Stochastronic

It was at around 10:30 A.M. on a Saturday in late September when Jeremey Walden was arrested in his Philadelphia home. He had just polished off his late morning oatmeal and was washing the bowl when his phone buzzed with a notification. Jeremey finished rinsing the bowl, stood it upside down on his drying rack, and wiped his hands on a nearby towel. Then he pulled his phone out of his pocket, and looked at the screen. The text of the notification read as follows:

PPD/MUNICIPAL COURT NOTICE: ACCUMULATED REPEATED INFRACTIONS BY Jeremy Walden GROUNDS FOR PENAL RESPONSE. CITIZEN IS TO BE PLACED UNDER ARREST Please fill out this form: https://ppd.gov/arrest/4jfzSE19XmhP

Jeremey frowned, and tapped the link. It took him to a city police webpage with a link that read “for more information on your arrest click here”, a form title “CONVICT INITIAL SURVEY” and a navigation arrow at the bottom that said “page 1 of 7.” He clicked the link.

Jeremey Walden is found guilty of the following felonies, misdemeanors and/or microinfractions:> Speeding or reckless driving — 4 charge(s)
Driving shortly after exiting a bar — 2 charge(s)
Speeding in a school zone — 3 charge(s)
Trading in unapproved cryptocurrencies online — 1 charge(s)
Sending or receiving unapproved cryptocurrencies online — 1 charge(s)
Attempting to use masks, “blinders”, headscarves or other anti-face recognition methods to inhibit the lawful and necessary surveillance of public spaces — 1 charge(s)
Failing to complete PPD’s monthly “Community Checkup” survey three (3) months in a row — 8 charge(s)
Jaywalking — 37 charge(s)> While none of these crimes is serious enough to warrant prison time on its own, the combined weight of these infractions has been found to be deleterious to society. As a result, Jeremey Walden is hereby sentenced to 3 months prison time, to be served at Curran-Fromhold Correctional Facility. In addition, there may be a fine associated with these crimes. To fill out the intake form for this sentence, please complete the Convict Survey sent to you either by text or email. For further information on the New Philadelphia Justice Initiative, please visit our website.

Jeremey cursed. He was pretty sure he knew what the anti-face recognition charge was, too — last month, during that flash flood, he had carried his umbrella very low. It was considered good etiquette to turn and look straight into the camera whenever you crossed the street, but he hadn’t bothered, wanting to keep his hair dry. And the bar charge — normally not something you would ever get charged for, but they would throw it onto his accumulated fine for $25. That’s what he got for being the designated driver. Should have parked further away, but try shepherding three drunk friends to a car four blocks from the bar. The worst part was knowing that if he had bothered to detour to a breathalyzer station, he could have gotten marked as sober that evening and avoided the charge. But he hadn’t thought they would ever get enough stuff to pin him, and now —

So many small things that he hadn’t done, either because he was too lazy or too busy. The jaywalking — they never charged anyone for jaywalking, everyone did it. He figured he trade off the credits from his electric car for any speeding tickets he accumulated throughout the year. And the surveys were bull, nobody did those. But evidently the policing algorithm had decided that he was being a nuisance.

Jeremey poured himself another cup of coffee from the cooling pot and sat down at the table. He started by filling out the initial survey: first name, last name, gender, age, race, address, length of residency, past convictions? what about family members? medical history, citizenship status, income as listed on previous year’s tax returns and a computer-generated verification code sent to his inbox. Next was an employer notification form, to let his company know he wouldn’t be showing up for a few months — by law, they couldn’t let him go while he was imprisoned on microinfraction charges, which in practice meant he would have to wait until he was released to start collecting severance pay. He looked up the company EIN, then the address, the legal name, phone number, email, and wrote a cover letter explaining the issue to his boss, which he was supposed to submit through the police department website. After some consideration, he sent a copy from his own email address as well, just in case. He got up and emptied the dregs of the coffee pot into his mug.

On the Future Inmate Character Evaluation Survey Jeremey began to lose patience. He wasn’t sure whether he would rather have a million dollars or ten good friends, and he certainly wasn’t prepared to rank his preference on a seven-point scale. Even worse was the question that asked him to list his three worst character traits: should he lie? Or stretch the truth, like in a job interview? And should he just put three one-word answers into the text box, or give some explanation? 74 questions later, it was almost noon, and Jeremey still had further to go.

The Inmate Intake Form, Emergency Contact Form and Incarceration Preparation Checklist all went fairly smoothly. By this point Jeremey had typed his name, address and social security number four or five times each. Then came the Character Reference Form. Jeremey paused to think. If he could come up with some strong references, folks with high credit scores and clean rap sheets, they might abridge his sentence. He wondered whether his uncle would be willing to write a reference letter. His boss was out, of course, but maybe one of his coworkers? Doubtful. His old college professors probably wouldn’t respond. Jeremey groaned and rubbed his face. Finally he put in the contact information of his uncle, a friend who worked in the Bureau of Planning and his high school geometry teacher. It was a long shot, but Mr. Haskins had liked him and might be willing to do an old student a favor. Jeremey submitted the form with a knot in his stomach.

It was now well past one in the afternoon, but Jeremey was too anxious to be hungry. He got up after the Character Reference Form and paced around the house. He was making his fourth lap through the living room when his phone buzzed with another message.

PPD/MUNICIPAL COURT NOTICE: CONVICT INITIAL SURVEY FOR Jeremey Walden HAS BEEN RECEIVED AND PROCESSED. COMPLETION OF THIS FORM SERVES AS RECOGNITION AND ACKNOWLEDGEMENT OF THE SUBJECT’S CONVICTION. FAILURE TO COMPLETE THE INCARCERATION PROCESS WITHIN 48 HOURS MAY RESULT IN ACTIVE SEARCH AND DETAINMENT BY POLICE AND/OR A HARSHER SENTENCE. ATTEMPTS TO LEAVE THE CITY OF PHILADELPHIA OR THE STATE OF PENNSYLVANIA BY AUTOMOBILE, PUBLIC TRANSIT, AIRPLANE OR ANY OTHER METHOD ARE ILLEGAL AND MAY RESULT IN ACTIVE DETAINMENT AND/OR ADDITIONAL CRIMINAL CHARGES. IF THE SUBJECT IS NOT A RESIDENT OF PHILADELPHIA, OR NEEDS TO LEAVE ON EMERGENCY GROUNDS, AN IMPRISONMENT DEFERRAL REQUEST MUST BE FILED WITH THE MUNICIPAL COURT WITHIN 24 HOURS.

Jeremey’s eyes glazed over trying to read the text, but he managed to parse “complete within 48 hours” and “harsher sentence”, and his heart rate started rising again. He sat back down and started in on the next form: TRIAL WAIVER AGREEMENT. After signing away his right to a trial in exchange for not having to pay fines on top of prison time, he clicked over to the Inmate Accommodations Registry to find a cell.

The idea was that prisoners got to reserve their preferred cells, like hotel rooms. Unfortunately, the system didn’t tell him which cell were already occupied until after he tried reserving them. He tried a few with windows overlooking the exercise yard first — all taken. Everything on the first floor of each building seemed to be claimed as well. Jeremey started swearing out loud every time the “Error: cell occupied. Please select another cell” message finally loaded in over top of the painfully slow web interface. Finally he stumbled upon an empty room entirely by accident on the third floor, and made the three month reservation. For some reason this made him even angrier, and he dropped his phone on the table and stood to his feet.

This was ridiculous. Insulting, even. Not only did they expect him to arrest himself, they wanted him to do all the administrative work connected to his arrest. Finding a cell, inputting dietary restrictions, filing court paperwork — all on his plate, not the police department’s.

“This isn’t fair,” he grumbled. “I do you the favor of not making police come out to my house to read me my rights, and my reward is a bunch of forms to fill out?” He imagined the police commissioner sitting across from him. “The balls on you! What are you jagoffs doing in that fancy new building that you can’t fill this stuff out yourself?”

Police Commissioner Dani Outlaw smiled and looked him directly in his mind’s eye. “Our new policing initiative is entirely about placing more power in the hands of the convicted to determine their own lives. We have a vision of justice that is restorative, not punitive-”

“Wack.” Jeremey cut her off. “You really telling me I gotta do all this? What happens if I just don’t respond?”

“What do you think happens? You broke the law, we’re bringing you in one way or another.”

He snorted. “I bet you don’t. I bet for this microinfraction stuff you don’t even bother coming out if the guy doesn’t acknowledge it. Small potatoes and no money in it for you.”

Commissioner Outlaw raised an eyebrow. “You bet, do you? So then why’d you start filling out the Convict Initial Survey?”

Jeremey hesitated. He didn’t like it when the voices in his imagination started out-arguing him. “I can’t take the risk, man, you know that. Police show up at my job, I’ll never find work again. Word gets around in my business.”

The policewoman leaned forward. “Oh, really? Not because you did something wrong, and you know you ought to pay your dues? You know what you did wrong, don’t you Jeremey? You can explain every charge, and you knew you were breaking the law each time. Everything on that report is true.”

“It’s not fair,” he said, but Jeremey was starting to doubt himself. He hadn’t questioned the arrest when it was pushed to his phone. It was true — he knew exactly when, where and why he had broken the law. “It’s not that I didn’t know it was against the law, I just…”

“You didn’t expect to get caught?” Comm’r. Outlaw wasn’t smiling now. “You thought you could get away with it? It’s the 21st century, Jeremey, we use computers in police work precisely to make sure nobody gets away with breaking the law. No more slipping through the cracks, no more skirting the edge, no more anonymous miscreants. We’re trying to eliminate crime, Jeremey, not just slow it down a little. You think you’re gonna get away with being a little disorderly, just because there are other people out there who are worse than you? You’re right, Jeremey — you are small potatoes. But that just means you’re that much easier to clean up.”

“Wack,” he said again, but this time it was sad instead of angry. “But, man, three months is really harsh. I mean, don’t you think? Aren’t there more dangerous people you should be locking up?”

“You leave the macro-level logistics to the city, and just worry about your own case. You still have plenty of work to do.”

“Yeah, that’s another thing. Why are you guys making me do your job? I mean, this much paperwork is ridiculous.”

Outlaw spiraled a dreadlock around one finger. “Because you’re willing to do it for us. Because, quite frankly, we’re overworked what with the constant reforms we’ve been implementing, and you seem eager to help. Because you know, deep down, that you’re guilty, and that arresting yourself is the right thing to do.”

“Bull.” He shook his head to clear it of the vision. He did not feel better.

He did finally feel hungry, though, and he went to the fridge to make himself a sandwich. He sliced a bun in half. He spread mayonnaise on one side and mustard on the other. He layered several slices of ham and a piece of pepperjack cheese onto the mustard-ed slice, and put it in the oven for five minutes, to melt the cheese. He put a slice of tomato and five pickles on the mayonnaise half. Then he put it all together, and poured himself a glass of milk. He went to the table and sat down. Jeremey sat there, eating his sandwich, drinking his milk, and thinking about it all for a bit.

When he finished the sandwich, Jeremey picked up his phone and continued the incarceration process. His bags were already packed, he had already notified his boss, and the police were expecting him — and watching for him at the airport. It was too late to go back, really, he was already committed. Jeremey promised himself that he would advise his friends to duck charges if it ever happened to them. The promise felt hollow.

That evening he took the bus down to Curran-Fromhold Correctional Facility, and checked in at the front desk. After he filled out a paper form declaring his official entry into the Pennsylvania prison system, the receptionist handed him a manilla folder containing a map, an orientation guide, a weekly schedule and a six page handbook of rules and regulations. She buzzed for a warden, who showed up after a few minutes’ wait.

The officer looked at Jeremey. “Walden?” he asked.

Jeremey nodded. “That’s me.”

The officer turned around and started walking away without checking if Jeremey was following. “If you’ll come with me, please,” he said, “I’ll escort you to your cell.”