But perhaps I am getting ahead of myself.
Our day began at shortly after 5AM. I think this was the time because we have no clocks in our rooms or in the hallways of our floors. "First call for Chow". Derick explained that they do a first call, then a second, then finally our actual call to come down and get our food. "Chow call, top floor, rooms 1-25, no extras, no stragglers", said the CO, with the intelligibility of the Peanuts adult characters in the animated specials. Half awake, we wander down in a line, like cattle, and get a brown tray, a single serving milk carton, and fill our cups with something claimed to be coffee.
Derick thinks the drink - "juice" is the generic prison term for whatever is being given with a meal - is made from chicory root, a coffee substitute popularized during the Civil War. I use the word "popular" loosely, as I've never heard of it until now. The rest of the meal is a yellow goo of some sort, feet-flavored pancakes, and a piece of chocolate cake. I force myself to eat the feetcakes and the chocolate cake. Derick happily accepts my gift of the yellow goo.
Following the meal there is a bit of activity in the hallways - restroom use, a few guys getting ready for work, and some slight banter. Derick and I go back to sleep, as we have a very long day ahead of us, and the more of it spent unconscious, the better.
I awake a couple of hours later - I am guessing at 8AM. The hallways and restrooms are more active now. Derick is still asleep but the rising sun casts a bit of sunlight into our room. I read my book until Derick awakens and he becomes again the prison oracle.
"Just be careful who you talk to in here. The place is full of drunks, deadbeats, punk kids, and especially snitches. Some of these guys will snitch on you because they are jealous, or just because they can." What exactly would they snitch about, I ask. "Oh, maybe you leave work, or see your girl, or anything like that. Just be careful." Certainly sound advice. As I will find, this is more difficult than one would think. Caged here like an animal, dehumanized in every way possible, conversation with others might be the only way to prevent an entire loss of self.
The next phase of the morning routine is "Meds", when prisoners receiving prescriptions through the prison line up for their drugs. Within the hour, it is again meal time. The same calls for Chow occur, and we wander down for what is supposed to be lunch, even though it is 10:30AM. I force myself to eat the mystery bologna and two slices of bleached-flour bread. Apparently every meal here comes with a piece of cake for dessert. After we eat I read more while Derick tries to start conversations between his naps; we're counting down until our afternoon "Blockout" - the time when the entire Work Release block is permitted in the "day room" - the common areas. Blockout is called at 1PM.
I was able to call Brenda again. She is still feeling combinations of anger, frustration, and loss. I can not really offer any comfort, as I have no idea yet when I will be allowed back to work. I ask her to contact my administrative assistant and cancel my meetings. She has already informed my manager that I may not be in all week. The only info I have at this point is what the other inmates are telling me: I will first need to "see Jim" - the man in charge of the block - and that can take up to a week. Daytime TV in general is painful to watch, and in prison with basic cable, we flip between faux court shows and syndicated 90s sitcoms. In a day I am halfway through my book. 3PM comes and we return to our rooms.
Unlucky for us there is some kind of Christian Evangelical program tonight. This means we have only two choices for the evening: stay in our rooms longer than usual, or go sit in front of a TV watching some preacher. After the last Chow call of the day - some kind of Salisbury steak and mashed yams - I opt for the room and the book. At 8:30 PM the Evangelical presentation has finished and we begin our evening Blockout. Naturally, the television is showing professional wrestling. Now that I am more than two-thirds through my book I peruse the shelves again for something else to read.
My eyes literally pop out of my head when I see Anthony Burgess's A Clockwork Orange. Why is this book here, I wonder? Is this someone's idea of a joke - putting a book with disturbing tales of assault, murder, and adolescent-rape, that also has a prison system performing cruel acts of brain-washing and mental-programming - in a real prison? I grab the book to read after I finish my current choice, and continue to peruse. I also find Orwell's Nineteen Eighty-Four. Other inmates look at me curiously while I laugh out loud. It was at this time I decided I was definitely going to write this blog, and I knew instantly what the title would be.
I sign up for a late phone call to Brenda. While watching the minutes tick by, pretending to give a shit about the homo-erotic soap opera known as Professional Wrestling, I hear my name called by Robbins, the CO currently on duty. He hands me my work request form, which I submitted last night. It has been rejected due to missing information.
The work request form was straight out of some Kafkaesque bureaucracy. The form is clearly intended to provide information to Sheriffs should one choose to do a prison escape while away. What are the names, addresses, and phone numbers of all your relatives? Your employer? Your doctors? Etc. The problem with the form is that it reads as if it has been designed to trip you up. It looks like this:
1. NAME/PHONE/AGE/ADDRESS OF ALL BROTHERS SISTERS
________________________________________________________________
________________________________________________________________
________________________________________________________________
________________________________________________________________
2. NAME/PROFESSION/ADDRESS/PHONE OF PARENTS
________________________________________________________________
________________________________________________________________
________________________________________________________________
________________________________________________________________
3. NAME/AGE/ADDRESS/PHONE OF 2 CLOSE FRIENDS (NOT RELATIVES)
________________________________________________________________
________________________________________________________________
________________________________________________________________
________________________________________________________________
And so on. Note how the same information is requested in a different order each time. Sometimes one thing is not needed for one of the questions, such as age, but then it reappears as a requirement later. This form goes on for 5 pages like this. Using the 3 inch dull pencil that was included in our Welcome to Jail Kit, it is difficult and frustrating to complete. I missed a phone number in one place, an age in another, and did not complete the full street address for my physician. I find a phone book - 2 years old and halfway torn apart - but luckily it has the street information for my physician. I add the ages and make up some phone numbers (who memorizes phone numbers in 2008?). Robbins had volunteered to look it over for me, which he does, and points out some stuff I did not fill in - my girlfriend's home number, since I've never called it. I tell him I will call her tonight and get the info. I return to watching the clock.
Robbins has a very short fuse, and little tolerance for noise. He is young, mid 20s to early 30s. Part of him seems to enjoy his job, particularly the authority and control. The other part seems constantly irritated and on edge. The day room is not designed for sound control; the walls and floors reflect and amplify the noise from conversations, television, and the clanging of vending machines. With 50 men, most of them young and energetic, it is easy for noise to escalate. Robbins loses his temper and screams that Blockout is ending early and we must return to our rooms. Unfortunately my time to call has not been reached. As most of the inmates shuffle to their rooms I linger around. Earlier I had appealed to Robbins authority and knowledge by asking for his help with the form. I also made him aware I planned on getting the final info via my phone call. I decide to take a chance and ask him if I can still make my call - figuring that as he has already established himself as master due to my appeal to his authority, and he has a chance to grant me an exemption without the large audience - which would imply weakness. However, I've already submitted my form back into the request bin. I ask to make my call - Robbins nods and gives his final yell at the stragglers - and then points at me and says "YOU can stay". Woohoo! I now hope Robbins is too annoyed and preoccupied with the troublemakers to notice I've already submitted my form. I call Brenda and this time I have some kind of good news: it is rather easy for someone familiar with various personality types to be in control without asserting control. All those corporate classes and seminars in dealing with people are actually pretty helpful. In prison.
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