Week Five, Episode 9

Week Five, Episode 9

     Previously, I talked about what it felt like having a roommate from Hell.

If rule number one in prison is to never let anyone disrespect you, then rule

number 2 is never let another inmate dictate your schedule.  Inmates attempt

it a lot.  Today I was annoyed several times.  The first time was when I went

to take a shower this morning, and because the showers are attached to the

same area as the toilets, one of the women blew it up while I was showering.

    "Courtesy flush!"  I yelled.

   Many of the new women that came directly from home and never been locked

up is clueless as to what a courtesy flush is.  Its something you learn in prison.

It is when you sit on the toilet to defecate and constantly flush it as you use it.

It causes the smell to go down the drain, instead of sit there and linger. 

   "I am not finished yet!"  The newbie said.

   "Ms., Please! What the heck did you eat!  Please flush the toilet!"  I complained.

She did, once.  The bathroom smelled like a bottomless sewer, and the foulness

turned my stomach.  Women coming in have not been on the same prison diet

as me, and it is no telling what was causing the extremely pungent smell.

   "Its a bathroom, Hello!" She screamed back, annoyed. 

   No she didn't have the nerve and audacity to get an attitude!  She was trying to

kill me with toxic fumes.  She should have another felony charge for that!

    So that is how my morning began. 

    To try to restart my day, I went to the track and walked got my five miles in.

The sky was cloudy and it looked like it was going to pour rain over Danbury any

moment, but it held off until I finished walking. 

    I need to move on, but let me just continue my rant about this toilet thing

for a moment.  At home, we all have the toilet in the same room with the shower.

It is standard all over the country.  What is not standard is a stranger, coming

in and blowing the place up.  I do not understand how people get institutionalized.

I am annoyed at least once a day in here, and miss home constantly.

   Today, rule number 2 kicked in.  I usually get up on Sunday, shower, put on my

sweats, and then begin my day.  Today was no different.  My bunkie usually cleans

on Sunday, so I make a point to stay out of her way.  She was up before me to do

her hair.  She retrieved the cleaning supplies at lunch time.  Each time I came to

the room, I disappeared to give her time to clean.  At 3:22pm I went to the room

to do my hair and start preparing for work.  She jumped up off the bed, and started

pulling the bins from up under the bed, and pulling stuff out of the room.

    "I am sorry bunkie.  I am about to clean."  She said.

    "Go ahead.  I am about to sit on the bed and do my hair out of your way."  I answered.

That's exactly what I did.  I put my curtain up, and commenced to curling my hair

for the work week.  I even put my headphones on to block her and everyone else out.

   This happens often.  I don't know if this occurs in a men's prison, but women do it

repeatedly.  Each time its done to me, it makes me feel like they are attempting to

dictate my day.  I was expected to go back out of the room, after being gone all

day.  Not!  Prison life is about living with lots of strangers, and some of them are

on some other stuff. 

         Back to Arn-2- what I liked most about living in maximum security was that

most of the officers were afraid, and therefore there was not all of the rules that

existed in general population.  In general population, if you were caught with out your

identification you received a shot/ticket.  If you were not properly dressed and your

bed was not made up, you received a shot/ticket.  The rules were petty, and

strictly enforced.  I noticed quickly that Arn-2 had no rules most of the time.

   If you didn't feel like getting up for work, you simply slept in.  Nobody was in

full uniform.  The common attire was house slippers and a doo rag or head rag wrapped

around your head.  If you didn't make your bed, or come out of your room, that was

your prerogative.  The unspoken rule was to leave max inmates alone if they left

staff alone, and they did most of the time.  A few of the seasoned officers that

were not afraid to work in max informed new officers to relax and not upset the

mood.  Arn 2 inmates stuck together, and turned up quick.  If an officer wanted

to enforce the rules and ask about beds being made and uniforms not being worn,

they were called every curse word ever spoken, and some I'd never heard before,

and then talked about bad. 

    "Your breast is bigger than mines, shut up!"  Dino or someone else would yell

to a male officer with breasts. 

     Usually at least one person ended up going to the SHU when one of the new

officers surfaced.  That would be the only way to keep the crowd from being

rowdy and calling the officer names. 

    There came a time when there was a staff change.  We got a new unit

manager.  His name was Mr. Eleby.  He was a Michael Jordan look alike.  I don't

know if he shaved his head on purpose to look more like Jordan, but that didn't

help.  Same height.  Same complexion.  Same physique. 

      His mission was to change Arn 2 inmates for the better, and to classify

inmates into there right status who should not have been in max.  He reminded

me of the Morgan Freeman character that was sent to the terrible high school

in the inner city to try to change things.  Mr. Eleby had a plan. 

Rhonda Turpin

April 27, 2014

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