I had to do something that I’ve never had to do before in my 35 years. I had to go sign a bail agreement.
A couple people in my family got in some trouble, didn’t follow through on probation conditions, and ended up in jail. Since I am the only name on our mortgage (I bought the house when we were separated) I had to sign papers saying that they could do something with my house (God only knows what – I didn’t read it, just trusted that Hunky would explain it later) if the In-Trouble kids didn’t show up for court.
So we’re sitting in the jail lobby waiting for the bondsman to meet us there. I’m sitting next to In-Trouble and making small talk, waiting for Mr. Bondsman to grace us with his appearance. In-Trouble2 is actually in the jail, waiting for us to get her out. In a by-the-by way, In-Trouble tells me that this bondsman was $800 less than anyone else he called and is coming from Des Moines. Looking back, this should have been a clue as to the possibility for a less than savory individual. Mr. Bondsman was supposed to be there at noon. At 12:15 In-Trouble calls him and gets voice mail. At 12:30 In-Trouble calls him, speaks for a minute, hangs up, and says, “He says he’s pulling up now.” Well, maybe he meant pulling up a half mile down the road, to pick up some Chinese take-out and scarf it on the way, because 12:45 hits, and he’s still not there.
Hit the ‘pause’ button – don’t worry, they’ll be fine waiting for a minute.
Now, never having been in this situation before, let’s just discuss exactly what I pictured Mr. Bondsman to look like. The only thing I have to pull from is Janet Evanovitch’s Stephanie Plum series and Dog The Bounty Hunter. So I figure, in the food chain, Mr. Bondsman is a notch above Mr. Bounty Hunter. I have a fuzzy picture in my mind of a guy in flat front khakis and a nondescript sweater or oxford shirt; if not clean-shaven, then maybe just a mustache and perhaps a goatee; probably olderish, 50s or 60s. Like a step down from a lawyer- sort of My Cousin Vinny -esque.
I could not have been more wrong. I could try; but I would not be successful.*
Ok – hit ‘play’ button.
In-Trouble and I are making small talk and he halts the conversation with, “Oh, my good Lord, I hope that’s not my–” and I don’t think he’s breaking commandment numbah three, because he sounds like he is seriously saying a prayer with his eyes open.
In the backlight, I see a silouette walk up and open the first door, and as he busts through the second door, he says in a louder, gravelly bass voice, “In-Trouble? Hi, I’m Mr. Bondsman, your bondsman.”
People – hit ‘pause’ and look closely at the screen.
Mr. Bondsman is in his late 30s, early 40s, with a beard like House, only a little bit longer. He’s wearing sunglasses with brushed silver frames and amber lenses and a pilled royal blue Drake University stocking cap. He’s got a grey Drake University sweatshirt, black windpants that snap on the side, and shiny black and royal blue basketball shoes. He’s got so much cologne on, I can smell him from 6 feet away.
Oh, and I’ve saved the best for last –
He is missing his two front teeth.
Seriously. I am serious as a friggin’ heart attack, people.
And to add trash to trailer park, he volunteers within the first 15 minutes of meeting us that he has absolutely no plans of correcting his dental misfortune.
*blink* *blink blink*
Normally, missing two front teeth is adorable, but that’s in a seven year old child, not a 45 year old man.
You see my point.
So I signed the papers, got In-Trouble2 out of jail, and everybody lived happily ever after. Well, except for the recurring nightmares of being gummed to death by a zombie bounty hunter.
Rip it, roll it, and punch it, dude. We thank you for riding with us on the EAC, and encourage you to remember us next time and every time for your transportation needs.
*Line shamelessly stolen from Friends.