One Lucky Soul: Banged Up Abroad — A Night @ The London Police Station

Banged Up Abroad — A Night @ The London Police Station by Omar Cherif, One Lucky Soul

It hit me that I’ve never really shared nor written this story. We have Banged Up Abroad — My Few Days @ The Don Jail in Toronto on one side of the scale and Stop-N-Search That Hippy in L.A on the other. Then we also have Funny Drug-Related Stories and Funny Drug-Related Stories 2. Yet this tale of an encounter with dear authorities was somehow never told — except maybe briefly in one social media post.

The reason such memory is resurfacing nowadays is copying the file with all digitised photos, many of which are from 20 and 30 years ago. And I have made a promise when I first took writing as a vocation that whenever 10 years pass I will freely write about certain things; then when 20 years pass I will tell it all as it is... without names, so people could relax. Now here it goes.

Back When Tigers Used To Smoke...

One Saturday night in late 90s London, England while in a taxi going home from clubbing at Ministry of Sound, my then ex, a friend and I were randomly stopped by a police car. From the window one of them was [apparently] explaining to us how it will work: If we had anything on us, we should just say, and they’ll let us go. Supposedly. But because I had just come out from four-five hours of dancing to humongous speakers, I could only see the bobby’s lips move yet no sound seemed to be coming out. I was never randomly stopped like that in England, so the scenario I hallucinated in my mind was that a crime took place somewhere in the vicinity and they were asking us if we had seen anything; you know, for help. Yeah. As such, I kept nodding and smiling like a doofus… until I heard: Please step outside of the car, which surprisingly was the one thing I was able to hear all too clearly.

Once out of the vehicle, we were instructed to raise our hands while the officers began frisking us. And Ta-Da: One ecstasy pill in this pocket here. Then I instantly pointed to another side pocket in my pants where two more diamond-shaped pills were. Even though those two were most likely fake! We had got them earlier from some guy in a pub before heading to the club, yet they didn’t do anything when we consumed them. Later at the club we did get legit ones.   I recall they used to cost 10 English Pounds, unless buying in bulk — from a trusted connection — when they could go down to 3 or 4 Pounds each.

I was then instantly handcuffed then placed at the back of the police car. My friends were searched as well, even asked to take their shoes off, but they had nothing on them.   Because I always tend to be the buddy who handles these things, doses and all. Before reaching the police station they picked another lad, who probably had a weapon on him, like a baton or something. He was seated right next to me and off we went. It must have been around 3 or 4 am then.

Inside the police station I was asked to fill a form with many questions, which I had a problem answering because my ears were still going Weewoo Weewoo. I think it was also when my Tinnitus was starting. After a few back-and-forths I recall the policeman impatiently asking: You cannot hear me or you cannot understand me?

I have a ear infection was what I said.

One question stood out: Do you want a solicitor?

What the heck is a solicitor, and why would I want one?

My English was fairly good by then, yet the British English word didn’t really mean anything. Apparently it’s a lawyer.  

Following the questionnaire I was placed in a small cell by myself, among maybe 15 other cells all lined up. There was a bench with a cover, a toilet, and that was that.

The next while was spent between hallucinating one moment and talking to “God” the next. I was simply talking to myself, yet at the time my 22-year-old self would still call that inner voice “God”.

I promise if you got me out of this I’ll stop doing drugs. But we both know that is not what I really want to do. So why lie to you. Truth is everything. So no, I will likely not stop if I got out of this. But I will really appreciate it.

What if they’ll call the embassy and the embassy will inform my parents? Ugh. The Egyptian Ambassador at the time was our cousin actually. Double Ugh.

Then I would nod for a moment and look at the cell’s gate to see my friend’s face, saying: “I told you to hide them! I told you to hide them!” What the heck!   For a moment I was consumed by the idea that my ex and buddy were pranking me somehow. The movie The Game came to mind. But then I would look around and think: No, this is not a game. I’m here in a cell in a police station in London. Not a game.

  Between the nodding and the maddening thoughts, every time I heard the main gate being opened I would think they’re coming for me. My heartbeat would start racing only to realise it’s someone else coming in or out. I also recall that the anxiousness made me pee every 15-20 minutes.

Two hours apparently went by before they came to finally get me. So, I was told since this is my very first time, they will give me a “Caution”, which is a like a warning or a light slap on the hand. The next one I could be deported. Though I knew from elsewhere that you are usually allowed three. But anyway, I went out by 6 am to find my ex and buddy waiting for me. “Take me home to smoke a joint!” was the first thing I said.  

We took the featured photo an hour later before we went in to sleep. The sentimental effects were added on my face to portray the experience. The below photo may have been taken during a trip from the year before in 1998 when we stayed at a hotel in Piccadilly Circus.