Sid usually arrived first while Billy dragged himself in a few minutes later, often looking half asleep or wholly hungover. I have no doubt that Sid was frequently in the same state, he just concealed it better. Occasionally they came in jovial, laughing and joking like work was merely an extension of the drunken festivities of the night before. Most days they were subdued and required multiple cups of strong coffee apiece to nurse themselves back to equilibrium. Once they had settled in, their hijinks ensued.Fun and Games Theirs was an easy camaraderie. They spent their time talking, laughing, and commenting on the programs on the TV in the dayroom. When that got old they played tricks on people. They would announce for someone to come to the bubble to get his pass for his prostrate exam. They would claim that a certain individual had “that package” (AIDS), and to be careful around him. They would publically announce that it was someone’s birthday, and then encourage everyone to wish them a happy birthday. This meant punching him the same number of times as his age. One inmate seemed to have a birthday every week. Signs were posted with goofy sayings or crude sexual drawings on them. A list of inmates was posted that ranked the top five weirdos/creeps I the building. Sometimes this was characterized as a Most Wanted list. As in, these are the guys the officers want to get rid of the most. Billy and Sid always seemed to crack themselves up more than anyone else. Business As Usual This juvenile frat-boy mentality and casual bullying was par for the course. In the wider world it would be denounced; in prison it’s just another Sunday. Most guys tended to ignore them and tried to keep moving as long as the abuse wasn’t directly targeting them. CO Billy and CO Sid knew who the easy targets were. In spite of their behavior and how I’ve characterized them, they’re actually fairly well-liked by all—both COs and inmates. Reality Correctional Officers are not police officers or superheroes swooping in to save the day. Nothing so glamorous or exciting as that. Depending on the security level of the penitentiary where they work, and the area within the facility where they are stationed, it’s true that they can be called upon and must be ready in an instant to deal with violent or mentally unstable inmates. However, by and large, the most difficult aspect of their job is to stay awake as the dull, monotonous hours drag by. Little more than glorified babysitters. I imagine this is why Billy and Sid enjoyed working together so much. While they were far from paragons of professionalism, with these jokers in the building there was rarely a dull moment.
Jake was wary as he eased his way hesitantly toward the door from which the voice was coming. There was only darkness from within the cell, which gave the disembodied voice the eerie effect of calling to him from an endless malevolent void. Jake knew from experience that it was ill advised, and potentially dangerous, to get too close to the cell doors. He worked in a psych joint, specifically the section that served to keep confined the most violent and/or unpredictable inmates who suffer from various and often severe mental health issues. Even with only a perforated steel grate through which the inmate could get to him, Jake had witnessed spit, shit, and piss pass through the small holes on multiple occasions. When the chuckhole was open, a deluge of waste and refuse could pour out. Yet even armed with this knowledge, Jake continued to advance upon the door from behind which someone was calling his name.
“Hey, man. Hey, Jake. Howyadoin’, man? Look, you’ve always been cool with me, never had any problem with you. You’re good with me, ya know? So I just wanted to give you a heads up. As soon as that C/O opens this chuckhole, I’ve got a whole cup of shit I’ve saved up for him, and it’s going in his face. Just so you know. You might want to stay back. Okay, Jake. Thanks.” The man’s tone was matter-of-fact, friendly, calm, casual. He could have been discussing a movie he saw recently, or the outcome of some sporting event rather than a planned fecal barrage. Once he fell silent, the man receded into his cell, leaving Jake to wrestle with what to do.
Jake worked amongst this collection of mentally unstable men five days a week and had managed to cultivate a decent rapport with many of them. It made for a slightly less stressful work environment and worked to keep him from becoming a target for an attack. All of that goodwill that he had built up, however, would evaporate if it were to be discovered that he had warned the C/O of the impending shit storm headed his way.
The warning would be perceived as snitching and make Jake ripe for revenge. On the other hand, if Jake didn’t tell the officer about the planned poop-throwing, blame would almost certainly land in his lap which would result in him probably being fired or worse. While this particular officer had always been cool with Jake, a C/O with a face full of feces is an unpredictable but volatile individual. Jake waffled over the decision briefly, but he knew what had to be done.
Each chuckhole door slammed open on its hinge with metronomic regularity. With every turn of his key and resounding metallic bang that resulted, the C/O edged ever closer to the cell where a calamity of crap awaited him. Upon arriving at the door in question, the C/O inserted his key as usual, but paused before turning it. “Back away from the door, “ he instructed the unseen inmate within. After a lengthy silence, there finally came a hesitant response.
“What? Um…no. Open my chuckhole; I want my food. Give it to me.”
“I said back up. Get away from the door.” The C/O had adopted his full-throated authoritative voice—similar to the tone a trainer would use to command dogs. “Back away or you can go hungry.” The C/O awaited a cogent response, and Jake stood to the side with a tray at the ready as it was his duty to pass it in through the chuckhole once it was opened–provided, of course, that poop wasn’t on its way out through said chuckhole.
Without warning, a bestial and unnerving noise erupted from the cell, a sound of equal parts frustration and rage. These were also the sentiments that colored what was said next.
“Jake! You told! You told, Jake! You’re a snitch!”
The C/O had enough presence of mind to backpedal with haste, and the splattering of excrement that managed to force its way through the small holes of the perforated steel window was minimal and ineffectual. The unstable inmate had mostly managed to merely splash his own waste back in his own face and coat the inside of his cell door with it. As Jake and the C/O bypassed the befouled cell and continued passing out trays, the disgruntled inmate carried on with his hollering of accusations concerning Jake.
It was a long two months of taking extra precautions and keeping his head on a swivel to avoid any payback before Jake was able to get a different job and get away from the house of the severely mentally ill. He didn’t exactly feel guilty for informing the C/O, but it also didn’t quite sit right with him that he had broken the trust of the feces-flinging inmate. It wasn’t snitching in Jake’s estimation, but rather something more like a gray area, and he never did come to accept what he had done.
Just in case there’s any confusion; I have zero access to a computer.
Some prisons in some states as well as certain federal facilities do provide limited computer usage to their inmates. I do not get that luxury. This means that I write everything out long hand and send it by snail mail to family or friend to type it and post it period. I have been far more fortunate and blessed than most of my fellow inmates to have reliable people who care enough to do this for me. However, in the end, I am working on their schedule.
During these summer months there will be a brief hiatus from new original content. To any of my regular readers I thank you for your faithful visits and ask for your patience and understanding. To anyone just passing by, there’s plenty of content to check out.
New posts begin July 22nd.