Bullpen Therapy: 8 Hours Caged Like an Animal Just to Get 5 Minutes with the Judge

Court day. 5:30 a.m. flashlight in my face. “Bulka. Up.” CO Johnson’s voice like a rusty hinge. “Time to freeze your nuts off in the courthouse basement, genius.”

Five minutes later they shoved a wax carton of milk and off-brand Cheerios into my chest. I ate standing up like a toddler while they ratcheted cuffs behind my back until the bones kissed.

The jail bus ride was pure Jersey — potholes, red lights, pain shooting through my wrists. Then the basement swallowed us. Gray walls sweating condensation. Probably 150 men. Two open toilets. No doors. The stench was alive — piss, vomit, body odor. Every flush echoed like a gunshot.

I sat on a cold, hard bench in a short-sleeve shirt for eight hours. My bladder screaming. Grown men laying on the filthy floor because there was nowhere else. I still have PTSD from the shock of it — the burning, the helplessness, the sheer animal treatment.

At 3 p.m. they finally herded eight of us into the Walk of Shame — cuffs on, past mothers with toddlers, past little girls who will never unsee orange jumpsuits and broken men. Cameras flashing. My cheeks burned hotter than the metal on my wrists.

The judge sat high like a raven. Black robe. Dead eyes.

“Mr. Bulka, why haven’t you paid?”

I tried. Job gone. Mom sick. Rent. Panic. Sleepless nights.

“How much cash do you have today?”

“Two hundred.”

“Not nearly enough.” Bang. “Remanded. Two weeks. Next.”

That’s bullpen therapy, baby. Eight hours of hell for five minutes of “justice.” And the arrears? Still running. The future payments? Still due. They expect you to pay while they cage you like a dog.

This isn’t rehabilitation. It’s punishment for being broke. It’s a revolving door that guarantees more arrests, more lost jobs, more broken families.

I’ve lived it 13 times. The system doesn’t want solutions - it wants bodies and money. When they jail you, they make sure you can’t work, can’t pay, and can’t fight back effectively.

If you’re heading to court soon:

Bring every scrap of proof (pay stubs, medical, job search records).

Ask for a payment plan or modification hearing based on current income.

Document the conditions - photos, notes, witnesses. It matters for appeals or reform efforts.

We have to stop pretending this is about “the children.” Real child support reform means realistic orders, job programs instead of jail, and actual accountability on both sides.

This is why 13 Chains exists. To pull the curtain back. To show the human cost.

You’re not weak for struggling. You’re human in a system built to break humans.

Have you done bullpen time? Tell me your story below. We’re building something bigger than our

individual pain here.

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