Sunday! After that first night trying to sleep, pasty mouth, I take a look at the small squares that light up progressively opaque to light the day. I believe it was the worst night of my life. Uncomfortable (to say the least!), Noisy (the guardians have discussed much of the night), cold (the fan works but no temperature control, brrrr !)... finally up!
A frugal breakfast served to me by the lower hatch of the armored door (waoh! What the atmosphere), in an infamous box polyester style fast food: bacon and eggs with a max of "potatoes". It's funny I'm not very hungry. " Oh yes, orange juice, though!
In the morning, a police officer asks me to follow him into the small room on the telephone for a discussion with a lawyer, Michele who informed me that a conference call held this morning with the judge in charge of my case. Indeed, moments later, the judge advocate, the police officer and I are met by teleconference and I listen quietly (in these cases, I avoid the Zouave!) The charges against me. Only the judge involved in the post. In addition to the charge of "mischief" original, it adds two charges (go ahead, I back off!): Having a PC with GPS (the two were not related at all ) and another charge I have not really seized on the spot (another "deviltry" of the same genus). It also specifies that a court hearing is scheduled for tomorrow, Monday morning to confirm these charges. And voila ... The phone call lasted 5 minutes and I gather that I will stay at least one more day in this mess. So "Wait and See! .. rather then "Wait" for me ... The policeman took me
then in another room to move to a little more detailed procedures.
Firstly, fingerprints: it gives me the opportunity to express my artistic talent in me covering the two hands of black ink, after I carefully cleaned in case some grease and dust distorting racing results. Guided by a hand police, I apply the fingerprint of each finger, hand, the slice (left and right) on government forms ... It never ends!
Then fundus impression: quick, one goal: click clack! s it is in the box ...
Then photo session (only one): I stand behind a small panel which must be mentioned my name (I do not even read what is included, because I'm tired of this circus ...): reclic reclac!
And now we move to the questionnaire, not on what happened on the plane (he has obviously nothing to do ...), but on my signs and my vital individuals. Precisely, the officer asks me if I'm not a tattoo or other distinguishing feature of this kind. I would responds politely that I had passed the age of this type of decoration and it was rather reserved youth. "But do not believe that, my dear Môssieur" he replied, lifting the sleeve of his gray shirt, showing off and a nice tattoo of a sun Inca (... or Aztec, I dunno finally over). "My preteen son of wonder even to have one and I told him he would later ca" he continues proud of his work ... Ah, there! I feel that dialogue is established and communication significantly softens the ice melts ... (I confess that I should not be hot either!), it is a bit loose, Jeff (yes, it called Jeff, I read it on his uniform small label ... on the chest as cashiers in department stores ... is to welcome !)... but it is time to return to cell ... back to cell! In returning to
, I perceive my suitcase near the door and it reassures me ... In the night I'd do a film without imagining my suitcase landed its owner in San Francisco, considered suspect bags (I omitted the label with my contact information) so destroyed by the customs and clearance. Well, it's always AC recuperative ... Is there any there? ... I'll see about that later ...
brushing teeth later (brush and toothpaste sample kindly loaned by the establishment), I find myself sitting on the thin mattress and plastic I arm myself with patience to endure the passage of time. Thinking is the only thing that occupies the mind ... Not as landmarks in time (ah, if day, night ... thank you small opaque tiles!), No return of image (not of mirror), no possibility to write, nobody to talk to (the guards, other prisoners? .. but I barely understand them - it must be said that the focus of Newfoundland and Gander particularly, it sucks! - subsequently, a Canadian anglophone Toronto even told me she did not understand either - AC reassuring!), no reading (in any case not want to read "Salvation" !). I try to sleep, difficult with all these noises (guards, radio ads, slamming doors ...), I can not really ...
Without much hope, I asked the policeman who passes my cell if I can call my family and friends. Unexpected reaction (... because it's Sunday, maybe?), It gives me a few minutes with my own phone. A breath of fresh air, happiness raw emotion, in any case, a rise in morale, even if it does not change my status to shut ...
But I hope that tomorrow I would go out after crossing the court. They understood that I was not a dangerous character.
And here another day spent in jail ... A hole Sunday to :-(
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