Actually, I'm Nervous

Hopefully tomorrow the new orders for the job bids come out.

Provided, of course, the Major comes in to work.

And provided he feels like messing with making up the orders and assigning the jobs.

I'm kind of nervous about it.

I haven't worked anywhere but the Hive for the last six years. I don't really know how to do anything else. And I haven't set foot on B-side in well over a year.

I hope it's still the same as it was the last time I was over there.

But I don't remember any of the procedures for working the sally ports or driving the P-car or working in medical or laundry. I don't remember which keys I need for which post and what they go to.

And what if I don't get either one of those bids? Then what will I do?

Wait another two weeks and try again, I guess.

Pfui. This is worse than waiting for Christmas. It's like knowing I have a dentist appointment on Christmas.

**Sigh**

Burnt In More Ways Than One

There's just no doubt that I am burned out on working the Hive. Even though it is crazy busy and the nights tend to fly by and I have most of a good crew to work with (except for that one who is always larking about somewhere else taking it easy) I have had enough of the place for awhile.

I have fought and argued with myself again and again for the last few years, telling myself I should leave and then talking myself out of it. Even though it is a crazy stressful awful stinky noisy disgusting place to work, it's my comfort zone. My base, my digs, my turf, my crib.

Etc... Etc....

But now that I have made the decision to leave I am getting anxious to get on with it. I'm ready to go.

Especially now that summer and the hot weather is starting to hit hard. Man, I just don't do well in hot weather anymore. Ever since 1985 when I spent three months down in Central America where we had days when it was over 140 degrees (that was as high as our thermometer went) and I ended up with a mild case of heat stroke. I just can't take the heat like I used to.

This afternoon out on the rec yard it was like being in a giant Easy-Bake oven. And I screwed up and left my hat at home so I had nothing to shade my eyes. Or anything else, as it turns out.

When we finally got back inside I was totally drenched in sweat and radiating heat like an old fashioned percolator. I ran water on my face and arms to try and cool off some. When I wiped the sweat off of my head I felt something stinging my scalp. I went into the bathroom to take a closer look in the mirror and muttered to myself:

"Awww, man! I done gone and burnt my haid!!"

That's what I get for not wearing a hat.

Is there a milliner in the house?

I'm Not A Good Teacher

We have, on our camp, certain officer who have volunteered to receive extra training and have become Field Training Officers, or FTO's for short.

My mind is so disorganized that I know I would make a lousy teacher, so I never volunteered. Anything anyone has learned from me just fell out of my head by accident.

Last year while I was in my yearly recert training, the head training guy came up to me and said "People tell me that you are the go-to guy down in the Hive." I shrugged. It's true on our shift just because I have been down there so long I know how to do almost everything. He went on to say "We don't have any FTO's down there on your shift. We really need someone who can train the new people down there. Will you sign up for the class?" I shrugged again then said I'd do it.

I don't know why. Maybe I figured once in awhile I would actually teach somebody something useful by accident and it would keep them from getting hurt. Maybe I was just stroking my own ego.

So I waited for them to get me in the class.

And I waited.....

And I waited......

And I waited some more.

And they never sent me.

I'm pretty certain that now that I have actually made the decision to go somewhere else that I will get a notice saying they are sending me to FTO training. It's an almost dead certainty.

Tonight Chucky and I were stuck with a whole house full of utilities (except for Windows, doing his night in the bubble) and two OJT's. Sergeant Bees sent the OJT's with Chucky and me out to do rec, since they needed experience with the cuffs.

One thing you do alot of on rec is cuffing and uncuffing so we let them do most of it.

Dang, that sucked. They were so slow at it they put us way behind on getting rec out and we ended up only doing two rounds. It's not their fault. They haven't done it eight hours a day forever like we have. But it was still extremely hard to just stand there and watch them. Chucky and I were both dancing around, trying to remain calm and just give advice and not take them out of their hands and say "Here! Let me do it!" They needed the experience.

We both tried giving them advice and imparting our own pearls of wisdom about the best way to do the job and how to stay safe.

For the most part, they just stared at me like I was speaking Chinese.

I hope they did learn something.

Even if it was by accident.

I Am Not Playing Your Game!!!

Some of these idiots must think that I hatch out of a new egg every day and I won't remember the stupid little games they play.

This knucklehead today just got completely off suicide watch and was demanding to be moved. I told him we weren't moving him unless we needed that cell so he started screaming for the Sarge. I told him the sarge was busy and we still weren't moving him.

So he started kicking his door.

Then i told him I would bring the Sarge when he got a violation for being an idiot.

So he started wanting to talk to me. Wanting to talk me out of writing him up.

I just leaned down by his door and said "I'm not playing your little game. I'm through with you. You have nothing coming from me except a violation." And I refused to speak to him the rest of the evening.

I didn't even see him again until the end of shift when we went in to read the violation. As usual, he tried to blame it all on me. Luckily Sarge wasn't listening either. And the little dimwit went ahead and plead guilty to the violation. That works.

So I guess I have a new strategy for dealing with him. Cut him off before he gets his full wind up and then refuse to discuss it. Cuts him right off at the knees.

Whatever works, I guess.

An Unexpected Holiday

Recently I had lost a filling out of one of my upper teeth and it has been bothering me ever since. It's kept me up a few nights, as I tend to grind my teeth in my sleep. Not a sound thing to do with a sensitive tooth.

At any rate, I stopped by my dentists office this morning on my way back from physical therapy to see when i could get an appointment.

To my immense surprise, the receptionist told me to wait a moment and they would see if they could get me in. I was even further surprised a few minutes later when the dentist told me that that tooth and the one next to it needed to go.

So not thirty minutes after I entered, I exited, minus two teeth and toting a prescription for some pain killers.

Needless to say, I didn't go in to work today. Instead, i have sat here and there in a drug induced haze nursing a dull aching pain in my jaw. Not that I blame the dentist, mind you. He's an excellent dentist and if you ask me I will give you his name and a good recommendation. You just can't pull two teeth and not expect some discomfort afterwards.

But enough of that.

Instead of my daily grouse about working in a prison I give you a link I found this morning and find quite fascinating. I give you:

The Cardboard Tube Fighting League on Wikipedia
and their main website here:

http://www.tubeduel.com/


Enjoy.

Crabby

I had something to say and after I had written it all out, I realized that I was way too crabby to be posting things.

So I deleted it.

I had a hot and busy and crappy night. It was hot and busy and crappy when I got there and stayed hot and busy and crappy all night long.

So I'm going to go to bed instead.

I'll try to be in a better mood tomorrow.

It's My "Oh I'm Scared" Face

We got one of our frequent flyer wobbleheads back the other day. The one that threatened to kick down all the fences while he was out dancing like Michael Jackson.

Yeah, that idiot.

No sooner was he locked back up in the Hive when he started passing threatening letters out the door.

At least, we suppose they are threatening. But most of them are so incomprehensible that nobody is exactly sure what it is he wants.

One of them is addressed to "Mr dongles" or possibly "Mr dongle5". We aren't sure who that one is supposed to go to. As far as we can tell, there is nobody named either dongles or dongle5 on this camp anywhere.

But one of his first notes was the most priceless. I'll repeat it here as verbatim as I can get so I can include the odd spelling and lack of punctuation.

It reads:

"To all Hive sargants and CO you all have 2400 hours to get me out of the Hive or I will have you strip of your ranks and jobs and have me in the hospital this 2400 hours start in 100 hours this is not a thret this is a promes I have the FBI, CIA and the TATF backing me up and let mental health know that I am not playing.
Sine
Capton Egelson"

So do the math. We had 2400 hours, which is of course 100 days. And add the extra 100 hours gives us an extra four days leeway. They were only planning on keeping him for ten days initially, but if we got all this extra time, why not use it?

I called the local FBI office and they claim that they have never heard of Capton Egelson. The CIA, of course, will neither confirm nor deny and I am unable to find a number for the TATF. My phone book must be out of date.

I discussed the note with mental health and they still think he's playing, despite the ominous tone of his message.

So what am I to do? I can't let him out and I don't want to lose my rank (since I really have none to start with) and I can't find Mr dongles anywhere!

I don't look too frightened, do I?