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Tactical Espionage Asshats
So, yeah, I haven't posted in, like, forever. It's not that I don't love you guys, it's just that I kind of got bummed from being told through repeated PM's my stories don't technically involve customers. Then I got busy. Then I didn't think I had much to add to the forums. But I digress. Here's a crop of stories from inside the prison walls. Actually, we don't have a wall, we have a fence. But it has like 7 layers of razor-wire and would totally shred your ass.
IM: Inmate
CO: (Inmate-speak for "Corrections Officer")
CW: Coworker
SGT: Sargent
By the Power of the Secretary of Corrections, I Have the Power
In a control room
*Ding!
ME: Yeah?
IM: Hey CO, can I come out to get some ice?
ME: No. *turn intercom off*
*Ding!
ME: Yeah?
IM: What do you mean, "no?"
ME: Do you have a dictionary?
IM: Yes.
ME: Look it up. *intercom off*
*Ding
ME: Yeah?
IM: What's your name?
ME: COI [Kara] (that's CO-1, my rank)
IM: How do you spell that?
I've been doing this for a year and a half now, but after ten years of working retail and customer service, and I still looooooove to be able to say "no" without giving any thought to the possibility of losing my job. In the meantime, this assgoblin filed a Grievance against me that I wouldn't let him out to get ice at a time where there was no movement going on. I consider Grievances to be a way for the Captain's Office to know I'm doing my job effectively
A High Cost for Relief
We had a fight in the restroom in the gym the other day. After they locked to two participants up, they escorted another guy to my house to be placed in Segregation (the hole). Later, I asked one of the escorting officers what he did.
After the fight, they secured the bathroom and put up several strips of "Crime Scene" tape across the doorway. A little later, they were asked to search the bathroom by the Captain. As they moved the Crime Scene tape aside and stepped into the bathroom, they nearly plowed into an inmate that was walking out.
CW: What are you doing?
IM: Well, uh...
CW: Did you not see the bright yellow tape right there?
IM: Yeah, but-
CW: Then what the f*** were you doing in here?
IM: I had to pee.
Congratulations! You've won an all-expense-paid one-way ticket to the hole, where you will be confined to a glamourous 6x12, poorly ventilated cell where you will enjoy a daily routine of being locked down 23 hours a day, having to be restrained and escorted anywhere outside your cell, unable to concentrate with all yelling from the guys who play chess with each other on separate ends of the house, and waking up every hour or so when the night shift shines their 4 million watt flashlights in your face to make sure you're still breathing.
But that's not all! If you are found guilty by the Disciplinary Officer in your hearing for interfering with a crime scene, your stay could be extended by 14-30 days.
Secret Agent (wo)Man
In a control room again
SGT (on phone): Hey, [IM1] just shouted to [IM2]'s cell that "It's in the same place as last time." So we're going to look around before the next Dayroom" (like indoor recess for convicts).
Next Dayroom period starts. IM2 was on Restricted status, meaning he got in trouble. Not severe enough to go to Seg, but enough to lose most of his privileges for a week, including coming out for Dayroom. I see IM3 walk to his door and turn on the intercom.
IM2: Hey, go there in the mop closet and [inaudible].
IM3: The one in the corner?
IM2: No, the other trashcan.
IM3: Oh, alright.
I call my SGT and relay this, and IM3 gets caught digging through a trashcan. Nothing is found (it was probably a pack of Ramen Noodles or something), and he is told to get lost. So he goes back to IM2.
IM2: You got it?
IM3: Nah, they came in there and searched me.
IM2: That's cause the bitch up in the bubble (IM term for cellhouse control room) is spying on us! Did they find anything?
IM3: Nah.
IM2: Yeah! That's what you get for listening in on motherf***ers! Hey! (repeatedly hitting in-cell intercom button).
ME: Yeah?
IM2: Why you spying on us an shit?
ME: I'm not spying. I'm doing my job.
IM2: Yeah, well spy on THIS! *Splat This is the sound of a wad of wet toilet paper being thrown on the intercom
ME: ...
IM2: Try spyin on me now!
It's cute how you think you have some right to privacy that I am somehow violating. I also like how you point out my "spying" skills, like I'm some a member of some elite, covert ops team. The damn intercom is right there by your desk, it's not like I have a radio-controlled rat under your bunk or anything. However, my finely trained ninja-special agent ears can still hear you talking despite your clever ploy to make this impossible with soaking wet, one-ply, John Wayne toilet paper. Today, I think I'll sit next to his cell inside a cardboard box.
Why I'll Never Be a Counselor
IM (Yelling across the house): Hey [Kara}! Come here!
ME (Yelling back): Hey, [Inmate]! Kill yourself!
SGT: Um, you probably shouldn't tell them to kill themselves.
ME: Why not?
I mean, seriously, with all the budget cuts the state has been making left and right, why not try to save some money?
Convict Philosophy
I'm standing outside while two inmate custodians sweep the rugs from the entrance to the cellhouse
IM1: You know what the problem is with a lot of CO's?
ME: What?
IM1: They don't understand that, when they go home at the end of the day, that's it. They don't got to think about this place anymore.
IM2: Yeah, then they come up in here the next day and think they can just start runnin shit.
IM1: Exactly. What they fail to realize is that we live here. This is our house. We be runnin shit, not them.
Right, so, in essence, we should just let you guys do whatever the hell you want and not try to enforce any rules simply because you are the ones that "live" there. You don't "live" there, though, you are "confined" there. Why? Because the last time you were left to your own devices, you wound up in prison. So maybe that's why we're a little hesitant to trust you.
A Proposition
IM: You know I get out next week, right?
ME: Yeah. Don't f*** up again and wind up back in here.
IM: Nah, I'll be putting ink on people. Probably a lot of officers from here.
ME: Probably.
IM: So what's up? You want me to set you up? I got a tattoo gun.
ME: In your cell?
IM: No, on the street. You got any tattoos?
ME: No.
IM: Come see me when I get out, I already got a job. I'll give you a 50% discount.
ME: No, I'm good.
IM: You sure? I could tattoo my name on your titties.
ME: No thanks.
IM: Okay, well, if you change your mind, let me know.
Yeah, there's that whole "trust" thing again. I don't even want regular people injecting dyes into my flesh with sharp pointy objects, I sure as hell don't want ex-cons doing it.
That's all for now.
So, yeah, I haven't posted in, like, forever. It's not that I don't love you guys, it's just that I kind of got bummed from being told through repeated PM's my stories don't technically involve customers. Then I got busy. Then I didn't think I had much to add to the forums. But I digress. Here's a crop of stories from inside the prison walls. Actually, we don't have a wall, we have a fence. But it has like 7 layers of razor-wire and would totally shred your ass.
IM: Inmate
CO: (Inmate-speak for "Corrections Officer")
CW: Coworker
SGT: Sargent
By the Power of the Secretary of Corrections, I Have the Power
In a control room
*Ding!
ME: Yeah?
IM: Hey CO, can I come out to get some ice?
ME: No. *turn intercom off*
*Ding!
ME: Yeah?
IM: What do you mean, "no?"
ME: Do you have a dictionary?
IM: Yes.
ME: Look it up. *intercom off*
*Ding
ME: Yeah?
IM: What's your name?
ME: COI [Kara] (that's CO-1, my rank)
IM: How do you spell that?
I've been doing this for a year and a half now, but after ten years of working retail and customer service, and I still looooooove to be able to say "no" without giving any thought to the possibility of losing my job. In the meantime, this assgoblin filed a Grievance against me that I wouldn't let him out to get ice at a time where there was no movement going on. I consider Grievances to be a way for the Captain's Office to know I'm doing my job effectively
A High Cost for Relief
We had a fight in the restroom in the gym the other day. After they locked to two participants up, they escorted another guy to my house to be placed in Segregation (the hole). Later, I asked one of the escorting officers what he did.
After the fight, they secured the bathroom and put up several strips of "Crime Scene" tape across the doorway. A little later, they were asked to search the bathroom by the Captain. As they moved the Crime Scene tape aside and stepped into the bathroom, they nearly plowed into an inmate that was walking out.
CW: What are you doing?
IM: Well, uh...
CW: Did you not see the bright yellow tape right there?
IM: Yeah, but-
CW: Then what the f*** were you doing in here?
IM: I had to pee.
Congratulations! You've won an all-expense-paid one-way ticket to the hole, where you will be confined to a glamourous 6x12, poorly ventilated cell where you will enjoy a daily routine of being locked down 23 hours a day, having to be restrained and escorted anywhere outside your cell, unable to concentrate with all yelling from the guys who play chess with each other on separate ends of the house, and waking up every hour or so when the night shift shines their 4 million watt flashlights in your face to make sure you're still breathing.
But that's not all! If you are found guilty by the Disciplinary Officer in your hearing for interfering with a crime scene, your stay could be extended by 14-30 days.
Secret Agent (wo)Man
In a control room again
SGT (on phone): Hey, [IM1] just shouted to [IM2]'s cell that "It's in the same place as last time." So we're going to look around before the next Dayroom" (like indoor recess for convicts).
Next Dayroom period starts. IM2 was on Restricted status, meaning he got in trouble. Not severe enough to go to Seg, but enough to lose most of his privileges for a week, including coming out for Dayroom. I see IM3 walk to his door and turn on the intercom.
IM2: Hey, go there in the mop closet and [inaudible].
IM3: The one in the corner?
IM2: No, the other trashcan.
IM3: Oh, alright.
I call my SGT and relay this, and IM3 gets caught digging through a trashcan. Nothing is found (it was probably a pack of Ramen Noodles or something), and he is told to get lost. So he goes back to IM2.
IM2: You got it?
IM3: Nah, they came in there and searched me.
IM2: That's cause the bitch up in the bubble (IM term for cellhouse control room) is spying on us! Did they find anything?
IM3: Nah.
IM2: Yeah! That's what you get for listening in on motherf***ers! Hey! (repeatedly hitting in-cell intercom button).
ME: Yeah?
IM2: Why you spying on us an shit?
ME: I'm not spying. I'm doing my job.
IM2: Yeah, well spy on THIS! *Splat This is the sound of a wad of wet toilet paper being thrown on the intercom
ME: ...
IM2: Try spyin on me now!
It's cute how you think you have some right to privacy that I am somehow violating. I also like how you point out my "spying" skills, like I'm some a member of some elite, covert ops team. The damn intercom is right there by your desk, it's not like I have a radio-controlled rat under your bunk or anything. However, my finely trained ninja-special agent ears can still hear you talking despite your clever ploy to make this impossible with soaking wet, one-ply, John Wayne toilet paper. Today, I think I'll sit next to his cell inside a cardboard box.
Why I'll Never Be a Counselor
IM (Yelling across the house): Hey [Kara}! Come here!
ME (Yelling back): Hey, [Inmate]! Kill yourself!
SGT: Um, you probably shouldn't tell them to kill themselves.
ME: Why not?
I mean, seriously, with all the budget cuts the state has been making left and right, why not try to save some money?
Convict Philosophy
I'm standing outside while two inmate custodians sweep the rugs from the entrance to the cellhouse
IM1: You know what the problem is with a lot of CO's?
ME: What?
IM1: They don't understand that, when they go home at the end of the day, that's it. They don't got to think about this place anymore.
IM2: Yeah, then they come up in here the next day and think they can just start runnin shit.
IM1: Exactly. What they fail to realize is that we live here. This is our house. We be runnin shit, not them.
Right, so, in essence, we should just let you guys do whatever the hell you want and not try to enforce any rules simply because you are the ones that "live" there. You don't "live" there, though, you are "confined" there. Why? Because the last time you were left to your own devices, you wound up in prison. So maybe that's why we're a little hesitant to trust you.
A Proposition
IM: You know I get out next week, right?
ME: Yeah. Don't f*** up again and wind up back in here.
IM: Nah, I'll be putting ink on people. Probably a lot of officers from here.
ME: Probably.
IM: So what's up? You want me to set you up? I got a tattoo gun.
ME: In your cell?
IM: No, on the street. You got any tattoos?
ME: No.
IM: Come see me when I get out, I already got a job. I'll give you a 50% discount.
ME: No, I'm good.
IM: You sure? I could tattoo my name on your titties.
ME: No thanks.
IM: Okay, well, if you change your mind, let me know.
Yeah, there's that whole "trust" thing again. I don't even want regular people injecting dyes into my flesh with sharp pointy objects, I sure as hell don't want ex-cons doing it.
That's all for now.
Was worried as you'd previously had health issues.
--- Sheldonrs
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