We used to have an "Evidence Room" in the basement of the Central Security building. It was old and dank and dark and infested with critters and tended to flood when it rained really hard.
What was put down there was mostly contraband items that the inmates were found to have in their possession. Items that belonged to other people or stuff that wasn't on their property lists or stuff that was made or "just found" somewhere (like those nifty little home made tattoo guns that they can make with their eyes closed) that they weren't supposed to have. Also, if it was found that they had altered anything outside of it's original use, it was taken away and stored down there.
The caseworkers needed those items stored so that they could determine whether the items would be returned to their original owners or "disposed of per policy" when they came to read the conduct violation.
The place was a real mess.
A few months ago some genius decided that the basement of the Sex Offender Treatment house was bigger and cleaner and better lighted so they moved the whole mess over there.
And, for a while, it was better. Until it started to get really full again.
There are two officers who work together over on B-side. Inspector G and one the inmates just refer to as "The Menace". Those two have decided to make it their life's work to rid B-side of any and all contraband. And every single night at least one of them is calling to have the gate opened to the treatment house. And off they go to log their evidence.
BG says that they are trying to move B-side over here one trash bag full at a time. I suspect he may be right.
Tonight we were running a few minutes late getting out and BG said "We're late! Everyone else has left!" I said (without even thinking) "Not everyone is gone. The menace still hasn't gone to log his evidence yet."
And just like it had been scripted, we hear over the radio "Officer Menace to Raccoon Control, pop gate nineteen." And off he went to log more evidence of wrongdoing.
I laughed so hard I almost fell off the sidewalk.
I wonder, since those two got together, if they have to take a dump truck out to the treatment house once a month to haul all of that off. It wouldn't surprise me.
I feel so guilty - *Gabe loves to eat. There isn't a finicky bone in his body; drop something on the kitchen floor and he's on it, even pieces of raw fruits and veggies. Wi...
8 hours ago