Breakfast in Jail: Unintended Consequences of an Attempt to Educate Me

In second grade, our teacher took us to the local police station for a tour. I’m not sure why she did it, but I recall enough to surmise that the effect on me wasn’t what she had in mind.

We were shown around the small offices. I remember dark wood and the govern-mint green walls. We stepped down a short hallway, and there was the lock-up, green painted steel bars, a tile floor, a cot, a toilet. A large officer talked to us. “And if you have to spend a night with us, here’s where you’ll sleep, and there’s where you’ll have to go to the bathroom. In the morning, we’ll bring you coffee and donuts.”

Donuts! We never had donuts for breakfast at home, and, as someone who really enjoyed (enjoys) food, the idea of donuts for breakfast was just about enough to make me volunteer to stay. An adventure with a donut at the end of it. What could be better?

I’m happy to report that I haven’t spent a night in jail and I don’t believe I ever will. But donuts for breakfast are still a real treat.