by White, Walt
I stood in line with all the other inmates, smelling like hell. They all stepped away from me because the odor booming from my body was horrible. The count lasted for a while. Nobody knew the hell I was passing through, they were all calm. After the count, I walked down to my locker to grab items Shorty had earlier issued. I asked Z in a weak voice to borrow some of his shampoo. I headed back for the shower; I wondered what I had gotten myself into.
What is happening to me? I thought.
I was detoxing from Xanax, Sleeping Pills, Cigarettes, and Alcohol all simultaneously. I let out a loud sigh as I allowed the cold water from the shower to hit my face. I knew I had to gather myself so I could make it through the day. I took the underwear I had shit in and threw them in the trash can.
“Where are your damn shower shoes?” An unfamiliar face asked.
“I have none,” I said.
“Gross dude, you need to borrow shower shoes, you’ll learn.” He said.
After my shower, on my way back to the cell, I heard a male voice screaming.
"Medications. Medications" The voice boomed over the loudspeaker.
Surely, I could get something to help me cope with the despair of detox I was feeling, so I got in line. I knew no one at this point. I recognized no one. When I got to the small medical office inside the Camp, I requested medication for a headache I was having. I noticed other inmates getting pills in a white cup. They had to take the pills right in front of the Prison doctor and open their mouths to show the dude they had swallowed the pills. The guy in a white coat laughed at me when I approached the front of the line.
"Fella, you must see the doctor first and get your medications put on my list. I come twice a day to hand out medications here at this facility." He said.
I walked out of the office disappointed but with a mission.
I must make a visit to the Prison doctor to get medication. I thought.
I went back to my bunk and laid down. I must have passed out from all the pain I felt because the next thing I knew was a loud voice calling for chow.
I had slept through lunch and count. Now it was the last call for dinner. I glanced over my neighbor inmate as he asked me if I would go eat.
"You need to put uniform greens on. You can't go to chow without your greens on." Z said.
"I don't think I can go," I said.
I think I am going to die today! I thought.
My hunger no longer mattered because all I felt was the need for fresh air. I realized I had no tennis shoes, and I had to put on my issued black boots.
"I will let you borrow a pair of shorts." Z said after seeing the discomfort in my eyes.
I nodded in agreement as I thanked him for the kind gesture. We both headed out to the track. I had on my boots, and the clothes I borrowed from Z.
Someone yelled "Clear, Clear!" over the loudspeaker.
I could see a dirt track going around a lush green softball field. It felt so good to be in the fresh air and evening sun. Amazing what these simple free things will do for your mindset when stuck inside with two hundred fowl men. I looked around and could see about one hundred people walking in circles on the track. Some were doing push-ups at every turn, and some were running. Most were talking and having conversations. It was a good thing to clear one’s mind and think. Some guys I would learn did their best thinking on the dirt track.
I noticed one large oak tree with an old bench underneath it at the back of the track. There was inmate Fletcher with his headphones on reading the Bible sitting on the bench. He was swaying and talking to himself. He was dirty and looked somewhat crazy.
"What are you here for Z?" I said.
I was trying to break the silence between us.
It was the first question I learned everyone would ask to get a background on each inmate. This was so they could judge the inmate to determine what sub-faction one belongs to. It was not about the color. It was an inquiry to find out your place. Was I a Bible Beater, an Arian, a Long Timer, or something else?
"I sold beer to Food Stamp card holders, lots of it,” Z said
“I thought it was bull shit to not let people on Food Stamps buy beer so I would ring it up as Coke or something similar. They busted me for over five hundred thousand in revenue sold to food stamp card holders. They called my crime Federal Food Stamp Fraud.” Z said.
“A Federal task force surrounded my convenience store and arrested me. It was on the news stations live.”
“That sucks,” I said.
“Here is the funny part, I drank a big glass of water before I got arrested and pissed in the back of the squad car,”
“My wife shit her pants when she heard I was in jail. I am from Pakistan, and I own a bunch of convenience stores.”
“I have three kids. All young boys under ten. What about you? Any children? What are you in this hell hole for?”
"I have a daughter. She is five years old, and it's hard for her. Her mom is a severe alcoholic and doesn’t want to take care of her. She is too busy partying, shopping and dating. Now she doesn’t have me to sponge off, she must find another guy to give her money. My mom will keep her while I am doing my sentence."
"You mean your bid. People don't call it sentence in here. It's your bid" Z said.
"My bid. Ok, I'll call it that. I'm here for Conspiracy to Commit Securities Fraud. I have eighteen months. I wouldn’t give up my business partner or tell the feds anything about him. I plead the fifth. He got sentenced to ten years for Money Laundering.” I said
“I was the Chairman of the Board of twenty-five companies. My best friend and business partner who was the companies President did a bunch of shit he should not have during the Great Recession. The bottom was falling out of our businesses, and he went insane. The feds force me to plead guilty and stuck me in here.”
“So, eighteen months for not talking. I’m not a snitch. That is one label I won’t get tagged with.” I said.
"Good for you. So, fuck the Feds." Z said
"Yeah, fuck the Feds," I said.
COMMISSARY
SITTING ON MY FLAT METAL BUNK, everything seemed hopeless, I had on the pants I borrowed from Z. I could hear Big Tokey snoring right under my bunk, the guy seemed impossible. The way he looked at me when I arrived, showed the dude hated me already. Thanks to Z, at least I had someone as a guide and maybe, a friend.
What does 'Z' even mean? I thought.
Could it be his name, an acronym or just a nickname? I should have asked him the first time we met.
The name was not my priority I wondered what made me think of it. I needed a lot of things, I knew I had to get to Commissary day fast. I had called ahead and brought a four-hundred-dollar cashier’s check made out to the Prison with me to put on my Commissary account.
But how do I use it and how does it work. I thought.
“Do you want to use this new laundry bag for Commissary?" Z asked.
“Sure, I would appreciate that,” I said.
“There are few Okies in here, and we need to stick together,” Z said.
“How the hell do you get your Commissary items?”
“First, you can only spend three hundred and twenty dollars a month. So, you can spend it all once a month, or you can go weekly and spend around eighty dollars a week. I wouldn’t spend it all first week, or you will run out of items and be hurting." Z said.
"They will pass out extra Commissary sheets for the week and mark on the list the items you are buying. The items are limited though. You must take the brand or type they have available. You can’t specify. If they say, pickle, you will get the pickle they have in stock." Said Z.
“What day is it?” I asked.
"Wednesday or Thursday, but sometimes they don’t have it to punish us." Said Z.
That’s bullshit! I thought.
“Two more days, I can’t wait for Wednesday, and I hope they have Commissary on that day.”
" I will run on the track today," I said.
"You also beli
eve in this exercise stuff?" Z asked.
"I fucking suck at it. I’m not athletic” Z said.
"I've got to get in better shape," I said
I climbed down my bunk as I tried not to disturb the snoring Big Tokey. Too late, I missed a step as I climbed down. I landed on the floor with a thud, I didn't let my hand off as I shook it violently. The deed was done already, Tokey woke up scared and angry as he charged at me. He held me by my neck as he pushed me towards the wall, he raised his massive hand to punch but pulled it back.
"That isn’t a good way to welcome a newbie, he's your bunk mate for fuck’s sake! You going to kill them all, Fatty?" An old man with the same accent as Shorty said.
My eyes closed as I expected the blow to land on my face, I was choking already as his firm hand was still grabbing my throat. He dropped me as he stepped back to his bunk, I couldn’t help but stare at his broad chest moving up and down as he breathed. Z was already standing on his bunk, staring at us with fear.
"I'm sorry for waking you up," I said as I tried to catch my breath.
"Get the hell outta here!" He replied.
I backed away and walked out of the hall.
I hate this fucking place! I want to go home. I thought.
Heading out to the track I could see the birds landing and taking off the softball fence edge. It reminded me of something profound Bruno had said on the drive over, but it did not resonate until now.
“Can you see, the tiny birds everywhere? They are doing ok. God feeds and waters them and watches over them. Your daughter will be ok, she has someone watching over her to feed her and take care of her, have faith.”
I began my run, I felt the cold breeze brush my face as I pierced my way through the air. The smell of grass was extraordinary too, I felt the effect of nature as I forgot what happened minutes before.
I would have beaten up the fucking asshole if I had enough weight and muscle, I thought.
He must have intimidated a lot of inmates with his size, no wonder nobody could help when he attacked me. I could see guards everywhere now, I wondered what their function was beside preventing us from escape or killing each other.
Their job had to be boring. I thought.
My mind kept wondering till sweat ran out of my body. Before I knew it, I had run twenty laps equivalent to five miles. The call for chow came over the external loudspeaker in front of the building. I could feel a tingling sensation down on my feet. I looked down, and my feet were bleeding from the wrong fit of the boots Shorty issued me.
Blisters already? Damn! I am out of shape bad. I thought.
How could I have let myself get this way? In college, I could run for hours without getting tired. I thought.
When Wednesday rolled around, the whole day was about Commissary.
Thank God, they were open today. I thought.
I got my list and filled it out. The prices were marked on the sheet. I needed several items.
I ordered the following items:
Beef Jerky Sticks
Cereal
Cheese Bottle Spicy
Cream-Filled Cakes
Degree Deodorant
Doritos
Dry Refried Beans
Five Packets of Chicken
Lock
Pickle
Razor
Running Shorts Two Pairs
Shampoo
Shaving Cream
Size Eleven Tennis Shoes
Snickers Candy Bars
Summer Sausages Ten One Pound Packages
Toothbrush
Toothpaste
Tortillas
Twelve Pack of Dr. Pepper
Vitamins
This is all shit food, nothing healthy to eat, no vegetables or anything without loads of fat and sugar. How the hell do you stay healthy and lose weight?” I thought.
Several People, I met asked me to buy Commissary items for them.
Fucking trying to spoon off my Commissary, or just trying to see what they could get away with. I thought.
I am sure some people are stupid enough to buy stuff for people they don’t know or are intimidated by them, I wasn’t scared and told them I have only enough money to buy my own items. Most backed off after they realized that I wasn’t a sucker.
Fuck you! I was screaming in my head.
So, on Commissary day you must wear your green uniform over to the Commissary building. You grabbed your empty laundry bag to hold all your purchased items. You would hand in your Commissary sheet through a small window outside an old warehouse building built in the 1940s during World War II to house Japanese Americans. Four inmates were in the background rushing to get your items on the sheet. They would bring all the items to the front window, and the guard would throw your things at you. If you did not catch your items, they ended up on the ground in front of the building.
Inmates took their time getting to the Commissary building while others were fighting to be the first ones in the window. Being first did not guarantee you would be the first one to get your items only that you didn’t have to wait all day long. Remember that two-hundred people had to get items and each person was trying to get as much as possible for the week ahead. So, I handed in my sheet and waited, and waited, and waited. I had one of the Commissary guys come up to me the night before and ask if I wanted to be on their list. It would cost me a sausage, but I would get my stuff before others that did not pay them.
"The wait can be long your choice." He said.
"Not this time," I said.
Now after sitting outside waiting for five hours, I thought to myself I am paying this damn guy every week not to have to wait. It was stupid not to pay the hustle fee.
One of their customers that paid would come to the window and nod. Then, put his sheet on the top of the stack. He would go grab his stuff first. The guy was finished right like that, no waiting.
What a great hustle. I thought.
I am paying these guys next chance I get.
“Sharp” Called the guard at the window after five hours of waiting.
The guard threw my items out the window, I caught most items in the laundry bag as he flung them.
A small amount of the things were not mine, and a few items on my sheet were missing.
I could say nothing to the guard, or he would take all the items back and tell me to fuck off until next week.
This is major bullshit. I thought.
I gathered my laundry bag full of my items and made my way back to our building and my bunk. My bag was heavy, and the distance from the Commissary to the camp felt long. I thought I hit the lottery that day just to have everyday items. I had a feeling of joy running up and down my spine. I had shoes, food, and soda.
Wow, what a comfort that was and I never realized the small things in life we all take for granted meant so much. I tried on my shoes, a perfect fit opened a coke and candy bar and sat on my bunk in a short burst of heaven. Now I had things to cook, I looked forward to using the microwave. I did not have to go into the chow hall that day. What a relief. So, I go back to cook in the laundry room and what a sight going on in that place. Wow.
Guess who is back there hovering? “Big Tokey”
“Hey Stone, sorry about earlier, don’t bother me when I am sleeping.
“I get on edge when someone shakes or rattles me in my sleep.
I have something to make up for the incident.” Big Tokey said.
Big Tokey offered me a burrito he had gotten from someone for a sausage. I took him up on the offer, but I was still skeptical.
No telling what that person owed this fat mother fucker, I thought.
I tossed him the sausage, and he handed me a burrito wrapped up in a napkin. I took a bite, and it was fantastic.
“Rhino made that burrito. It’s the best burrito in the Camp.” Big Tokey said.
I knew this fat guy would know of the best things to eat. He was eating for five because he was the size of five normal humans all at once. I thought.
FACTIONS
“CHOW, CHOW, CHOW,” came over the loudspeaker.
Stone woke up to the echoes of inmates laughing as they walked past his bunk.
“What the Shit?” Rhino said.
“Shorty’s getting a nipple twist. That tiny son of a bitch.”
Stone sat up and rubbed the sleep out of his eyes before they caught on Rhino’s rear. Shorty had scribbled a red panty line on Rhino’s back that gave him the appearance of wearing a thong while he slept. Holding in laughter, Stone realized he couldn’t blame the guy. There wasn’t much to do in Prison and Rhino did nothing to help his situation as his rear was almost always exposed while he slept.
The awkward shaped man’s nickname was attributed to his tendency to sleep on his stomach and snort and spit like a Rhino. To say it was loud snoring was an understatement. And of course, with his luck, Stone had the privilege to nap right next to him.
“I hate eating in the chow hall. Let’s go get some milk and have cereal at our bunks.” Z said.
“That way I don’t have to put up long with any bullshit from these guys.”
“OK cool,” Stone said.
Tension flooded the chow hall as they exposed themselves to the innumerable inmates talking to one another. Stone and Z shuffled through the line, retrieved their milk then retreated to their bunk, several inmates glaring at Stone as he left.
Damn, this chow hall is not fucking any fun to go into. Stone thought.
Stone had made it a point to study all the people and things he met while waiting to be released. He watched everyone’s move, how each group operated, and listened to every conversation he could without being noticed. He enjoyed broadening his knowledge, though it did land him a few questioning glares when he was caught observing.
Things got clearer to Stone as he learned which factions you had to join to thrive and not just to survive the incarceration period. Factions worked together through everything to pull their resources.
Factions got divided by the color of your skin (Black, White or Brown).
Stone remembered watching a few white men lift weights, play softball and cook together. The funny thing was they weren’t so different from the blacks’ activities which only differed in the sport the played. They would play basketball and watch sports on TV.