In which I almost trespass, almost get busted, and almost care

It was a close call.

All I'm saying.

I refer to the South Carolina State Lunatic Asylum on Bull Street Incident which occurred last Saturday at approximately Nineteen Hundred Hours.

The whole thing began when, after a full day of company at our house, TG, I, Andrew, Audrey, Erica, Dagny, and Rambo decamped and headed downtown.

Our plan was to walk on the grounds of the old abandoned mental hospital, taking exercise, being curious but not nosy. Something I have done a couple of times before, the last occasion very recently.

What you need to know is that there are no gates or any other structures impeding the progress of either motorists or pedestrians who wish to gain access to said grounds.

If there are signs indicating stay out or don't use a camera, they are invisible or all but.

The last time I was there, I roamed for nearly three hours unmolested. I saw a few cars and a few folks on foot, but like me, everyone minded their own business.

There are tall black chain link fences around Babcock, the main hospital building which dates back to 1822 and has been abandoned for decades.

And sure, there are "No Trespassing" signs on the fences, which are locked. So I never touch those.

And there are similar signs posted in the windows and doors -- also locked, at least as far as I know -- of the old falling-down smaller buildings that dot the huge campus.

So I never touch those either.

All I do is walk and take pictures. Harming no one.

Such was the scenario on Saturday, except I was accompanied by my family.

We were in two cars: ours and Andrew's.

Our party consisted of two handsome and considerate men, three non-threatening women, a three-month-old baby, and a mild-mannered Labrador.

All hard-working, law-abiding (as far as we knew) taxpayers. Well, except for the baby and the dog, who are guilty of tax evasion.

And again: We were out for nothing more subversive than an evening stroll.

But apparently, we trespassed.

And that's a no-no, and I get that, I really do, and I am not one of those who goes around with a chip on my shoulder and the attitude that the rules don't apply to me.

But you must believe me when I assure you: We did not know.

As in, we did not intentionally and egregiously set out to trespass or in any other way break the rules and certainly not the law.

So imagine my surprise when, thirty or so minutes into our meanderings, while wandering down one of the many paved streets that delineate the property, I sensed an official-seeming vehicle with blue emergency lights blazing speeding towards me, Audrey, Erica, Dagny, and Rambo.

There was no siren. We were spared the trauma of a siren's wail piercing the stillness.

TG and Andrew had left us a few minutes before, to fetch our cars and bring them around to where we were.

I was in the midst of taking a photo of the Babcock cupola with setting sunbeams gilding its broken panes, when in my peripheral, I perceived the wildly blinking blue lights.

Since I was blissfully ignorant of having committed any kind of an infraction, I figured the po po were after somebody actually doing something wrong.

In fact, "They must be driving through," was Audrey's verbal observation.

And then the car stopped. In front of me. So I lowered my camera.

My eyes met those of a person I can only describe as the angry black female incarnation of Barney Fife.

I mean, this lady was livid. In fact, for the next several minutes she was practically incoherent.

Her tires making a cloud of dust around us, blue lights still winking madly, the security guard demanded to know what I was doing there.

I said we were just walking, not doing much of anything really.

Not bothering to conduct herself in a way even marginally friendly, cordial, or respectful, not to mention professional, the security guard informed me that we were trespassing on private property.

Her tone, if not her actual words, implied that as such we were in gross violation of any number of rules, regulations, restrictions, ordinances, edicts, decrees, commandments, precepts, mandates, codes, orders, canons, covenants, charters, assizes, writs, laws, bylaws, and legislative injunctions.

I refrained from smiling real big and answering: "Pirate."

I mean, Girl! Clap me in irons. For reals.

The guard further insisted that everything on my camera would have to be deleted. Immediately.

Although I was vehemently disinclined to acquiesce to her request, I said: "Okay. No problem."

(BTW if you think I deleted so much as a frame from my camera's card, I can only say bless your little pea-picking heart.)

But the subject female security guard's demeanor was so harsh that Erica -- my gentle baby Boo! -- spoke up from behind me and in a quiet voice, trust me, not at all disrespectfully, asked the lady:

"Why are you so angry?"

On account of, the aggrieved gendarme's level of hostility was distinctly and markedly disproportionate to our crimes.

Suffice it to say, that question went unanswered.

I pointed out that there were no gates prohibiting entrance to the property, that it was in fact wide open, that several cars had passed us in the short time we'd been there, and that I did not violate a single "No Trespassing" sign posted on fences or doors.

Also I said, the only reason I ever came here in the first place is because online, there are hundreds of photos and videos of not only the grounds upon which we stood, but also the interior of many of the buildings.

Prompting additional rage, the kind that indicates a person has been pushed over the edge.

"All right. I need to see your ID," the security guard snapped, "and I need to see your ID," she glared Erica-ward.

You would have been proud of me, I think, because I did not outwardly exhibit the depth of vexation I felt.

And yes; I have a temper too, and I have been known to temporarily lose track of it.

I will thank you not to snicker.

However, I didn't in fact have my ID; I hadn't driven or even brought my purse. All I had was my camera.

I told the irate officer as much, saying I was sorry.

But she repeated that she was going to have to see my ID and also Erica's ID.

In a country where certain special people don't even need an ID to vote for a president or receive welfare, I found the directive a trifle amusing.

"My husband will be here any minute," I said. "And he has an ID you may see."

(Turns out the female security guard had already met TG and Andrew, over by our cars, and had initially gone off on them just as angrily as she would confront us, and had even threatened to write something down on a clipboard.)

I was still marveling inwardly at the way the thing had started out at an escalation level befitting Homeland Security coming down on a cabal of evil terrorists, or a souped-up Zamboni being used to exterminate a family of fleas, when a second car (no lights activated) calmly pulled up behind the first car.

A strapping black male security guard exited the second vehicle, smiling. In no hurry, he ambled in our direction and asked the name of our dog. Upon learning it, he warmly greeted Rambo, whose tail wagged in enthusiastic agreement that it was about time somebody used some manners.

I looked back at the female security guard, and as God is my very witness, it was as though she had been instantaneously and magically replaced with a sane version of herself.

In a manner I can only describe as helpful and courteous, she told me that in order to do what I was doing and not run afoul of the authorities (or, I assume, be required to produce an ID), I would need to sign a Release.

"Where do I get the Release?" I wanted to know.

"Down on Bull Street at the DMH," the female officer almost smiled.

Oh. That would be the Department of Mental Health.

And I thought: Girl it's you needs to visit the DMH 'cause you be cray cray. Get help. Get antipsychotic meds, anger management counseling, coping mechanisms, perspective training, hydrotherapy, shock treatment. Whatever it takes.

But I just smiled and said thank you, I sure will do that, and I wondered out loud if the Release would get me across the portals of Babcock to take some interior photos.

Whereupon -- again! -- with exceeding consideration, the female security officer told me that on occasion it was possible to partake of a guided tour for that express purpose.

Discussion of my camera's contents was not renewed. The camera itself was not confiscated.

A few moments later, Andrew and TG drove up to collect we womenfolk, the baby, and the dog.

I took one last photo of the sun setting behind the South Carolina State Lunatic Asylum, abandoned.

Hoping all the while that in doing so, I was not in unwitting violation of any laws written or unwritten, posted or implied, actual or imagined.

We went straight home. Nothin' but the taillights, my friends.

And that is all for now.

Call me crazy but in the interest of staying out of trouble, I think I should go and have a lie-down.

=0=0=0=

Happy Monday ~ Happy Week ~ Happy Autumn

Comments

[Sally]

Oh my word! Please don't misunderstand or get mad or any thing other than bear with me a moment!

I ALMOST FELL OUTTA MY CHAIR LAUGHING SO HARD!!

Po Po~~~cray cray~~you speak my daughter and granddaughter's language!

And, girl it's a good thing I wasn't with you; I would have kept my cool but I'd have fallen on the ground laughing so hard people would think I was having a "spell". You wrote this so well I felt like I was there with you guys.

And, btw I don't think I've told you (or maybe) that I have a letter that was written by my dad's aunt in the late l800's from an asylum in Kentucky, which of course is closed now. I will hunt and low to
see if I can find it. I didn't know we had that until after both my parents were gone, and I went through the cedar chest. And, actually it took me a while to realize where she was writing from, and the letter had been passed around. The handwriting is so beautiful! However, knowing I'm not
the only cray cray in the family (although I'm sorry she was institutionalized) made me feel a tad better. :)

I sure needed this laugh today.
xoxo

[Jennifer]

@Sally ... Good-O! Making folks fall out of their chairs laughing is almost always my desired result. Very few actually get that, though, so thank you. I am glad you enjoyed my harrowing tale. And I would LOVE to see that letter from the Kentucky insane asylum. xoxo

[Mari]

Oh my word! Somehow I wasn't even surprised this happened to you!
I could picture the whole thing as I read, and since Bob was wondering why I was laughing I had to read it to him too. He said to tell you he's concerned that you're getting into trouble for breaking INTO the insane asylum - most people are trying to break out. :)
And by the way, no one came after us when we were walking in the smelly field taking pictures of an outhouse. There really is something to be said for country life.

[Jennifer]

@Mari ... hahaahaaaahaha good one about your excursion into the field for outhouse pics. I should stick to more bucolic settings, lest they revive the defunct mental hospital just for me! xoxo

[Glenda]

Gir...I hope someone realizes that you are the best writer of stories ever. Being able to see this in my mind, and in technicolor no less is awesome. I could just hear sweet little Erica saying " Why are you so angry." Hahaha! And anyone who could approach the "All-American Family ambling around with the most adorable baby and sweet dog and be anywhere near as outrageous as she wa, definitely needs to check herself into the facilities that would enlighten her!!!

G. 😜

[Jennifer]

@G ... check herself into the facilities that would enlighten her, haaaahahahha that's pretty funny. Yeah she was in overdrive. Erica and I were laughing about it again last night and we realized how little it would have taken to get us to leave: about four words, spoken in a normal tone of voice: "Y'all need to leave." We would have said, okay, apologies, we're on our way!!! But no. She had to start at DEFCON 2, Fast Pace, and there's noplace to go from there except aim and shoot! :~/

[Lady Fi]

What an adventure! And I'm so glad you managed to get some amazing photos for us to enjoy.