I was going to write about the silliness and stupidity that went on tonight. The one knucklehead who almost got planted and then put himself on suicide watch just so he could be in the same wing with his........... significant other. Even though they had already broken up.
But I write about that stuff all the time and it pisses me off just thinking about the goat rope we had to go through. Especially with the captain and the lieutenant armchair quarterbacking the whole thing from the office.
So I'll just skip it. Write about something else instead.
A goofball. A card. A cutup. A real madman behind the wheel of a golf cart. And a good guy to have around if things get sticky. Works his butt off and is always there if you need him and always around doing something silly when you don't.
Saint Francis of B-Yard. The living patron saint of lunatic corrections officers everywhere.
That includes most of us, I think.
They stuck him on the mail run this afternoon. I can hear him going through the gates and up to 25 house with the mail truck. Then I hear the following radio transmission:
"14-99 to housing units uno, dos, tres, quatro and cinco! 10-10 for your mail!"
I laugh to myself and head out to get the mail. A few seconds later I hear:
"14-99 10-15 central asap!" Uh-oh. The lieutenant calling.
He rolls down to the Hive and has me watch the cart while he goes in to phone in his butt chewing. He comes out laughing a few minutes later and says "Dammit man! They want me to speak english on the radio at all times! What is this world coming to?" And he roars off in the cart shouting "Adios, muchacho!"
Saint Francis. What a card. He leaves a smile on my face all the time.
We get through the rest of the evening and deal with the lovelorn inmates and their ridiculous little games without having to do any serious paperwork, which is a blessing. It was close a few times, tho.
And as Chuck and I were walking out we hear the radio key up on somebody's open mike and we hear Saint Francis again:
"Will you look at that? Holy crap! That's a big sucker!!!"
Then we hear the yard sergeant Uncle Tommy on the radio calling Francis to come to Central asap again.
Hoo boy. That man isn't going to have any butt left by the time he goes home.
But he won't care. He will just laugh, promise not to do it again, and think up something else to do next time.
Ya just gotta love the guy for that.
Always plenty to eat - *Cliff and I were both poor, growing up. We stayed pretty poor most of our married life, too, although I was always sure not to call us "poor", even in my...
1 day ago