Day 3: Getting to See Jim

Prison, like any unique culture, has its own sub-language. Part southern hillbilly, part urban street, all hip. After immersion here for over 2 full days, I am starting to adopt some of the slang. Brenda is no longer "my girlfriend", she's "my girl". Most of the words make sense after I understand the context, but at least one does not: "CQ". A CQ is a prisoner who works for the prison. We don't share chores such as scrubbing the bathrooms, mopping the floors, or serving the chow trays. All of that is done by CQs.

Today is exactly like yesterday. In fact, Derick says all days are the same here. It is the small stuff that I take for granted which seems to bother me the most. There's no sleeping in until even 7AM on weekends, and no Sunday prison brunch. Days are days, and chow is chow.

Prison is an extremely infantilizing experience. Earlier I called it dehumanizing; that is mostly true, but a lot of it just assumes prisoners are toddlers. You lose your adulthood much quicker than your humanity. So I literally jumped off my cot with childish excitement when I heard my name called - with instruction to bring my Work Release rulebook - in the late afternoon, before evening Blockout. I was getting to See Jim!!!

Actually, I was meeting with Mark, Jim's assistant. My lawyer had led me to believe that everything could be arranged in advance, but as I found myself waiting for 3 days, I knew either one of us messed up or he was sorely misinformed. The latter turned out to be case.

Mark said I had some of the most persistent callers from the outside world working on my behalf he had ever encountered. My girlfriend phoned every day, and my attorney and our HR department called to ensure I was being expedited through the system. What felt like a slow, lagging process to me, was actually the fastest they've ever turned someone back out: 3 days. Tomorrow, I get to go to work. But, I must have many rules explained to me and plenty of paperwork to sign.

I asked Mark why the Work Release rules and the forms aren't available on the prison web site. It might allow them to pre-process some prisoners and get them out faster. At a minimum, prisoners would understand what to expect when they arrived. Mark didn't reply, and why should he? Prisoners are not customers of the prison, and there is really no incentive for them to create efficient processes. In fact, if helplessness and despair is the mood they are trying to create, then this is the perfect way to run things.

Mark states I can go to work tomorrow, and based upon the work schedule the HR department and I invented, he gives me pick-up and drop-off times. I am also permitted to have some personal clothing dropped off: 7 pairs of briefs (no boxers), 7 pairs of socks, 10 shirts, 7 pairs of pants, 2 towels. I am actually permitted to call Brenda and tell her when to pick me up tomorrow, and what clothing to drop off and where. Brenda, of course, has already packaged the clothing and is prepared.

The conditions of my Work Release are restrictive. No stopping in the car for any reason, no diversion from the most direct path to and from work. No visitors at work, and no personal phone calls. The rules haven't been updated since 1990 or so - meaning no restrictions on SMS text messages, IMs, or email. I don't ask about those though since obviously personal use of such things violates the spirit of the rules. If caught, I'd prefer to ask forgiveness rather than permission.

I am salaried for my work, paid two times a month via direct deposit. Normally the program requires that my employer mail - yes, mail - a real check payable to the County Prison. In my case I must go to the bank and get a certified check for my pay stub net deposit, and bring the check, minus the fee, and my pay stub back to the prison. The check must be payable to them. There are prohibitions in the rules regarding deductions for credit unions or tool leases, but after I ask I am told 401K contributions are permitted. An idea of maxing out my 401K for the next 3 months crosses my mind. That would keep them from having anything left over to confiscate, but of course keep me from having anything left over to pay my bills. I'll table that thought.

The prison first takes a fee for a drug test they are not performing each week. After that, they help themselves to 20% of my income to cover room and board, up to a per capita max of over $200 per week. 50% of what remains is put towards my fines and court costs (I have yet to be told what my court costs actually are). I am permitted to keep the remaining 50% in a prison trust account, which I can withdrawal for petty cash to spend in the stunningly overpriced vending machines in the day room, use at the overpriced commissary ($4 bars of soap, $2 granola bars, $5 briefs, etc.), or have sent to someone on the outside.

According to the most recent US Bureau of Labor Statistics data on spending, the average cost for food at home is $3297 and $11,988 for shelter and utilities. Considering the inhumane living conditions and the horrible thing passed off as food, the prison is doing quite well for itself by setting a max of almost $11,000 per year they can pocket from a prisoner's paycheck. I am curious whether this rate is tied to any BLS data, or if it is set by my State legislature. Perhaps it is determined by decree of a County official or bureaucrat.

I return to my cell, suppressing my thoughts of the expropriation racket feigning rehabilitation and justice, content that tomorrow I can return to work. I am called down later to retrieve my belongings which Brenda as dropped off. A new guard, Carpenter, is on duty. Carpenter is very pissed off.

"I am not mad at you, but I need to explain something," he says. "I have worked here for 10 years and I've never stolen from someone or done anything like that. I had to have a background check just to work here." Brenda made the mistake of saying to Carpenter as she handed him my clothes "so you will give this right to him?". Carpenter felt she was accusing him of being a likely thief. Carpenter was legitimately offended, but has to realize it is a natural concern (and it happens on Oz, so there you go). In reality, Brenda had put some pictures of us and our dog, and a letter to me, in with the clothes and was worried they would be discovered. Of course they were. Carpenter and Robbins give them to me to read and look at but say I can't keep them; those things must come through the prison mail system.

Later, when I speak to Brenda about it, she is naturally upset. I agree with her, of course, but the problem for me is that I have NO RIGHTS. When you are in prison, everything is a privilege that can be revoked by anyone for any reason, and there is no appeal to a superior or right to try and argue. If Brenda looks at a guard funny and he decides to take it out on me by confining me to my cell for two weeks and forbids me to call my employer, and I lose my job, that is my problem. If I try and argue with him and he submits a report indicating I am a troublemaker on the Work Release block and recommends I am sent to General Population, potentially to room with a murderer or rapist, it will happen.

My advice to anyone with a loved-one in the US prison system: treat everyone who works for the prison as if the prison-worker is a psychotic armed kidnapper who has your loved-one locked in a closet, and you are trying to ensure your loved-one stays safe. Because that is exactly what it feels like.

A Captain and his thimbleful of power is far more dangerous than any King.