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After 3 weeks off thanks to surgery, I went back to work last week. I'm on light duty until next Friday, so I've just been in the cellhouse control rooms. But, that's not to say it's entirely boring. I get to be the eye-in-the-sky, able to monitor both sides of a cellhouse, and the inmates have a direct line to me via in-cell intercom, through which they can complain and whine, blissfully unaware that I don't give a rat's ass.
IM - Inmate
CW - Coworker
SGT: Sargent
ME - Currently Crippled Corrections Super Officer
Aww, Poor Baby
(The inmates in the Intake unit got a sack lunch for dinner on the 4th of July)
*beep!*
ME: This is Control.
IM: Yeah, uh, I didn't get no brownie.
ME: .... Okay.
IM: Can you let the floor officer know that I didn't get a brownie?
I love it when they forget they're in prison and/or confuse us with the Marriott. If I had my way, we'd do things like in Tent City (an infamous Arizona prison run by the most inhumane hardass sheriff in the country - also known as my hero), and eat nothing but expired bologna twice a day. Although, like Tent City, our inmates in the intake units do wear pink boxers, as well as pink t-shirts and pink socks, all thanks to the lazy-ass inmates in the Laundry room who wash the whites with the red jumpsuits.
Even Better than Fireworks
A call went out over the radio yesterday by a Sargent in one of the Segregation units that an inmate was breaking his window. A Condition was called and, as the cellhouse was directly across from mine, I pulled out the binoculars to watch the fun out my window. No less than 8 Special Security guys charged in there, along with the regular Response officers, the Captain, and the Lieutenant. It turns out this asshat inmate managed to "spiderweb" his window by kicking it, but didn't actually break through the glass. Even if he had managed to break it, the exterior windows in the cells are about 6 inches wide, so unless he's a stick figure, there's not a chance in Hell he'd be able to get out. But if he did manage to pull off some amazing act of contortionism and get loose, provided he didn't get maced and pulverized into next Tuesday by Special Security, he'd have been brutally gunned down by the armed Officers in the 3 towers on that side of the facility.
However, as they did not know for sure whether or not he might have a large shard of glass waiting for them when they entered his cell, I can give every assurance that he got a full blast of the Special Security Team's favorite toy: the Party Ball. It's a can of mace with a fogger nozzle, which can fill a cell with chemical in a matter of seconds.
And I Care Because....?
*beep!*
ME: Control.
IM: Yeah, can you call the nurse? My tooth hurts.
ME: Did you submit a Sick Call slip?
IM: Yeah, this morning. But it really hurts.
ME: Medical will respond within 24 hours.
IM: 24 hours? But it hurts now! Just call the nurse.
ME: I'm not able to request Medical staff to see you.
IM: Then get a Lieutenant down here!
ME: No one can make a member of Medical Staff see you. They will respond in 24 hours.
IM: This is bullshit!
ME: *calls OIC on phone*
SGT: Yeah?
ME: Hey, do you know if we have any violins in the facility?
SGT: Violins?
ME: Yeah, I want to play this guy a sad song.
SGT:
Actually, I haven't played my violin since high school so I'd be a bit rusty. But I'm sure I could manage something.
Evil Little Pleasures
You know what I missed the most during my Medical leave? There's a certain look in the eyes of an inmate that gets brought in from Admissions and Discharge after they are brought in by county and processed. They walk in and look around the house, and it's just this, "Oh my God. This.... this can't be happening to me," kind of deer-in-the-headlights-of-an-oncoming-tanker-truck-carrying-napalm look. And they always look at the control room and I just nod in silent affirmation of, "Yeah, you really screwed yourself. Welcome to Hell."
Sheer Determination
One of the two inmate phones in the Dayroom was not working. You were in the third group, and as you have nothing better to do than stare out your cell, you knew this already. Yet you still persisted, like so many other inmates who were also fully aware of this situation, to try it anyway. However, you were undeterred. Rather than clipping your ID to the functioning phone and waiting your turn like everyone else, you sat down at the stool next to that phone and unashamedly picked up the receiver every 3-5 minutes for almost the entire 55-minute Dayroom period. Not only did it never fully sink in that you would be met with utter failure with each attmpt, but the bitter look of disappointment washed over your face every single time. You, sir, truly won't accept "No" for an answer. Your refusal, as well as your iron-clad determination, were all for naught, as the phone simply could not be willed to overcome whatever technical issue caused its state of malfunction. However, as the clock ticked away, I have to concede that your unstoppable persistence was admirable, if not completely, utterly, fuckwittedly retarded.
If you had been able to use that unfaltering determination for, say, success in the workplace/school/life itself, perhaps you would not have landed in prison, where hope goes to die.
Helpful Advice
I saw one of our Porters (an inmate Janitor, basically) come out of his cell with his belt fastened, but hanging around his neck. I called down to the Floor Officer.
CW: Yeah?
ME: Hey, tell [INMATE] that his belt is a little loose and he needs to tighten it.
CW: *laughs.* Hey!
IM: Yeah?
CW: She says your belt is too loose and you need to tighten it up.
IM: Wha-? *Looks up to control*
ME: *Points at my own neck, then at him.*
IM:
Another reason to love my job. I can subtly suggest that someone ought to kill himself without getting in trouble.
That's about all for the week.
IM - Inmate
CW - Coworker
SGT: Sargent
ME - Currently Crippled Corrections Super Officer
Aww, Poor Baby
(The inmates in the Intake unit got a sack lunch for dinner on the 4th of July)
*beep!*
ME: This is Control.
IM: Yeah, uh, I didn't get no brownie.
ME: .... Okay.
IM: Can you let the floor officer know that I didn't get a brownie?
I love it when they forget they're in prison and/or confuse us with the Marriott. If I had my way, we'd do things like in Tent City (an infamous Arizona prison run by the most inhumane hardass sheriff in the country - also known as my hero), and eat nothing but expired bologna twice a day. Although, like Tent City, our inmates in the intake units do wear pink boxers, as well as pink t-shirts and pink socks, all thanks to the lazy-ass inmates in the Laundry room who wash the whites with the red jumpsuits.
Even Better than Fireworks
A call went out over the radio yesterday by a Sargent in one of the Segregation units that an inmate was breaking his window. A Condition was called and, as the cellhouse was directly across from mine, I pulled out the binoculars to watch the fun out my window. No less than 8 Special Security guys charged in there, along with the regular Response officers, the Captain, and the Lieutenant. It turns out this asshat inmate managed to "spiderweb" his window by kicking it, but didn't actually break through the glass. Even if he had managed to break it, the exterior windows in the cells are about 6 inches wide, so unless he's a stick figure, there's not a chance in Hell he'd be able to get out. But if he did manage to pull off some amazing act of contortionism and get loose, provided he didn't get maced and pulverized into next Tuesday by Special Security, he'd have been brutally gunned down by the armed Officers in the 3 towers on that side of the facility.
However, as they did not know for sure whether or not he might have a large shard of glass waiting for them when they entered his cell, I can give every assurance that he got a full blast of the Special Security Team's favorite toy: the Party Ball. It's a can of mace with a fogger nozzle, which can fill a cell with chemical in a matter of seconds.
And I Care Because....?
*beep!*
ME: Control.
IM: Yeah, can you call the nurse? My tooth hurts.
ME: Did you submit a Sick Call slip?
IM: Yeah, this morning. But it really hurts.
ME: Medical will respond within 24 hours.
IM: 24 hours? But it hurts now! Just call the nurse.
ME: I'm not able to request Medical staff to see you.
IM: Then get a Lieutenant down here!
ME: No one can make a member of Medical Staff see you. They will respond in 24 hours.
IM: This is bullshit!
ME: *calls OIC on phone*
SGT: Yeah?
ME: Hey, do you know if we have any violins in the facility?
SGT: Violins?
ME: Yeah, I want to play this guy a sad song.
SGT:
Actually, I haven't played my violin since high school so I'd be a bit rusty. But I'm sure I could manage something.
Evil Little Pleasures
You know what I missed the most during my Medical leave? There's a certain look in the eyes of an inmate that gets brought in from Admissions and Discharge after they are brought in by county and processed. They walk in and look around the house, and it's just this, "Oh my God. This.... this can't be happening to me," kind of deer-in-the-headlights-of-an-oncoming-tanker-truck-carrying-napalm look. And they always look at the control room and I just nod in silent affirmation of, "Yeah, you really screwed yourself. Welcome to Hell."
Sheer Determination
One of the two inmate phones in the Dayroom was not working. You were in the third group, and as you have nothing better to do than stare out your cell, you knew this already. Yet you still persisted, like so many other inmates who were also fully aware of this situation, to try it anyway. However, you were undeterred. Rather than clipping your ID to the functioning phone and waiting your turn like everyone else, you sat down at the stool next to that phone and unashamedly picked up the receiver every 3-5 minutes for almost the entire 55-minute Dayroom period. Not only did it never fully sink in that you would be met with utter failure with each attmpt, but the bitter look of disappointment washed over your face every single time. You, sir, truly won't accept "No" for an answer. Your refusal, as well as your iron-clad determination, were all for naught, as the phone simply could not be willed to overcome whatever technical issue caused its state of malfunction. However, as the clock ticked away, I have to concede that your unstoppable persistence was admirable, if not completely, utterly, fuckwittedly retarded.
If you had been able to use that unfaltering determination for, say, success in the workplace/school/life itself, perhaps you would not have landed in prison, where hope goes to die.
Helpful Advice
I saw one of our Porters (an inmate Janitor, basically) come out of his cell with his belt fastened, but hanging around his neck. I called down to the Floor Officer.
CW: Yeah?
ME: Hey, tell [INMATE] that his belt is a little loose and he needs to tighten it.
CW: *laughs.* Hey!
IM: Yeah?
CW: She says your belt is too loose and you need to tighten it up.
IM: Wha-? *Looks up to control*
ME: *Points at my own neck, then at him.*
IM:
Another reason to love my job. I can subtly suggest that someone ought to kill himself without getting in trouble.
That's about all for the week.
look. This letter had already bounced around several offices of the school (thus the opened/retaped envelope). We figure out that this inmate was asking about information on our Entrepreneurship program. Boss and I had a bit of a laugh - not that a poor soul who'd made a few mistakes was trying to better himself/herself, just that it was the strangest piece of mail we'd seen.
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