It was father’s day yesterday. My dad, on the phone: “We’ve never really done father’s day in our family.” Isn’t that a very fatherly way of going about things? Still, they definitely do father’s day at Inverness Jail near the airport. For one reason or another I had scheduled a visit yesterday afternoon with an inmate up there, but after three hours of waiting in line, and with a Zipcar to return, I gave up.
In line ahead of me, over a hundred young women, most of them with babies or toddlers in their arms. What struck me most about the waiting area was how well everybody seemed to be getting along. I’d visualized jail visiting as a harrowing, suicide-inducing experience, but I realized half way through that nobody can pretend their shit doesn’t stink. Jail is a great social equalizer, I guess. Just like smoking.
Every ten minutes a plane would fly close overhead. Whoooooosh. After the third or fourth time, it starts to become comic. You really should go up there and hang out, one of these days. Now, what to wear?