Well, I am at where I will, in principle, be staying for the duration as a guest of the Governor, as they say here.
Right off, the contrast is marked. The physical structure is the same as at Cedar Orientation--four wings extending ranch style from a central Day Room, guard office and bathroom, 50 men to a wing, on bunk beds lining each hall, with standing lockers next to our bunks. But this new dorm, Redwood Hall, so far seems pretty mellow. I finally have found a population that, (at least this is my first impression) in whom I hope to find some kindred spirits. They seem, on the whole, older, first -time visitors , and much less steeped in prison jargon and culture. When these guys address each other you are as likely to hear “buddy” or “dude” as “dawg” or “homie”. (My frst impressions later proved wrong.)
My first night here I fell asleep blessedly early, at 10pm, awakening in the middle of the night by the need to deconstruct my pillow back into the blanket, as we are in the “Inland Empire,” which is basically the desert, and the temperature dips considerably in the wee hours. I was further kept awake by the scent of manure wafting through a window which would not close, blessedly an odor one can ignore by pulling the covers over one’s head, at least enough to fall back asleep. I was relieved to note this morning the lawns were being reseeded- the scent will pass soon enough. (Wrong again. I later found out the prison was built on an old dairy farm, and the smell of manure was a constant fixture in the mornings, when the ground was moist). I used a razor to tear the waist band off some horrifically-oversized boxers to create an elastic “latch” for the window, and that should help tonight/tomorrow morning.
I also discovered via repeated inquires why the medical techs were not appearing twice a day in the center hallways to dispense meds as they had EVERY single place I’ve been so far in the prison system. It seems once you get your permanent housing, you are supposed to magically know that you have to go to the infirmary after breakfast and dinner to get your meds. When I asked the C.O. how I would have somehow known this, she looked down her nose at me with her best “How-to-Manage-Difficult-Inmates-Seminar” look and said ‘We don’t hold your hand and baby-sit you in this dorm.” I just smiled and imagined what a perfectly sarcastic “602” I could file on the bitch, but my no doubt rapine wit would be so lost on the reader of the complaint form, it seemed a waste of good ink. I instead I took the pass she issued to go late to the infirmary, where a Vietnamese Med Tech took pity on me when he saw this was your run-of-the-mill-life-saving-don’t-miss-a-dose-medication. God forbid it would occur to any of the small-minded twerps who run this place that a simple flyer might be helpful during “orientation” (what a joke that was) to alert a recent arrival to procedures he has zero reason to know are any different than the ones he has been dutifully following. It doesn’t help that the PA system and attendant acoustics are horrific-- one has the vaguest idea, if any, what is being announced.
I enjoyed my very first walk unescorted across the prison compound, past the baseball diamond and basketball courts, (just like the brochure promised!) I am unlikely to make much use of the great outdoors here because 1) it’s August in the desert, stupid 2) I have just heard that a mile north from here, on prison property, are the ground zero breeding grounds for the California mosquitoes carrying the West Nile Virus, (no, the inmate population is not being cautioned, or protected in anyway, I know this from Eyewitness News) and 3) I should be assigned a job this week.
I am of two minds about this. Time should go a bit faster if I work, but I dread having to do something horribly tedious or routine. I personally have no trouble filling up my day writing and reading, the latter which finally I can do to my heart’s content. I will have to await the end of the weekend to visit the library, but there’s plenty of reading material in the possession of my bunkie alone and it appears I will even manage to get my hands on a day-old copy of the local paper on a regular basis, which is plenty fresh enough for me.
I am also happy to report I’m not having to carry on from a completely clean slate, socially speaking; last night I discovered roaming the halls my ex-bunkie James, the good-natured 22-year old who seemed to get a ticket every time he stepped on the gas. He is set to get out 2 weeks before I am, so we should get to know each other a bit. In fact, I ventured to ask him how his mother had died back when he was in the 10th grade. “Someone called it lead poisoning” he replied. Before I could determine if he was describing some sort of toxic environmental tragedy, he added in the wryest, most poignant voice imaginable: “two bullets to the head,” with a gesture that confirmed they were self-inflicted. I figured that was plenty of getting-to-know-you for Week Two of our friendship.
I can add, however, with a fair degree of certainty, that society is not deriving any benefit from incarcerating this boy. I’d further add that the streets aren’t any safer for having 80% of these guys in here, actually, present company obviously included. There needs to be a whole different way of thinking about crime and punishment in this country.
Lastly, I want major brownie points. I am finally at a place where tobacco is King, everybody smokes and I am resisting quite admirably. ( It’s just my Addictive Beast that tells me I’d like it). I want plenty of kisses when I rejoin the land of Listerine, which hopefully I won’t need. Listerine that is, not the kisses.
MCO 2004
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