested me on the spot. The cold handcuffs clicked around my wrists, pushing me firmly as I was led to the back of the squad car. The ride to the station was a blur, and they soon had me seated in a holding cell.
As I sat there, the reality of my situation sank in: I was supposed to be at work right now.
In the holding cell, they asked if I wanted to make a phone call, and I just nodded. They took my cell phone, among other things, from me already. So, I asked them, "Hey, can you just quickly look at my phone to get my friend's number?" They laughed so hard, y'all - it was like they were on a Chapelle special. After they finally composed themselves, they firmly said, "Absolutely not." To this day, I still don't understand why they laughed so much. Is it really that funny?
After picking up my ego from the floor, I decided to take them up on their offer to retrieve their phone for a call. At that moment, the only number I could remember by heart was my new job's. Imagine having to make that call on your first day. "Hi, I can't make it today. I'm in jail."
The only other number I knew by heart was for Pizza Hut - and I wasn't about to lie. I ordered a pan pizza with a small order of buffalo wings and maybe asked the delivery guy to throw in some extra to console me. After all, I was hungry, so I would have killed two birds with one stone.
However, I then remembered my parents' landline. The thought of making that call, especially with that billboard and my dad's stern ways scaring me, would have been nerve-wracking. But then, I thought about how he charged me $5 for a glass of milk. As long as I gave him money, maybe he could handle this situation well. When I called home, my dad was actually pretty cool about it. He didn't hesitate and immediately called one of my friends to come get me.
I waited for my friend to show up for 2 hours. When I finally gathered my things to head out, I was handed three tickets. One for driving under the influence, another for blowing through the stop sign, and a third for driving with a flat tire. Rude.
My friend drove me to the tow yard to retrieve my car, and after shelling out $300 to release it, I found out it was completely torn up. My glove box was empty, and everything in the compartments had been ransacked. Contents were thrown on the seats and floor. "What were they looking for?" I thought to myself. "Drugs, weapons, mail-order brides? I'm just a college student - I can barely support myself, let alone anything illegal." It was clear the police were convinced I was hiding something. I wish I could have seen their faces when the most innocent thing they found was a bat-a-rang.
After everything settled down, my beloved, affectionate, misunderstood father intervened and hired a lawyer. After 6 months of relentless court dates and constant check-ins, I received a phone call that changed everything. My lawyer reviewed the bodycam footage and discovered that one of the arresting officers used a racial slur when he approached me that night.
When I found out, I had to ask, "It's not really important, but I'm just curious, did he end the word with an 'A'? Was he maybe singing along to a song?" This doesn't bode well. Young Chris's brain couldn't fathom using this kind of language on camera to guess all the cops' races. My lawyer just laughed and replied, "No, I don't think that young man was that clever. What he actually said was, 'Go over there, another n***er,' and some other choice words. My first thought was, 'I have to link up with this other black man now.' My second thought was, 'Blue, hard R?! The joke god doesn't like ugly.' In a strange, twisted way, I've never been more relieved to hear a white man drop the N-bomb.
By that time, I actually felt like I was living in a courtroom. Fortunately, my lawyer was able to shed some serious magic and discard the last two tickets. But the real battle went beyond the DUI charge. Why? Well, I admitted to drinking and driving, but the reason is that, well, one cider is just one cider. This, up to the point of my lawyer, did not even put a 90-pound teenage girl across legal limits. However, newly discovered racial discrimination - um, I mean evidence - the police station was ready to drop all charges in exchange for my agreement not to sue them. If you're legally savvy, they'd call it "Nolle Prosequi."
My lawyer really hesitated to make a deal. He was convinced that we could beat the DUI charge and clear my record, especially after discovering that the officer failed the field sobriety test. "If we go the Noel route, won't you not have a DUI on your record?" "No, no, you won't," he assured me. "And can you still expunge my arrest anyway?" I added. My lawyer replied, "Technically, yes, Noel will allow me to do that, but you won't be able to." This sounds like a lot of work. Let's take that nolle thing. You erase my record, wrap this up, coz!" So, that's what we did. If you feel a tremor, it's almost every black person collectively screaming "noooooo!" at the top of their lungs on the computer screen. Again, looking back, I don't even understand how I got accepted into graduate school thinking like this.
And that's the story.
At this point, I usually try to make a beeline for the copier and pretend to return to my desk before anyone can hit me with follow-up questions, rather than just dropping a bomb and leaving. But it never works. Such an enchanting adult tale, especially after sharing it in the workplace, rarely leads to me getting up and walking away to get on with my business. I curse my knack for spinning suspenseful yarns! So, after I'm done, my colleagues usually do two things.
First, they ask, "So, what happened at your job?" And I just say, "You're thinking exactly what happened - yes, that happened."
The second thing they do, and by "they" I mean the white persuasion. Somehow, somehow." OK, Ken and Karen. Yes, there is some truth in there. But what I hold onto myself is how those kinds of comments come from such privileged places that don't even need to think about these things the way I do. There are many stories now, especially about black men dealing with police. Whether we tell the truth, lie, or don't comply, it usually ends the same way. I'm grateful to have come out of there alive. I mean, I'm laughing, but seriously, I had a bat with me here.
But what I usually tell them is, "It's wild, isn't it? The big old sign of the town saying 'Not this town, racism' actually saved me that night because it was actually racism."