Rave Jail

Makeshift squat party basement pool

Over the weekend a couple of my flatmates went to some awful-sounding psych-trance rave in a forest out in Kent. I somehow managed to get myself dragged to one of these terrifying affairs a few months back. It was so bizarre. Just about everyone offered you hallucinogenics. Everywhere you looked there were wild-eyed ravers fucking in bushes. Lots of people with neon hair chasing after invisible fairies. Lots of people doing poi like it was their ambition in life. Really deep. And for whatever reason, a few of the losers I live with—Hannah and Kerri in particular—just can’t seem to get enough of this shit, and regularly venture off into random forests to experience higher states of whatever on shit-tons of acid and banging techno beats. To each their own, I guess.

So on Friday night Kerri and Hannah went off to one of these “gatherings,” and after a sufficient forty-eight hours of licking tree bark while high, they jumped into a car with some friends for the drive back to London. Problem was, however, there were eight people packed into a car that seated only five, and everyone in it (including the driver) was tripping their shit, so it wasn’t long before they were stopped by police and arrested. Idiots. Luckily for them, they were out in the middle of nowhere where cops are all apparently inbred yokels (or whatever British people call hicks), whose idea of a rough day at work is rescuing a cat from a tree. So basically they didn’t know how to handle a bunch of bat-shit freaks high on LSD. This is what happened next.

Fact: At the point in which the retards were pulled over the driver was in possession of 150 tabs of acid, 65 pills of 2cb, an ounce of weed and £700 cash. Hannah had 35 grams of ketamine shoved up her vagina. Kerri thought she was a snail.

Once pulled over the police officers asked everyone to vacate the car, at which point Kerri’s phone began to ring. Kerri, however, was too fucked to even recognize what a phone was, let alone answer one, so she just sort of confusedly handed the phone over to the cop and slurred, “Make it stop.” The two baffled officers then arrested everyone in the car. Except Kerri, that is. Apparently she was so out of it that the police rationalized it was more trouble than it was worth to arrest her, and just left her by the side of the road rubbing dirt into her eyes or something. Hannah managed to hide her 35 grams K before being handcuffed, by convincing the cops to let her pee in a nearby wood, then stashing it all in a bush (like an actual bush this time, not her bush). Hannah can be really smart sometimes for someone who’s normally such a fucking airhead.

Once at the station, Hannah used her one allotted phone call to ring her mother—not to ask for help, but rather to tell her the exact whereabouts of the hidden K so she could go and fetch it. Obviously. (I’ve only met Hannah’s mother twice, but on both occasions she was wearing fairy wings. She also gave her daughter the initial lump sum that allowed her to fund the beginning of her (now-ex) drug dealing career, so that gives you a little insight into the psyche of this woman.) The K was safely returned to Hannah the following day.

All the idiots were then locked up. As she was being led to her cell, drunken nympho Hannah started hitting on the cop (not a surprise). Apparently she managed to slur, “Hey officer, let’s play a game. You be the tough police officer, I’ll be the bad little girl,” before he bolted the metal bars shut in her face. Hannah has no shame.

Ten hours later the seven confused ravers were all released with merely a caution. How they didn’t get into more trouble, I have no idea. The police even gave the driver back his bag still full of all his drugs and cash, so apparently they didn’t even search it. Incompetent, hick bastards. When I asked how it was possible that they got off so easy, Hannah merely shrugged and said, “Fuck knows. The cops probably all wanted to screw me.” Ignorance is bliss.

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