So it had pretty much become an everyday thing for my roommate and I to turn on the fan and open the window, smoke a few bowls and play some Playstation in our dorm room, a bad idea we will admit, but we live on the eighth floor and only one elevator works, so walking down sixteen flights of stairs to smoke was
out of the question for our lazy asses.
It was an average night, we had finished smoking one
or two bowls out of my pipe and my roommate was
sitting at his computer with headphones on, unable to
hear anything going on. I was watching some TV, not
doing anything productive as usual. Pretty soon I hear
a knock on the door and "RA, open up," I hurriedly get
up and make my roommate take off his headphones while
I grabbed the pipe and weed and put it in the drawer
we usually keep it in, as I was pulling my hand out of
the drawer, two cops walk in. Horrible feeling ensues.
The dude cop sniffs, smells the pot, then asks if he
will find anything if he searches the room. Knowing he
saw me pulling my hand out of the drawer that was
still half open across the room as he entered, I walk
over, grab the shit, and hand it to him. They then ask
if anything else is in the room, my roommate grabs two
half gallons of vodka out of the top closet and hands
it over. We are read our rights and handcuffed,
escorted out of the building, passing possibly every
person I knew at the time, put in the cop cars, and
taken to the campus police station. I specifically
remember Carlos Santana's "Smooth" playing on the
radio of the cop car, as if being arrested didn't suck
enough, and thinking of the irony while Hendrix's
version of "All Along The Watchtower" played as we
pulled into the station.
While at the station my roommate overheard the chick cop telling the police sergeant that she was willing to "cut us a deal" if we ratted someone out. This is after he told her on the way to the station that he knew of some dudes who sold out of their room (we didn't know them, didn't care at the time). Well, the sergeant didn't seem to give a shit and was overheard saying "I ain't got no time for them damn potheads."
We are then taken to the county jail and booked by some real characters (specifically, a guy who could have passed as The Ladies Man and a woman with 3 inch long fingernails reading a tattered romance novel). After a while of sitting in a "holding lounge," we bail ourselves out and are driven back to our dorm by
the bondsman. Nice guy. We get 48 hours community service, $900 dollar fine, mandatory drug counseling and three months probation from the state. That's not to mention the thirty hours service we got from the school after a hearing with the "Behavioral Standards Committee."
Moral of the story, don't smoke pot in your god damn dorm room.