Undisputed_ How to Become the World Champion in 1,372 Easy Steps - Chris Jericho [157]
I decided to take a powder and leave the cell before things got too en serio, and I could hear them laughing as I powerwalked through the cage door, still clutching the plastic Baggie in my hand.
I was trying not to show it but I was scared shitless and they could smell it. I’d never been arrested in my entire life, let alone spent a night in jail. All I could think was, “I’m not supposed to be in here.”
I flinched when a voice boomed over the speaker system, “Get back in the cell!”
I glanced back and saw Señor Musculo giving me the stinkeye, so I decided to take my chances with the cops again.
“Get back in that cell now!!” the voice said as I hurried back to the gated window. I peered through the bars and a young cop peered back. Thankfully this one didn’t have a mustache and kind of looked like Bob Saget.
“Sir, I can’t go back into the cell. Those guys recognize me and I think things might get rough.”
“Why would they recognize you?”
I told Saget I was a wrestler. He asked which one, and when I told him he smirked and motioned back to the holding area. “There’s a lot of people who obviously shouldn’t be in here, and you’re one of them. But you are here, so get back into that cell until your name is called.”
I headed back to the cell praying to God that I wouldn’t be seriously beaten (or killed) by Los Lobos. I had just reached the door as Señor Musculo made room for me to sit beside him, when the loudspeaker boomed again.
“Chris Irvine to the front.”
I rushed back to the window and saw a group of cops gathered around a computer.
“We found your website,” Saget said. “You better come with us.”
I practically jumped into his arms with relief when he opened the door. My fame had paid off and I was free! My joy was short-lived, however, as Saget slapped the cuffs back on and led me through a long, dank hall before depositing me into an eight-by-eight room by myself.
“All right, Chris Jericho, you’re gonna stay in here until you hear your name called. Shouldn’t be more than four or five hours. Try and get some sleep.”
What was the deal with this four or five hours statement? It was apparent I wasn’t going anywhere for a while, so I took inventory of the closet that was my new home.
Stainless steel toilet with no seat—check. Stainless steel bench—check. Roll of piss-stained toilet paper—check. Smell of piss in the air—double check. Freezing cold—triple check. Yeah, I was going to be able to sleep like a baby in this place. My only regret was that I hadn’t given the cop my Hilton Diamond number so I could get my points.
I lay down on the cold steel, using the pee-stained toilet roll as a pillow, and felt the first fingers of panic inside my stomach.
I hadn’t called Jessica before I went to bed as usual and I knew she would be awake as it was past 8 a.m. in Tampa. She was four months pregnant and I felt worse for her than I did for myself. She would be worrying, wondering where her husband was, not knowing he was in a putrid jail cell in downtown Los Angeles after being arrested for drunken driving.
I always took some kind of warped pride in the fact that I could drink a lot. I was proud of my Winnipeg upbringing and how I’d been weaned with a beer in my hand. Partying was fun! Getting wasted was froot!
I didn’t feel too damn froot right now. As a matter of fact I felt like a pathetic thirty-five-year-old loser. I also felt really cold, because it was about 60 degrees in the damn cell. I closed my eyes with my mind racing and lay on that steel bench for hours. It was after 8 a.m. when another cop finally opened the door and told me to follow him. I’d been in jail for almost five hours and at this point was stone cold sober and ready to go home. But I wasn’t finished yet.
The cop led me down another dingy hallway and up a dark flight of stairs before dumping me in yet another cell. Was this ever going to end?
Before he closed the door, the cop asked, “You’re in a cell by yourself—a K-100. Why’s that? Are you a homosexual?”
“No.”
“Are you violent?”
“No.”
“Are you suicidal?”
“I’m about to be when