And that really sucked. Every year I have managed to see the fireworks either at work or on my way home. Some years BG and I sat out on the rec yard and watched. Some years they were later and I pulled off the road on the way home and watched them from my truck window.
This year I was in the office in the Hive working my butt off trying to make sure our numbers were straight while they were going off right outside.
It was just like the bad old days. Almost, anyway. The only thing we didn't have (and I didn't even mention it until I was outside the fence) was a use of force. And I'm surprised we didn't. We were all so fed up with the inmates playing their stupid little games...
Well, I won't say what I wanted to do. Just imagine that I said something that would have been really satisfying and unprofessional.
Started my night out with a smile on my face. I was an extra on the yard. We got done with the inner perimeter check quick because there were three of us. And right before I went out to the yard Sgt Ms Archer caught me and gave me a huge piece of cake to stick in my lunchbox for later. Fresh moist chocolate cake with a big slab of the real cream cheese sugar icing and not that foam stuff they use nowadays. That would have gone down perfect after the leftover steak and baked potato I had brought for my dinner.
Sgt Uncle T picked me up on the cart and I got to ride maybe half a lap when the Lt called on the radio to send me to the Hive for the rest of the night.
I was so bummed.
With holidays you stand a 50/50 chance. They will either be completely dead or they will be crazy as heck.
We rolled snake eyes this time. It was nuts.
Right after count they call with two lockups. One suicide watch and one PC. Then another for creating a disturbance. They all got there about five minutes apart.
I flew into the 'get it done' mode and started doing files and getting ready for them. I got done with the last of the files when the first one walked in the door. Since I hadn't been down there in a year, I thought I did pretty good keeping up.
Then this idiot in B-wing tosses a note on his tray as he passes it out that says "My cellie keeps hitting me and leaving bruises."
Well, we couldn't ignore that. He stated that his cellie assaulted him. So we get him pulled out and shuffle people around in C-wing to put him in by himself. The Lt comes down and wants pictures. One bruise was several days old and the other was both old and new. Like a new bruise over an old one. And from the angle they were presented, it looked alot like he had been hitting himself.
So after a few phone calls they decide he's been hurting himself and we move somebody out of a camera cell and out him in there on suicide watch. And the dude is pissed. Apparently getting stripped out and put in a cell with nothing but a kevlar smock was not how he thought this night was going to go. So he spends a couple hours screaming and kicking his door and demanding to see "The Boss."
I told him I didn't think Springsteen was even touring this year. Maybe next year. That answer didn't satisfy him at all.
Then while The Fed was doing laundry movement in A-wing some idiot hands him a note saying he felt suicidal. We get that fool pulled out and five minutes later another one from the same wing does the same thing. But by now C-wing is full and we have to move two people out to move these idiots in.
And you know why they went on suicide watch? Because they could see the fireworks from C-wing but not from A-wing where they were. And only one guy ended up being able to see them because the other guy was around the corner pointed the other way. He was pissed. And doubly pissed because all he got was a kevlar smock and we wouldn't turn his light off so he could sleep. That don't happen. When you are on watch, the light stays on 24/7.
I'm back to the computer and the boards and the files, trying to keep up with all of the room moves. And you have to do them in a certain order or the computer will kick them out as invalid because you can't have two people slotted in the same bed at the same time. More writing and erasing and writing and erasing....
Just when we thought it was all over, The Fed and I went to do the 10:00 pm count and this idiot in A-wing that we had just put in there less than three hours ago said he was suicidal.
So we had to lock him to a restraint bench and finish our count then start the whole process over again. Find somebody to move and find somewhere to move him and then do more paperwork and more computer work and move them around the boards again...
I was so happy to see my relief when he got there that if he hadn't been as ugly as ten piles of mud bricks I would have kissed him. But he was, so I didn't. I just left.
I am one tired puppy. I haven't had to work that hard since I left the Hive and I found that I don't thrive on stress like I used to. It just makes me tired and cranky.
And I didn't get to see any fireworks. Pfui.
So tomorrow (hopefully a better day) is going to be Workaholics Day. Oh..... snap. I am so not looking forward to that. It's also the day I go see the orthopedic surgeon to find out if they are going to cut on my arm or not. But at least it will also be Bikini Day. Of course without a decent beach for five hundred miles in any direction I probably won't get much joy out of that one.
Dogs, calves, and coats - *Next Tuesday our yearling Holstein steers will be butchered, one for the oldest grandson and his wife (they've paid for theirs, including all expenses), a...
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