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Fashions & Attitudes…

Whenever I think, “What can I write about today?” I have to remind myself, “What can’t I write about?”  I have more than 20 years of prison experiences.  Some of them hardly believable.  Stick around…

Other Isles...

Sometimes, it’s the simple things…  Most prison compounds have a centrally located structure where staff can hang out and watch what’s going on. (I call them tikis, as if I’m still on a tropical isle somewhere waiting to fly out another load of Bolivian Marching Powder or Strawberry Cough.)

Walking across the compound one afternoon during a 10-minute hourly move, I was approached by this dandified fool.

Central casting could hardly have created a more improbable character in a more unlikely place.  This guy was all duded up in black.  A black bowler hat, suit, duster (caped-overcoat), patent-leather shoes, and a large black stick umbrella.  All he needed was Natasha and a black cat.

As I started to pass him on the way to the education building—What’s this clown looking at me for?—he asked me who I thought I was?

Looking around for the Candid Camera, I pointed to my name & number tag and asked, “What’s the problem?”

He went off.  “Who do you think you are?  Walking around dressed like that?” in a high, squeaking voice.

This totally blind-sided me.  “…dressed like that?”  I looked down at my prison uniform and could see nothing wrong.  In fact, I was in perfect order.  Other staff just watched neutrally as prisoners moved this way and that to their locations.

I started to get an inkling that maybe that was his point.  It seemed like half the crack and meth-heads had their pants dragging off their asses, so maybe this was his way of noting that fact dramatically to others.

It seemed that no matter how many rules and regs the prison posts, these bumbaclots just don’t get it.  On the other hand, staff is scared shitless to confront them directly.  They usually handle the situation by the collective punishment of all—as if these morons cared one way or the other.

I smiled and replied, “Right,” and started to move around him.  He got all red in the face and started seriously stuttering, berating my “attitude” and the way I was dressed.

Now, at that time I had been down a good dozen years.  I like to think I was a “model prisoner,” and had the general respect of other prisoners and staff alike.  I minded my own business.  But then, I wasn’t much into the jokey scene…

Brushing by him, I went on my way.  Now he really went off, screaming for me to stop and come back.  I ignored him.  If it’s a joke.  Fine.  If not, then I’d find out soon enough.

As I turned to the Ed bldg, I glanced back.  He was gesturing wildly to the captain.  The captain seemed to be trying to calm him down.  Fine with me.

A friend caught up and asked, “What was that all about?  You really upset Queenie.””

“Beats me,” I replied.  “Queenie?”

“Yeah,” he said.  “You don’t know who that is?  That’s the new Associate Warden!”

Figures.

               Dr. Publico

Category: PrisonExprcs...
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One Response
  1. publico says:

    Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar…

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