If It Please the Court
Your Honor, I'd been thrown in jail, but not before being arrested.
The distinction is material, if not immediately apparent.
For the avoidance of doubt: I was guilty as charged, but innocent of fact.
On or about my twenty-third birthday, in November of 1994, a house party was held. Attendance required the costume of a character from an Aaron Spelling television show.
OBJECTION! Clarification requested. Spelling of what?
Aaron, Your Honor, Aaron Spelling. We are not discussing orthography.
SUSTAINED. Explain the person.
Aaron Spelling, producer of television hits including The Love Boat, Starsky & Hutch, Charlie’s Angels, Beverly Hills, 90210, in which he cast his own daughter, Tori Spelling - a matter on which the defense takes no position.
Let the record reflect that no one appeared as Fantasy Island's Tattoo or Ricardo Montalbán.
The plane, likewise, failed to appear.
On the evening in question, a…
〈consults notes〉
…neighbor’s complaint occasioned the arrival of police. We readily admit protocol was followed, with police knocking before entering.
It is also well-known that a guest opened the door and - taking the crisp police garb for a well-executed costume - sneered and declared:
“Oh look, it’s T.J. Hooker.”
Then slammed the door in the officer’s face.
OBJECTION! Prostitution is not on trial at this time.
T.J. Hooker, Your Honor. William Shatner’s role subsequent to his captaincy of the Enterprise.
OVERRULED. Also I thought Heather Locklear was excellent as his junior partner.
Thank you.
The police were not amused, and one in particular, Sergeant Z., maybe huffed some steroids that morning or stubbed his already stubbed toe because he went - I beg the court's forgiveness - absolutely shîthouse berserk.
[long pause]
The court asks that you continue.
Multiple sources have verified that Sergeant Z. stormed the house with aplomb, slapping brewskis from hands, pushing people into walls, and offering chokeholds to those still under the impression that this was part of the celebration.
Sergeant Z. then identified me as the primary resident, and declared me under arrest for 'keeper of a disorderly house'.
COUNSEL REQUESTS THAT THE RECORD REFLECT: you were dressed in a velvet floor-length robe, wore ladies’ lederhosen, and were smoking a long-stemmed wooden pipe, were you not?
Your Honor, I was costumed as Aaron Spelling himself. I was the man of the hour, as it were.
OVERRULED. Your costume sounds more like Hugh Hefner, but I’ll allow it.
Proceed.
Three of us were trundled to the police station: myself, still stuffed into pantyhose; Billy Ray, a partygoer caught snuffle-hogging an ounce of mushrooms in an attempt to conceal evidence; and my college roommate James, a mere bystander of the most spectacular peculiarities.
THE PROSECUTION REQUESTS CLARIFICATION: Peculiarities are inadmissible!
SUSTAINED. Just how peculiar was he?
Oh, most so.
He was from Maine, and also sang opera.
At the police station, he refused to provide any identifying information. He argued vehemently that providing his Social Security number would allow aliens to locate him when they arrived to enslave our planet.
Yes, well, that is peculiar.
The following morning, we were brought before the court for arraignment on our respective charges. There, another police officer quietly pulled me aside and sought to broker a transaction.
It seems other partygoers were considering charges against Sergeant Z., who threw one individual onto the hood of a car, offered another an armbar, and treated a third to what was determined to be a minor bite.
This undocumented agreement stipulated that the 'keeper of a disorderly house'charge was to be dropped, in exchange for releasing Sergeant Z. for claims - who would then agree to a course in anger management.
THE PROSECUTION NOTES that Sergeant Z. is retired and now works only with schoolchildren.
OVERRULED. He’s also a priest.
I submit, finally, for the court’s consideration, the matter for which we are here today:
for the better part of two decades, I was detained each time I attempted to enter or leave the country.
“Have you ever been arrested?” customs would ask, simply.
To which, pursuant to my understanding of the aforementioned, I would answer an emphatic, "No."
Countless times I was whisked into an interrogation room as though an international spy.
"Perhaps, once, if memory served, there had been an arrest, technically, but no actual criminal charges pursued."
A distinction I had understood to be the entire point.
The matter had, I was told, been expunged.
But not quite.
Or not everywhere.
And so, Your Honor, I ask the court for relief. Life isn't a television show, but this particular episode remained in syndication far too long.
POINT OF ORDER! So then, why are you still wearing pantyhose?
These are Spanx, Your Honor.
OVERRULED. No more parties.