What Would You Do for a Good Cup of Coffee?

While putting these words to paper, I am sipping on an absolutely magnificent cup of coffee.  Yes, I've been to Italy, Paris, NYC, New Orleans, Quebec City, etc., and I’ve tasted the finest brews to be found, but at this moment nothing compares to my cup of Maxwell House Instant.  Confused?  Concerned for my sanity?  Well, calm down, everything is okay.  Allow me to explain.  Why is this cup of cheap instant mud so stunningly good?  Well, we need to go back about two months to a scene that took place outside the Chow Hall.   In one of the strange things about prison, you are not allowed to take food from the Chow Hill back to your unit.  They claim it’s about sanitary conditions, but in reality they just want us to spend more money at canteen.  So you’re allowed to keep a locker full of food, but only if you buy it.  Although it’s free if you eat in the Chow Hall, they call it stealing if you walk out with food. 

We like to use the term “liberating.”  There is no major consequence for getting caught, however, they just toss out the food and send you on your way.  When you leave the Chow Hall, guards line up to randomly search you, so to make it out with some food, you have to run that gauntlet.  Okay, so where was I?  Right, two months ago.  I had never taken anything out of the Chow Hall, but finally decided it was time to take a shot at it.  The plan was to sneak some milk out so I could put it in my coffee instead of some wretched powdered creamer.

I did my homework and scoped the place out, looking for a pattern I could exploit.  Who was searched most?  Which guards were the most enthusiastic searchers?  Where would I hide the pouch of milk?  I even took notes, which I carefully flushed on the day I went after the Crown Jewels.

On D-Day I pulled some loose sweatpants over my shorts, the plan being to slip the plastic bag of milk into my shorts pocket.  The baggy pants would obscure the package and if asked to turn my pockets out, instead of getting patted down, I would be safe.  Breakfast flew by in a blur.  I was entirely focused on the task at hand.  As I passed my tray through the dirty dish window, I slipped the milk into my shorts pocket.  Or so I thought.  As I turned for the door I realized that I’d made a horrible mistake.  I could not abort the mission, traffic was coming behind me.  I made just enough eye contact to seem casual and kept walking. 

All the while the milk, which I’d missed getting into my pocket and was barely stuck behind the elastic waistband of my shorts, was sliding slowly down my leg.  I tried to save it by flexing my knee, walking with my right thigh parallel to the ground, looking like some kind of one-legged pimp strutting with an ill-fitted prosthetic leg.  I was sure I was caught, but I was determined to carry this through to the end.  Only a couple more strides and I’d be free of the search zone.  Alas, it was not meant to be.  Gravity, as it will do, won out.  The bag found its way down my leg, slipped past the loose cuff of my sweats and landed perfectly on top of my foot just as I was striding forward, so that it soared into the air like a Hacky Sack.  Landing splat on the floor right in front of the guards.  Needless to say, the place erupted in laughter, guards included!  But despite this acrobatic performance, they didn't even let me keep the milk!

Fast forward to this moment.  My java is a perfect blend of instant coffee, powdered hot chocolate and fresh milk.  I’m such a skilled liberator now that I can sometimes escape with two, count ‘em, TWO milks!  One for me and one for my Cellie.  And here’s my big secret – I’ve prison-rigged a hidden spot on the bookshelf behind my desk to conceal the mug when I have to.

So maybe you’re at Starbucks when you read this on your phone, sipping your double mocha latte with a twist, but I have to tell you no coffee has ever tasted this good.  Because with every sip I'm symbolically thumbing my nose at the Man.  Tastes like freedom!