Blogging To The Oldies Pt 6

Saturday, October 18, 2008

One of the Bad Days

Normally, on evening shift, we have four officers on the floor, a sergeant, and a bubble officer. Two of the floor officers do rec after six pm, and the floor officers take care of whatever happens later, which is usually not all that much. One evening well over a year ago, we had a really bad night...

There was one of our behavioral knuckleheads over in A-wing who had continued to be a major problem for us almost every day. He had some mild mental issues, but most of his problems centered on the fact that he was twenty years old and still thought he was immortal and loved being the center of attention, no matter what kind of attention it was. We get alot of those.

Right about the time we were getting ready to feed dinner, this nitwit decided he was going to go all out and start his crap again, just to piss us off. He started banging his head and tied a sheet around his neck and said he was going to kill himself and if anyone came into the cell he was going to kill them as well. Lovely.

Myself and one other officer decided we should stay out of it and try to contain the rest of the house and get dinner fed while everybody else dealt with the knucklehead. Not the best choice for me, as it turned out. They had six officers, two sergeants (including ours), two lieutenants and another officer running a digital camera while this idiot thrashed and kicked and spit and bit and they held him down and tried to figure out what to do with him. The lieutenants were running back and forth to the office calling the captain and the major and the warden and the duty officer and probably take-out pizza while they tried to find a solution.

Meanwhile, we tried to feed the house.

As we were getting ready to feed C-wing, the bubble officer opened the wing door and this foul stench rolled out. I send the food service workers back out, smeared a little Vicks under my nose and went in to investigate. It turns out that two of the idiots on suicide watch had smeared themselves with bodily excretions and repainted their cells with the same just for our amusement.

So we pulled those two idiots out and locked them in the showers and called for the inmate who does bio-hazard cleanup to take care of the cells.

In the meantime, we tried to feed the house.

They were still playing with the idiot in A-wing and we fed D-wing and B-wing and they finally let us in to feed A-wing by the time the worker got done with the cells. We managed to get the two stinky idiots back into their cells and were going to go back to try to feed C-wing when the nurse looked up at the observation cameras and said "Look at that guy in two cell. Is that blood?" I could have smacked her right then, even if it wasn't her fault.

So back into C-wing I went and opened the chuck hole in the door and saw blood all over the place. I told the inmate to come to the door and cuff up and he just went and sat down on his bunk. I had no choice but to open the door and go in. The cell was smeared and spattered with blood and there were pools of it on the floor here and there. I got cuffs on the guy and took him out to see the nurse. He'd gashed his wrist open and was leaving a blood trail everywhere he went. The nurse bandaged him up and we got him sent up to medical about the time they decided to take A-wing jerk out to put him in a rubber room somewhere.

Called the bio-hazard guy back. He hadn't even made it back to his house before we were calling him again. A few minutes later the major calls down and says the guy slashed his wrist with a piece of metal but he claims he flushed it down the tiolet and would one of us be so kind as to go and look for it? Nice.

My buddy was kind of all-in what with all the new paint fumes and the blood and all so I decided I'd go in and look for the piece of metal. With tyvek suit and double gloves on (which is a grand combination if you are trying to lose weight) I searched every inch of the cell, even feeling through the blood pools to find out what the guy had cut his wrist with. I even felt around down as far as I could reach in the toilet drain. Nothing. Turns out he had done it with his thumbnail. I offered to remove it for evidence but they decided that wasn't a good idea. Then I let the bio-hazard guy clean up the cell.

Finally, we got to give C-wing their dinner about three hours late. A few of them started to complain but stopped when they saw the look on my face. I would have happily pulled a few of them through the chuck holes like pipe cleaners right about then.

Right about shift change time, my buddy and I got to go up and do all the paperwork that ensued from the nights hilarity. This also included writing conduct violations for the two budding painters that we had to go back down to the house to have read. I think I got home about four hours late that night and the repercussions from all the paperwork lasted for weeks.

It was a hell of a night.

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Heck of a way to celebrate the day after my birthday, wasn't it?

And I didn't half describe the chaos. The screaming and the kicking and the smell.

When I got home I took my boots off before I got in the house and dipped them in bleach. I kept a bottle of it by the back door then. I think I was up til about four in the morning after a 30 minute shower and trying to get my uniform washed.

Were I to get paid commensurate to the level of actual work performed and an added hazard bonus, I would have billed the state for about $500.00/hour that night.

I got caught up in nonsense last night and forgot to post anything. Sorry about that.

Today (Yikes! Tuesday, already???) is the National Polka Festival. It's also International Day of the World's Indigenous People, Veep Day and Tisha B'Av.

Origins

I've had a few comments lately about my handle and how I got it so I thought I might take a moment in between coats of paint and 'splain it.

As a kid I never really had a nickname. My Mom called me "Tiger" way back before Mary Jane and Spiderman made the name cool. And I had a few names dropped on me by friends but luckily none of the ever really stuck. Mostly they had to do with "Pooh" (luckily that one is taken) and "Bear".

Anyway. Years and years ago (too many years ago) I found myself living in a semi-institutional setting (not an institution, more like a live-in trade school) that was somewhat isolated from society at large. We lived in large dormitories. Upon my arrival I noticed that there was a very clearly defined pecking order to the hierarchy and that most of the guys who were "somebody" in that hierarchy all had nicknames. I decided then and there that I needed a handle so I could get somewhere in this place.

Since I had gone through EMT training at another school I grabbed the name "Doc". It stuck and I actually got to practice my profession a few times when the guys did something stupid late at night when there was no nurse available. A couple of times it actually came in handy when it would take almost an hour to get an ambulance to our location from the nearest town.

So I hung on to "Doc" for a few years. Then a good friend of mine went through medical school and became a chiropractor. So he took up the handle "Doc" and I was left without a nick again.

Then some time in the late 80's I found a book titled "High Weirdness By Mail" by Ivan Stang. It was a compendium of nuts, kooks and weirdos who were all willing to send you very strange things through the mail for free or at least very cheap.

One whole section was on odd religions, many of whom would ordain you as a minister for free or a few dollars. I thought this would be great fun so I set about mailing out my name here and there.

Now, if any of you out there are overly or devoutly religious, I did not do this to poke fun at religion or belief in a supreme being or faith of any sort. It was more a social commentary about being wary of those who claim ordination. Just because someone claims to be ordained does not mean that they are spiritually blessed or even have any sort of actual training. It might just mean that they can address an envelope.

Hmmm..... A lot like my being on the Fire Brigade at work, eh? I got the title and the responsibility but no training whatsoever. But I digress.

In short, I not really trying to piss anybody off. But then if you are going to get your feelings all hurt by this then maybe you are too sensitive to hang out here in the first place.

In the space of a year or so I became a Minister, a Reverend, a Vicar, a Saint and a Pope. I got an honorary Doctor of Divinity degree and a few certificates and membership cards. And I had an awful lot of fun along the way.

So I went from being just a guy with a name to "The Reverend" to "Rev" to "Da Rev" and when I set up my very first email account back in the late 90's it was under "darev". And it's kind of stuck ever since.

Yes, I am an ordained minister, for whatever that is worth. Mostly the price of a few stamps. But not the kind you would want taking care of your soul. Heck, you probably wouldn't want me to watch your dog or your houseplants either.

I don't do weddings, baptisms, bar mitzvahs or administer the last rites. But if you need an introduction to the tinfoil hat crowd, I'm your guy.

Blogging To The Oldies Pt 5

Monday, August 17, 2009

Not What I Was Thinking

I leaned in close over the table and gazed at her through the smoke of my Liggett menthol light 100 cigarette. I could see something was on her mind, but the secret to dames is to let them tell things in their own time or they will balk on you like a mule. I figured when she was ready she would tell me.

In the meantime she was telling me things in other ways. Her eyes were saying that I was the man she wanted. And the way she shifted around in that cute little turquoise nurses outfit was telling me volumes about how fast she wanted to get started. I nearly grinned with anticipation, but I didn't want to seem to eager. I clenched my teeth on the filter of my cigarette harder to control my expression.

After a moment she shifted her shoulders coquettishly, gave me that "come hither" look and batter her eyes in my direction.

"So......." she said in that soft sultry voice, "do you want to?"

This time I did grin. I couldn't help myself. I have a soft spot in my heart for dames in trouble. She wanted my help and wanted it bad and I figured I could write my own meal ticket for this one.

"Sure thing doll" I said as I drew on my smoke one last time and threw it away. "Sure thing."

Then I said "But you are talking about doing med pass and I'm not. That's what really sucks about this whole deal."

Dames.... go figure.

***************************************************

That was back when our house nurse was pretty new and we were all getting to know each other. We'd actually flirt like that now and then.

**sigh** Now when I try to flirt with Sgt Uncle T like that, he just throws me out of the shack...

(grin)

So here's the lineup for the weekend, if you must know.

Saturday is Wiggle Your Toes Day, Hiroshima Day, National Mustard Day and National Halitosis (bad breath) Day.

Sunday is Sea Serpent Day, Assistance Dog Day, Friendship Day, Lighthouse Day, Purple Heart Day and Sisters Day,

Monday is going to be Sneak Some Zucchini Onto Your Neighbor's Porch Night ( I love doing that!), Happiness Happens Day and Odie Day (Garfield's Friend).

Blogging To The Oldies Pt 4

Monday, November 17, 2008

A Real Bee Of A Day

Got stuck up in the bubble again today. I gripe about doing that alot, but I don't mind it as much as it sounds. It's a real pain in the butt, but it's a change from being down there on the floor. And there's one real perk to being up there. All the intercom switches have an "off" position. If there's nothing going on out in the wings and all the others are down in the office, I can switch the speakers off, even just for a few seconds, and all the noise just disappears. It's almost like I've gone deaf. It's very peaceful. And you can't get that when you're down on the floor. There's always someone talking or making noise or the radio's chattering in your ear. Even though I know the radio is my lifeline, there are days when I could do without it. I'd like to go work in a library some day. A great big one with stacks in the basement where the patrons aren't allowed to go. I'd work down there. Just me and thousands of books and peace and quiet......

It would probably drive me nuts.

This afternoon one of our knuckleheads on suicide watch decided he wasn't getting what he wanted so he covered his camera and barricaded his door with a foam mattress and put wet toilet paper over his cell window so we couldn't see in. Then when everybody got up to the door, he wouldn't respond so they waved and I opened the door. He tried to swing on one of the officers so they put him to the ground and cuffed him up. Then he proceeded to spit and try to bite until they put him on the restraint bench. He stayed there for close to an hour before the nurse brought him two shots, which I'm sure was the reason for the whole performance. He wanted to get high or buzzed or whatever you get from haldol and atavan. They put him back in the cell and took away his mattress and his blanket and left him nothing but a smock.

A couple of hours later he decided the shots weren't good enough so he started screaming and banging his head on a corner of the wall, making himself bleed again. They had to pull him back out and put him back on the bench and as the next shift came in and we were relieved, they were trying to find a rubber room to put him in somewhere. Hell, maybe that's what he wanted. Doesn't sound like fun to me.

When something like putting an inmate on the ground happens we call it a "use of force" and aside from the fact you actually have to wrestle an inmate and possibly get hurt, you also inherit about four hours worth of paperwork to go along with it. It's supposedly so we can cover our bases in case it goes to court and the state doesn't get sued. But they have gotten so anal about these reports that they take many times longer than necessary. It should just be one short paragraph stating: "Offender Joe Schmuck got stupid and I sprayed him and put him on the ground and Officer Lunchbox and I put cuffs on him." Instead what they want from us is this: "At approximately 7:14 am on 11-17-2008 Offender Schmuck, Joseph #5554123 in Housing Unit 5, cell A-13 stepped towards me and swung his right fist towards my upper torso. I blocked the offenders strike with my left forearm while issuing the offender a verbal directive to stop. The offender did not comply to my verbal directive so at approximately 7:15am I applied one one-half second burst of O/C pepper spray to the offenders facial area. At this time COI Lunchbox, Melvin entered the cell and we placed the offender on the floor of the cell. I controlled the offenders left upper arm with my left hand and his left forearm with my right hand while COI Lunchbox controlled the offenders right arm and we placed him face down on the floor of the cell. I placed mechanical wrist restraints on the offender and the Sergeant was called to the cell. At 7:20 am the offender was assessed by LPN Barbie Bandaid and at 7:25 am the offender was placed in the A-wing shower........." Blah blah blah ad infinitum. It goes on for hours. And everyone involved has to write the same report. And you can't just write one report and then change the names around for everybody else. OH Noooo.... That wouldn't be right. They all have to say EXACTLY THE SAME THING but they all HAVE TO BE DIFFERENT.

Sometimes I think we're morons to keep doing this.

Then I look at the inmates and I know why I keep doing it. And I look at my family and I know why I keep doing it. And I look at myself and know why I keep doing it.

But some days are harder than others.

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Apparently I had a hard day that day. I've had worse before and since then, but not many.

And I wrote differently back then, too. I think I tended to rant more often.

I had issues. Still do, apparently.

Ah, well.

Friday is going to be National Mustard Day as well as International Beer Day and Braham Pie Day (Celebrated in Braham, MN).

Blogging To The Oldies Pt 3

Criminally Insane II

There was once a young man in our house. An offender whose name I will not and cannot mention. This young man was seriously disturbed. He was so disturbed that I spent a month on Wikipedia studying nervous disorders and scrawled an entire notebook page of disorders that he displayed. And I didn't write down the symptoms of these disorders, just the names. An entire page. And I don't really write very big. This kid was messed up. He was fairly young, twenty-ish and was in prison for some sort of assault. I could see very clearly how this would happen. If you crowded him in any way, or if he even thought you were thinking about crowding him, he got extremely manic and paranoid and begin to lash out. I tried my best to work with him (as much as I was able to), to keep him from getting in situations where he would get into more trouble. Many times I had to be rather firm with him and even rough once or twice just to keep him from getting out of control. It took a firm grip on his attention and also his arm to keep him from shooting off on a tangent. We sent him off to the "hospital" more than once for whatever esoteric treatment they thought necessary. And sometimes he came back better. More than once he came back out of control. The last time he went and came back he was released back to his regular housing unit and we didn't see him for several months. I don't have alot of time to consider each offender, especially the ones who are not in my immediate care, but I thought about him occasionally and I was frequently glad that he was out of my house and doing okay. Then one day he came back. There was an altercation with another staff member that went rapidly out of control and there he was back in a cell in my housing unit, just as nutty as a fruit bat. Have you ever seen the movie "Sybil"? He didn't quite have as many people living inside of him as she did, but I'm pretty sure there was at least five people in there. Uncontrollable body movements, visual and auditory hallucinations, paranoia, delusions of grandeur, multiple personalities (who apparently didn't like each other very much), and a very thin grasp on any sort of reality. He was so disconnected from this planet that I would not have been surprised to see him actually levitating. If mind power alone could overcome the laws of physics, he could have flown. We kept him for awhile and then sent him off to the "hospital" again.
I just learned the other day that he's been released. I'm not exactly sure where, but he's out there somewhere. That's kind of scary.

This posted September 13, 2008. I don't know why I didn't out up a picture with this post.

Maybe it was because I couldn't find anything crazy enough.

As far as I know, that young man is still out on the streets somewhere. I really hope he is doing better than he was the last time I saw him.

Thursday will be Coast Guard Day, Chocolate Chip Day and Underwear Day as well as the National Twins Day Festival.

Blogging To The Oldies Pt 2

Criminally Insane

There's a place we all fear. Most people don't think about it much in the front of their minds, but the fear is usually there, just the same. In the old movies it was always the "Asylum for the Criminally Insane." Always surrounded by big fences and concrete walls and old gnarled up trees. Something bad always happened there and the place is always haunted. Like Arkham Asylum in the Batman comics. Just getting near the place you could hear the screaming and moaning and the closer you got you could just feel the crazy oozing out of the place. It was a place you would scare people with because everybody just knows once you go into that place, you are never coming out again. Local kids would dare each other to touch the fence and then run away as fast as they could. A bad place. A scary place. A place you never hope to go.

The place still exists. But they are usually alot cleaner and brighter and less scary, at least on the outside. They are either a hospital attached (if not inside) a prison or a prison attached to a hospital. They are an adjunct of each other. This is where we send those who are too crazy to be in a regular prison population. And if you've ever seen any even remotely realistic prison shows, you have to be mighty crazy to merit a place in this august establishment. I always say "riding a bicycle upside down underwater crazy" but that doesn't even cover it. Those people are old hat out on the prison yard. And what exactly do they do in these places? Truthfully, I haven't the foggiest. Sometimes inmates go there and when/if they come back, they are better for awhile. But just for awhile. Then in a couple of weeks or so, here we go again. They are out of control and in trouble and back in my hands again. And I have to keep them from hurting themselves or someone else. But sometimes....sometimes... they come back even crazier than when they left! They come back with the crazy just dripping off of them and foaming at all of the orifices and hand them off to us to deal with. And someone says "Mr. So & So is coming back from the hospital.. They say he hurt one of their staff so they are sending him back." Well now..... isn't that why we sent him there in the first place????

Do we really know that little about how our minds work?


Originally posted 9-12-2008.

Obviously I was having some issues with the wobbleheads back then.

So far I have done very little during my vacation. It's been too hot to go outside and work unless I get up real early in the morning.

And those of you who have been reading this nonsense for awhile know what kind of a morning person I am.

I need to mow my lawn and I need to cut a strip of wood to go from the carpet to the tile in my office. I also need to paint my trim and put it back up. But so far I have done none of those things. It's too dang hot and I'm too dang broke to afford any paint.

I am, however, getting caught up on my reading. That's always a plus.

Tomorrow is National Watermelon Day. Sounds like a plan. Some ice cold watermelon and stay the frack inside 'cos it's too hot.

Blogging To The Oldies Pt 1

The DaDimwit Code

Ok, Since you've asked for it. Guy and BA (whom I hope never meet or civilization is doomed) have deviled and chivvied me into revealing a deep deep secret. Never before have these secrets been revealed to the general public.
Not since the dawn of time itself have these words been put on paper for the common man to read. Usually kept deep in a locked vault four miles beneath Ft. Detrick, Maryland I have at great personal peril and expense brought to you:


THE SECRET INMATE CODE

Baby- An inmate who gives out or sells sexual favors. Usually "run" by a Daddy (who takes a large percentage of whatever the baby brings in.)

Baking A Cake- Getting it on. One way or another or sometimes both. Taking one for the home team. Often referred to as "Hoo boy! He's gettin' wallered out!" And the cell or place where it is happening is often referred to as The Betty Crocker Institute. I could have gone my whole life without seeing (or even writing) that.

Beat- Nothing coming. "You're beat. Go kick rocks."

Block- Where you from. Your crib. Where your homies hang.

Bullets- Not like they sound. Usually tightly packed packages of tobacco, lighters, papers and notes, often hidden in uncomfortable places. Made so they can be smuggled in to places where they aren't supposed to be, like the Adseg unit. I would imagine it's uncomfortable, anyway...

C- Coffee.

Cadillac- Any weighted object, like a bar of state soap or the end of a toothpaste tube, tied to a long string and slid under the door of the cell. The inmates use these to transfer tobacco, lighters, notes, stamps, food and even books and magazines between cells.

Chomo- A child molester. One of the most despised beings in a prison setting. Or anywhere else, for that matter.

Dead man's number- Any younger inmate with a short number. Usually a "recycled" number from an earlier inmate who has passed away. The numbers are kept on file until the person dies.

Demo- This could be anything. You have to take it in context to the conversation. A Demo could be a cigarette, a stamp, a lighter, a box of cereal or a chicken leg. Or anything. It's usually up to you to figure out what the hell he's wanting.

Door Warrior- An inmate who is ten feet tall and covered with hair when the cell door is closed but sniveling in a fetal position when it is open. We get alot of those.

Help Me Out- Bring me some tobacco and coffee and a lighter.

Info- An inmates name and number. Or telephone number. Or home address.

Kiester Bunny- An inmate who secrets bullets of contraband in those uncomfortable places. Sometimes you can tell just by the look on their face that something's "up". Not a pleasant situation to be in for anybody involved.

Kite- A note. You can "shoot them a kite" or "fly them a kite". Also known as a "Scribe".

O.G.- Old Guy. Anybody older than the speaker or who has been around for awhile. Sometimes used as an honorific and sometimes as a curse. Depends on what they think of whoever they are talking about.

People- Usually referring to family on the outside. Or someone who can do them favors, like sending money. If they aint sending money, or pictures or both, then their "peeps" aint doing them no good.

Police- Pronounced "Poe-leese". That's us. We's the police.

Punk- Usually referring to a "baby" but sometimes just used as a curse. Even worse than the way Dirty Harry uses it. A punk is someone who either gives it away for free or has it taken from them on a regular basis. Willingly, or otherwise. Not an enviable appelation.

Roll- A hand rolled cigarette. From thin "pins" to fat "yard rolls". Occasionally referred to as a "demo".

Shank- A prison made weapon. Usually a knife or sharpened piece of metal like a soda can wrapped in tape. Sometimes made from tools stolen from the prison work areas. Nothing you want to come into close contact with.

Sunglasses- A lighter. AKA a flintstone, a light, a flashlight, a spark or a flame. Anything to do with light used in a sentence is referring to a lighter or a way to light a cigarette.

T- Tobacco.

Top- Tobacco. Loose tobacco sold in boxes at the prison canteen. A regular cigarette bought in packs is known as a "tailor".

Wick- A twisted bit of toilet paper set smouldering. You blow on it to get a flame going to light a roll. Also known as a "west side". A handy way to cadillac a light to your partner, if you got a flintstone and he doesn't.


This is a short list of the words I hear every day. You'd think they would have figured out that I know what they are talking about. Now and then I repeat it back to them and they are just flabbergasted that I know what they just said. I guess I'm not as stupid as I look.

Note: This was originally posted on 2-2-09. I was looking for another post about the words we use rather than the ones the inmates use but I can't find it. Either I imagined that I wrote it or I put it under some stupid name I don't recognize. If I can't find it, I'll just write another one.

**sigh**