New Mattress!

Okay, so an update on my quest to maximize my Bid.  To be biddin’ means to tune into not only the above-board approved prison rules, but also the unwritten rules of favors and barters.  What you need duct tape?  I need sugar.  Deal!   

You may recall after months of finagling, I worked my way into the bottom bunk of a two-man cube against the backside of the building, a primo chair in the TV room, a library job, and a coveted brass belt buckle.  My next big goal is an Early Chow Pass, not yet attained.  In the meantime, my ambitious goal became acquiring a new mattress for my bunk.  Not an easy feat by any means.  Logic, infirmity, begging, these will not prevail.  You must run a hustle.  One counter-intuitive but effective strategy is to give up your middle of the road mattress for a ¼-inch thick miserable excuse for a pad in hopes of later swapping it for a brand new mattress.  As you might imagine, this trick can go horribly wrong, but I figured it was worth the gamble.  Even staring down the possibility of sleeping on what feels no thicker than a blanket stretched over a steel bunk.  I mean, don’t get me wrong, even a new mattress in here is no Sleep Number Sealy Postur-Pedic Serta Pillowtop.  It’s just a new 4-5 inch thick plastic-wrapped slab of foam.  But still, something to aspire to.   

So after two wretchedly sleepless nights it was time to make my move.  With medical paperwork chronicling an orthopedic injury to bolster my claim and bags under my eyes to seal the deal, I drag myself down to the Counselor, settling in for the expected evasive back and forth, hemming and hawing and the likelihood of returning in a couple of days for Round 2.  To my surprise, in no time at all I walked out with a brand new still in the bag mattress!  The Counselor had warned me, though, not to let guys see this, especially not the ones who would immediately come begging for one right after me.  So I plotted my course, angling for hiding spots along the way to my bunk, but the whole trip was like a prison version of The Pink Panther.  Stumbling along, hauling a floppy mattress, trying to look inconspicuous.  Aside from enlisted accomplices, only two inmates witnessed my escapade, and they were easily paid off with soft drinks and the reminder that each of them somehow sleeps on two mattresses!   

Twenty minutes later, bed is made, old mattress tossed, and I’m good and ready for a nap.  Dreaming of my Holy Grail, that early chow pass.  I will have to devise a grand plan, this may take some time, but it’s not beyond all hope.  Update to come!

At Last, A Bottom Bunk!

My cellmate goes home next week.  He’s a good kid who made a huge mistake of age 17, resulting in 8 years in prison.  Now 25, he is ready to get on with his future.  I’m happy for him.  I wish him luck and hope he leads a successful life.  He’s been a good Cellie, and when he goes I’ll have to adjust to living with someone new.  That said, his release also brings me a great reward:  I get to move to the bottom bunk!

In an earlier post, I discussed the hierarchy of prison perks, and as you may recall at the peak of that pyramid is bottom bunk, two man cube, backside of the building.  This is the prison equivalent of beachfront real estate in Malibu.  A BIG deal!  In fact as an example of how boring our lives in prison are, guys have discussed dreaming about getting a bottom bunk.  Paying for them if necessary.

So I’m counting down seven days until my first night’s sleep in almost two years not being up top and on display to nearly two hundred other guys.  It calms me just to think about it.  And then there’s this windfall:  I was just allowed a brass belt buckle, replacing the cheap plastic one I’ve had until now.  What’s that old saying that good things happen in threes?  What could come next?  Maybe – could it be? – a pass for early chow?

So, please don’t think poorly of me, but next week when we’re celebrating my Cellie’s departure with noodles and cake, a part of me will also be reveling in my own good fortune!

The Great Tofu Disappearance

I want to come clean about something.  All the Correctional Officers (CO’s) here are not power-hungry, inmate hating psychos.  Some are decent, even friendly and funny (not unintentionally funny due to incompetence, but genuinely entertaining).  Allow me to illustrate this with an anecdote, which we will title The Great Tofu Disappearance.

JR, a buddy of mine, works in the kitchen and was recently promoted to the serving line.  This garners him more pay and the privilege of serving up generous portions to friends.  He has been assigned to what we call the “black side” because almost every African American inmate goes through that side.  White guys use it also, but almost no minorities use the other line, which is known as the “white side”.   This doesn’t seem to have anything to do with intimidation, fighting, or discrimination, it’s just an accepted fact of life in the chow hall.  Okay, so the other night the two entrée choices were Pork or Tofu.  JR looked down at the tofu and thought it didn’t look very filling, so he started ladling out two or three scoops to anyone who asked for it.  Two-thirds of the way through serving all the Units, the tofu ran out, so my buddy called out “Tofu Up!”  No reply from the kitchen.  “Tofu Up!” a second time, then a third, with no response.  Finally, though, Ms. B., the evening CO for the chow hall, came over to see what was up.  Their exchange went like this:

Ms. B:  Why you yelling for more Tofu?

JR:  We’re out.

Ms. B:  Out?  What you mean we’re out?  You stealing my Tofu?

JR: No ma’am.  I’m just a redneck from Alabama.  I don’t even know what tofu is.

Ms. B.:  (In a loud but not mad, more of an amused, tone of voice) Well, we got us a problem.  Cuz never in the history of the history of the Motherf___in’ history of this prison have we ever run out of tofu on the black side!  (This perked up all ears, everyone entertained by her rant.)  You know why, JR?

JR:  No ma’am.

Ms. B:  (She’s African American, which I only mention because of what she is about to say.)  I’ll tell you why.  Cuz every motherf___er in the world knows N_____ers don’t eat Tofu!  (She pauses for effect, waiting for the laughter to die down.)  Next thing you know, we gonna be runnin’ outta mother___in humus!  Humus and Tofu, JR?  It ain’t like it’s chicken.  Where the hell did it go?

JR:  Well, umm, I was just giving three scoops of Tofu to those who asked….

Ms. B.:  THREE SCOOPS?  3 MOTHERF____IN’ SCOOPS!  G-damn I will never understand white people.  Three scoops of tofu when you could have a nice slice of swizzle (pork).  (Shaking her head in resignation, Ms. B walks off.)

Ms. B., by the way, is one of the best liked CO’s, not only because of her colorful language.  She works hard, tries to make the food taste good, and boy is she entertaining!

The Hot Sauce Rule

Where is a condiment more than just a condiment?  Federal prison.  It’s all about CONTROL!  How can the authorities exert control via condiments?  Hot sauce.  Yes, hot sauce.  If you are a regular reader of this blog, you may be thinking that I’ve finally lost it.  All I ask for is a little patience, and I will explain.  This latest power trip started when the Captain and Warden instituted a policy mandating that the only item an inmate can bring into the chow hall is a bottle of hot sauce.  Ketchup?  No.  Mustard?   No.  BBQ sauce?  No way.  Mayo?  Negatory.  Get the picture?  And why?  A logical question.  My first thought was that it had to do with money.  Maybe the BOP has some vast underground warehouse stocked with hot sauce that can be sold to us at exorbitant prices?  I haven’t entirely dismissed this theory, but admit it’s unlikely.  After all, it would save them money if for example we could bring our own ketchup to the chow hall on hot dog day, when they hand out cheapie packs.  You’d think that less packs used = less packs purchased = more money saved, right?

Allow me to interrupt this blog entry to relay what just happened here in the library.  The library – the hub of education, enlightened thinking, rehabilitation, and staff wanting to help us succeed.  So a guy just asked a staff member for a pen or pencil, something to write with.  He just got here today, his belongings haven’t arrived, and he has no money for the store.  He has to fill out some paperwork, but doesn’t have any implement to write with.  The staff person informed him that “WE” don’t provide pens or pencils for inmates.  He asked why and was informed that it’s not in the budget.  He pushed the issue a little bit, not being rude but expressing some frustration with the reply.  The staff member loudly rebuffed him with, “Well, if people like you would stop being criminals, we might have more money for less people!”  At that, a hush fell over the room.  Even in a library, you’ve never seen 20 or 30 inmates so quiet.  To you, of course, this may seem like an inconsequential moment.  Just brush it off, you say.  Ignore it.  But to us it’s not that easy.  All day all the little demeaning, humiliating things add up and eventually take their toll.  I mean, all the guy wanted was something to fill out GED forms, a step towards bettering himself.  Instead, he was reminded in no uncertain terms that he is just a criminal, an inmate, and “he’s got nothin’ comin’.”

Okay, back to my regularly scheduled blog topic:  the hot sauce only rule.  Could it be that we have a world-renowned culinary arts program that not only offers rehabilitation but career skills?  Um, no.  Allow me to save some time here.  There is no reason for the hot sauce only rule.  If asked, the reply is always that answer so well known to three year olds:  “Because I said so.”  And of course as with every ridiculous rule we do what we can to circumvent it.  Enter Lieutenant ______, we will call him Captain Condiment.  This guy roams the chow hall, using his eagle eye and incredible sense of smell to root out offending condiments.  He is the scourge of mustard, BBQ sauce, mayo, salad dressings, etc.  Oh his pride as he puffs out his chest and confiscates another bottle of contraband ketchup.  I can picture him at home, binging on episodes of OZ or Prison Break, smugly bragging to his buddies about the Heinz he took off the dangerous 87-year old in the wheelchair who is serving time for driving drunk on federal property.  Where does he put the seized condiments?  A Batcave trophy room?  I know we all feel safer with Captain Condiment on the job, making sure we know who has control around here.  Even with something as inconsequential as hot sauce.  Well, I’m off to dine on pancakes and oatmeal.  Hmm, wonder if I tried the hot sauce on the pancakes?

Interruption in Blog

To anyone who has been regularly reading these blog posts, a new one posted each week, wanted to let you know that there will be a short hiatus while the guy who posts goes on vacation.  In the meantime, don't know if you may have seen this harrowing short video clip, but I recommend it:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I9YDlL4KtR8

The part of the clip I'm referring you to comes in at about the 6 minute mark of this longer show.

We'll be back with a new blog post in early June -- thank you for caring!

Outrunning the Devil

Our old friend Billy Joe just returned after a stay at the hospital.  He was so sick that they took him to a well-known and respected University hospital nearby, where he probably received some of the best medical care available.  He is now prescribed a “Heart Healthy Diet” (this, of course, implies that they know our usual diet is nothing like that).  Billy Joe vowed that he was going to eat whatever the hell he wants, despite the better food his new status affords him, and not two days had gone by before he was smuggling out his healthy meals and swapping them for Swiss Rolls and Cokes.  I asked him to explain this behavior and he did not disappoint:

The devil been chasin’ me for years.  I’ve lied, cheated, and stealed (sic).  I’ve slinged dope, run whores, sold guns, and shot people.  I been a lowdown no good criminal my whole life.  Stayin’ me one step ahead of the devil, but one step behind the law.  I figure I got nothin’ to worry about.  If the devil don’t want me for all I done, I figure he ain’t gonna take me over some cakes and pop.

Feeling a little philosophical, I asked Billy Joe about his thoughts on religion.  If he believes in the Devil, does he believe in God?  Would trying to “get right” as he would say get him some brownie points in the afterlife?  He had thought this through and laid it out for me, “Well now Library Man, I been so low not even God would recognize me.  I figure it’s better to be an honest crook than a lyin’ angel!”

I don’t know if I agree with Billy Joe about it being too late to change his life, but he does have a point about being true to who you are.  Too many guys here try to play a part.  The Gangsta, the Carman, the Kingpin, they lose touch with themselves.  I’m sure they do it for protection, wearing a mask to not get hurt emotionally.  I think the toughest guys here really are the ones who get through it with a kind and caring attitude, who try to stay sane.  I won’t give up talking to Billy Joe about finding a better path for his life, but it’s his choice in the end.  And if he at times all he needs is a Swiss Roll, a Coke and someone to listen, I can also handle that.

Take My General Knowledge Quiz!

I’ve always thought of myself as fairly intelligent.  Over the years I’ve learned a few things.  I’m even a better than average Trivial Pursuit player.  But in here I’ve discovered what a real moron I am.  For instance, not a day goes by without one of my carefully considered opinions or comments laughed at, stared down, or – the ultimate insult to my intellect – laughed at and stared down while being called “that crazy white guy” (even by other white guys)!  These responses are not done with malice, more, I think, in amazement.  One guy shook his head and said he couldn’t believe the things they didn’t teach me in college.

Now, before you climb up on your high horse, let’s see how you fare on a test of general knowledge, Prison Version.  Answer each of these questions to the best of your ability.  No cheating!  No Googling!  After all, Al Gore didn’t invent “them internets” for cheating (by the way, if even one reader gets that reference, THANK YOU!).

1.              How many states are in the United States?

2.              T or F:  Italians are white.

3.              Are Catholics Christians?

4.              T or F:  Wearing a trash bag while working out builds muscle.

5.              T or F:  Pigs have no cardiovascular system to carry blood in their bodies.

6.              Who is the newest member of the Illuminati ruling board?

7.              T or F:  African Americans cannot be racist.

8.              Is/was O.J. guilty or innocent?

9.              T or F:  The louder you shout, the smarter you are.

10.          T or F:  Bill Clinton is having an affair with Michelle Obama.

11.          And if true, why are they having an affair?

Okay, got your answers down?  Let’s see how you did:

1.              You may have said 50.  I did.  But the prison answer is 52.  Washington, DC and Puerto Rico count.

2.              Being a little darker skinned than lily white, I’m often mistaken as Hispanic, so this question comes up a lot.  I say I’m white, and when pushed to say where my ancestors come from, I answer Italy, to which 9 out of 10 times the response is, “Italians aren’t white!”  (Man, think of all the demographic questionnaires I’ve screwed up in my life!)

3.              Of course they are, right?  Well, no, and this one gets people riled up, as they say here, “in their feelings.”

4.              This is a point of near religious certainty in prison.  Every day the Rec Yard looks like a scene from Visionquest (late ‘80s movie about a wrestler?  Anyone?) with everybody draped in trash bags.  No, not to drop weight (which sort of makes sense), but to build muscle.  How?  No clue.

5.              Pigs apparently do have a heart and blood but its pumped or seeps through the body through osmosis, sort of like a sponge, at least that’s the best understanding I have of the concept.  If anyone is intimately familiar with porcine biology and this is actually true, please let me know, because I’ll owe some apologies.

6.              First of all, you are not allowed to answer by claiming you don’t believe in the all-powerful world-dominating cabal.  Secondly, I am told this is an easy one, since everybody knows this is Oprah.  She sold out, made a deal with the devil.

7.              This one can sometimes lead to a reasonable debate.  Can people who have been subjected to systemic racism for hundreds of years be racist themselves?  It’s a conundrum.  One thing we all agree on is that Dave Chapelle’s skit with Clayton Bigsby should be required viewing before considering this question (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8T8L3xcsA3w&list=RDopodqhfYQgY&index=4.)

8.              Hmm, I’ve had this debate on the outside, too.  In here, most inmates of whatever race hold that OJ is innocent but that even if he is guilty he deserved to get off, because the LA cops were racist and corrupt.  If you suggest that OJ being guilty and police corruption can exist side-by-side and you will be laughed out of the room.

9.              I mean, obviously!  YES!  All day and all night!

10.          Of course.

11.          And the reason is, it’s blackmail to keep Obama from declaring martial law and installing himself as ruler for life.  This paves the way for Hillary to do that when she becomes President.  May I just add, you can’t make this stuff up!

Did you fail miserably, like me?  Let me just conclude that I do know many thoughtful and intelligent men in prison.  I am not writing this post to make fun of anyone or to imply that everyone here is a knucklehead.  Rather, I think these ideas are a product of “groupthink.”  We all live in our own little world and as I discussed in a previous post, it’s fairly easy in any community to propogate “facts” if you speak with conviction and bravado (see, for instance, Trump for President campaign).  In here, where we lack resources to fact check, we create our own reality.  Did you know that the Vatican has nuclear weapons?  Shout it loud and often enough and it’ll be true.