Week 4: This is definitely NOT Mr. Rogers' neighborhood

Prison is depressing. Intake and Reception is supposed to be a very temporary stop between county jail and one of the state's prisons where an inmate will be housed on ground with the general prison population. However, with such overcrowding in the prisons, women aren't staying only a few weeks here. Some are staying over three months before there is room at their final prison destination. We are stuck in our little cells about 90 percent of each day. Only out to walk back and forth to chow hall, to get our three showers a week, and for our twice a week recreation time. At least I now have a roommate who helps pass the time more quickly.

Since I'm stuck in my cell most of the time I don't get to see many other inmates. But I do get to hear the yelling that goes back and forth between cells, and have developed some idea of the personalities of others by hearing these conversations.

Across from me is Meesha. Meesha stands in her doorway every night talking in a very loud voice through the window grate in her door. She's usually at it until at least 2AM. I can't understand everything she's saying, but what I do understand is all about drugs, drug dealing, and the raw deal she got out of being arrested. Again. The thing with Meesha is that I never hear anyone respond back to her! She repeats the same things over and over, and she isn't even talking to anyone! Now that's bizarre, but I don't dare tell her to shush because she, like everyone else here, scares me.

A girl named Dorez lives far down the hall from me. I've never seen her yet and have no idea who she is, but it's clear she's very popular and very funny. She has many friends calling her name at all hours (I call them the Dorez groupies) and joking with her. At night there is usually at least 15 minutes of Dorez and her groupies yelling "I love you" and "I love you MORE" and "No, I love YOU MORE" to each other. Usually just as I've finally dozed off. Yes, you can hear everything in here.

Then, there is the inmate who I call the "Loud Sneezer." She sneezes louder and more often than anyone I've ever heard, and her sneezes echo through the cellblock. There is another group of women that I could call the "loud sneezer groupies," but they're probably more aptly known as the "bitch-cover-your-effing-mouth-bitch" group who respond to the loud sneezer's loud sneezes.

Of course, there is the sorority girl group--the skinny young blonds who talk and laugh and swear all night long. They are clearly from the suburbs and think they are entitled to privileges even here in prison.

Finally, there are two girls who live 5 cells from each other: "Cash" and "Peppah." I thought her name was Pepper until I saw "Peppah" tattooed on her arm. This is prison. I guess that makes sense here. Every night around midnight they strike up a "conversation" that goes something like this:
Cash: "Hey, Peppah"
Peppah: "yeah?"
Cash: "fuck you"
Peppah: "no, fuck you!"
Cash: " Fuck You"
Peppah: "Fuck YOU"
Cash: "FUCK YOU"
Peppah: "FUCK YOU!"
Cash: "FUCK YOU!!"
Peppah: "FUCK YOU!!!"
Cash: "FUCK YOU!!!!"
Peppah: "FUCK YOU!!!!!"
Cash: "a'ight"
Peppah: "a'ight"
Both: "g'night"

Week 4: New roommate teaches me stuff I never knew about before

My 2nd roommate in Intake and Reception, Elaine, is a riot. And a crack addict. She knows everything about the drug culture in her area. She also knows how to tell a good story. Ohhhhh My Goodness, the stories she tells! Drug deals, good drugs, bad drug reactions, drug related murders where she knew the victims and the murderers. Also, many descriptions of the lengths people will go to to "pay" for their crack when they don't actually have money (icky, icky) and stories of days she cannot remember due to drugs. Her broken wrist was drug related. She thinks. But has no memory of how she broke it. I had to ask her at one point if she had any friends or acquaintances NOT on drugs. Her answer: "Only my mother and grandkids." She's ten years younger than me, and already has eight grandchildren.

I've never known anybody highly involved in the drug culture, so I really learned all kinds of information about a lifestyle I never knew about before. Elaine had such a positive outlook and pleasant attitude that I guess I never expected of a drug addict. I mentioned that to her, and, surprisingly, she described herself as a nasty, intolerable bitch when on drugs, and told me I wouldn't like her at all. She said her personality changes because of her constant need for crack and singular focus on obtaining it. Wow.

She had been locked up for several months now without crack, but said she had never been able to avoid it even after months incarcerated without it. I really hope I had some effect on her future by frequently pointing out what a pleasant, enjoyable personality she has, and how much I enjoy having her as a roommate. Comments such as that did seem to affect her positively, and she seemed to understand that she is a much more likeable person without drugs. But, she said she is too entrenched in that culture, and crack is too addicting in every way possible, that she knows she will go back to it as soon as she gets released. Such a shame.

Surprisingly, Elaine described the people who make and sell crack as "scum" and "low-lifes." While I certainly agree with her, I asked her how that opinion fits in with her need for these people in order to maintain her crack habit. She implied that those addicted to crack couldn't help it, but the "low-lifes" who sell the crack do have a choice in their actions. I've never been sure how much I believe the "addiction is an illness" theory, but I'll follow my #1 rule of survival in prison-- never disagree or argue with an inmate. So I just nodded my head and said "hmmm."

Elaine was just plain fun to have as a roommate. When not listening to her drug stories, we liked to joke around. One of our favorite things to do (since we are both middle-age-ish) was to call the officers "son" since they were so much younger than us. They didn't know what to make of that, so they never gave us any trouble at all. We also encouraged the night officers to sing. Well, the ones with good voices. We would write down the words to songs and pass them under our door to the officers as they walked by. One night we had something close to a Rolling Stones concert going on when the officer started singing and many women joined in from their cells. Not surprisingly, none of the officers agreed to sing Elvis' Jailhouse Rock.

Even though Elaine and I have no decent singing voices whatsoever, I wrote my husband and asked him to send me the words to many songs that we wanted to sing. Elaine and I sang everything from Johnny Cash's Folsum Prison Blues to Janis Joplin's Piece of My Heart to Dr. Hook's Cover of the Rolling Stone. We also sang bizarre songs from our youth, including "Knock Three Times on the Ceiling if you Want Me," "Gypsies, Tramps and Thieves," and "I've got a Brand New Pair of Roller Skates, You've Got a Brand New Key." Our cell neighbors thought we had somehow gotten high and were enjoying ourselves a little too much.

From then on, when things got a little too boring, we'd burst out singing a paraphrased version of Johnny Cash:
"I'm stuck in this here prison, and time keeps draggin' on."

Week 4: My New Roommate

Prisons are way too overcrowded so it didn't take long for them to put someone new in my room as soon as my first roommate left. Casey the candy thief had only been gone a few hours when an officer unlocked the cell door and a woman walked in with her bag of possessions. She stood in the doorway and looked at me sitting in the bottom bunk, and announced that she has a bottom bunk order because she has a broken wrist. Well, I told her that I have a bottom bunk order, too (because of my age--being older does have its benefits here). I wasn't about to give up my bottom bunk. And the new roommate looked a little rough and tough. And scary. A middle-aged biker chick with a mullet. But then again, everyone in prison looks scary to me.

The new roommate said her name was Elaine. She stood in the doorway staring at me for a few minutes. I assumed she was waiting for me to move out of the bottom bunk and let her have it. I finally told her that I needed the bottom bunk, and maybe she could hurry and ask the officer to put her in a room where she could also have a bottom bunk. She calmly said she would stay with me, and she'd be fine with the top bunk. She didn't seem upset at all (bottom bunks are high priority here in prison).

It didn't take long for me to realize that my first impression of Elaine was completely wrong. She was quite personable, easy-going, and seemed to always be in a positive mood. Elaine and I became quite good friends, and I actually had fun during the time she was my roommate!

A few days after Elaine arrived I asked her why she didn't ask for another room when she found out she couldn't have the bottom bunk. She actually said that after spending just a few minutes with me she knew I couldn't really be a criminal, and she'd rather have the top bunk in a room with me than take the chance of getting a bad roommate! I felt somewhat pleased and flattered by that statement, especially given that this was Elaine's sixth incarceration, and any compliments she gave were based on years of knowledge and experience!

Sanitary Pads make great Swiffers!

Women--no matter where they may be--can be very creative.

While we are in this Intake and Reception building (before we are moved "on-grounds" to our final destination prison) we have very few choices of things to buy on our Commissary list. We can get personal items such as deodorant, shampoo, soap, conditioner, hair grease, oral hygiene necessities, paper, pens and envelopes, and up to six each of candy bars, chips, and soda. No razors, tweezers, make-up, extra clothing, hats, gloves, or any items of comfort. Our families are allowed to send us only letters, books, and magazines.

With no razors or tweezers there's an awful lot of body hair growth. Unibrows, upper lip and chin stubble are not uncommon. There is absolutely nothing sharp anywhere to use for hair removal, but there are several women who have become hair removal artists! Believe it or not, their hair removal product is a simple piece of string. During recreation time these hair removal artists are busy with "clients" the entire hour. They tie the ends of the string to make a big circle, then twirl it around three times and hold it in their first three fingers. Using the right finger movements they are able to sculpt eyebrows, remove facial hair, and 'shave' legs.

One girl named Babycakes is an expert at string hair removal, and is paid well for her work. Giving anyone any of your possessions earns you a major ticket for "Trafficking and Trading." Babycakes charges an envelope/Write Out for eyebrows, and an envelope plus candy or chips for upper lip or chin hair. This may be prison, but she says nobody has ever cheated her out of her payment. In spite of the constant vigilance of the guards, she also has never been caught collecting her "pay."

Another necessity that most women miss is make-up. No problem. They moisten an M&M in their color choice, and rub that across their eyelids for eye shadow. It actually lasts a long time! Blue is the most popular color, and I order M&Ms because I know I can trade my blue ones for something good. Some women prefer the bright yellow and orange "eye shadow." I can only imagine how they make themselves up in the real world. Pencils and pens are used for eyeliner. Dampen a red colored part of a cheap magazine and you have lipgloss and blush. The concrete between the bricks is used to file nails.

We get to clean our rooms on Saturdays-- if the officer on duty feels like taking the time to walk room to room with the spray bottles of bleach, sanitizer, and the broom. Actually, the bootcamp inmates carry the cleaning materials from room to room, but the officer has to walk along so nobody is given any extra bleach or sanitizer. We don't have paper towels or rags to clean with, and are supposed to use toilet tissue to wipe off the sprayed surfaces. That's where sanitary pads come in handy. They are great to clean floors, walls, and other surfaces with. Kind of like Swiffers, the cleaning product. And, in spite of the rules, the bootcamp girls are willing to give a few extra sprays of bleach onto as many pads as we want so we can wipe down and disinfect surfaces more than once a week. And the best part is that most of the officers are male, and never argue when an inmate says she needs another bag of sanitary pads.

My prison legacy? I realized that the metal edges of the bunk beds rust to the point where there are some sharp parts. I always wear straight bangs to cover my wrinkled forehead, and was worried when they grew too long. When I discovered the sharp, rusty bed edges, I dragged my bangs back and forth across them. I was able to cut them that way! My bangs were now short again. When others noticed, I told them how to do it, and haircuts became possible.

Day 21: I feel like a kid in a candy store

OH---GAG! SLAP ME! TATTOO 'POLLYANNA' ON MY FOREHEAD. Dress me in a white twirly pinafore.

I just wrote that title to this entry--"I feel like a kid in a candy store," and can't believe there is still a smidge of "the glass is half full" left in me. This is prison for goodness sakes and comparing it to a candy store simply verifies blossoming psychosis. Until I scribbled that down I thought I had lost any optimism left in me. THIS IS PRISON AND IT SUCKS! (Or as a previous occupant of my room had scribbled on the wall "THIS SHIT SUCK.") Yeah, I could change the title, but maybe I need to leave it there, as another example that my brain is still able to process positive feelings, and that I CAN GET THROUGH THIS. Yeah, right.

Candy stores are colorful, exciting, intoxicating and cheerful. Prison is dreadful, scary, shameful and intimidating. And it sucks.

But we had commissary yesterday, and I did buy myself candy and soda and junk food and treated myself to things I haven't had in weeks. My wonderful husband has put a decent amount of money in my prison "fund account" and I was able to purchase M&M's, Doritos, Root Beer and Snicker's Bars. Also, deodorant (what? they actually allow you to feel like a human being in here?) shampoo, conditioner, writing paper and two pens! I also broke my rule about never sending mail from prison to my kids. I bought five "Write Outs," the name for envelopes with stamps printed on them.

Oh, my roommate was "shipped" to her final destination prison today. Remember I told you she said she was a thief? Well, I was at recreation when shipment left today. I got back to my room and Casey was gone. And so was all my candy.

Day 20: What's that sound?

So much has been taken away from me over the last few weeks (job, family, friends, TV, my cell phone, and much more). It seems like every hour I become aware of one more thing I miss terribly.

It is easy to notice the absence of tangible objects. I don't have a lot of 'stuff' anymore. The loss of various intangibles is either quite obvious or not as apparent. Privacy is intangible, and its absence was overwhelmingly apparent from day one. Horribly apparent. Today I became aware that I have been missing one of life's most essential intangible components, but it has taken me almost a month to realize it's been gone.

Noise on cell wing C is a constant. The walls are made of concrete, but the doors have metal mesh grates in them so we residents can hear announcements that the officers make. Well, I guess the purpose of the grate is to hear announcements, but most of the time we hear the officers yelling and swearing and threatening to take away another privilege. Also, due to the air vents we can hear voices from the adjacent rooms fairly clearly.

Tonight, I heard sounds from the room next door. The two women were talking. And something else. It actually took me awhile to realize that the other sound I was hearing from next door was the sound of laughter. Not just a few giggles, but enthusiastic, unrestrained laughter. The sound of joy. The sound of happiness.

The realization that, in this horrible place, joy, humor and even fun are all possible brought a huge smile to my face. I had not heard laughter in weeks, and hadn't even noticed it missing. And that is so odd since laughing is one of my favorite things to do.

There isn't a lot to do in prison, but I've just put LAUGH at the top of my daily to-do list.

Day 19: moving day

Cell door opens, officer looks inside, says "pack out, you're both moving to C wing."

I throw my few possessions into a plastic bag and am ready to move within five minutes. If only "real" moves from house to house were that easy.

Never having been outside of the intake wing I was a little excited to see what the other wings looked like. Hmmmmm. Surprise, surprise. They are exactly the same as the intake wing. Same everything. But a new roommate. She introduced herself as Casey, said the bottom bunk was hers, said she is ready to kill someone because she's been in the same room for 12 weeks-- 12 WEEKS?-- and said "I'm a thief." Now how in the world am I supposed to respond to that?

Casey is about half my age, obsessed with her looks, and had scribbled her fiance's name on the walls, bed frame, window sill and door. She said she was planning her wedding from prison, and would be getting married as soon as she got out. But she didn't know when that would be. Given all the stories people tell in prison, I wondered if any of what she said was true. I was soon to find out that the "I'm a thief" part was very true, but never did actually confirm the fiance or wedding parts.

Casey spent the majority of her time combing her hair, scrunching it up with a combination of gel, conditioner and vaseline that she offered to lend me ("no thanks but that's so sweet of you to offer") and applying makeup (some days her blue pen as eyeliner, some days her black pen). She made sure she displayed cleavage (very hard to do in prison clothes) whenever her favorite male officers were working.

At least Casey was nice enough to tell me about the schedule there on C wing. Wake-up call at 4:30AM, Breakfast at 5AM, Lunch at 10AM, Dinner at 4PM. The best part was that the "chow hall" was in a different building so I'd finally get a few moments of fresh air and sunshine! (You don't miss it until it's taken away from you.) Showers on Tuesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays (and check your dignity at the door ladies-- these are group showers). A fresh set of prison clothes on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Recreation on Tuesday and Thursday mornings from 8 until 9. (YES! I was seriously going to get to exercise?) AND the best of all, Commissary on Thursdays. Casey gave me an extra commissary slip and asked me how much money I had in my account, and would I buy her some candy? Please?

Casey also explained that for "count" time, the officers turned the lights on full blast at 7AM, 3PM, 9PM and 3AM and made sure we were awake at each of those times. Prisons apparently like to have high electric bills and sleepy inmates.

Tonight will be the 19th night in a row that I will 'sleep' with a towel over my eyes to block out the light. The definition of sleep has changed dramatically since coming to prison.