Eating My Words (And They Taste Terrible)

I was trying to remember what it was I said on Thursday. So I just went and copied and pasted it:
"Tonight I was out on the yard with Sausage and Sgt Archer (who was horribly sick and coughing all night, so don't blame me if I come down with it) and we had a pretty calm night. In between movements we sat around in the shack and listened to Sgt Archer cough and wheeze and groan and we offered homemade remedies. I gave him a pack of Theraflu I happened to have in my lunchbox. It didn't seem to help much. I told him to rub himself all over with Vicks and sleep in front of the vaporizer."

Yeah. Well, what I didn't put in there was when I told him I would beat certain parts of his anatomy with a large stick if he got me sick during my vacation.

It seems I'm going to owe him a beating. Just as soon as I have the strength to lift the stick, he's in for it.

Today is the first time since Saturday afternoon that I have eaten anything solid. Today is the first time I could focus my eyes well enough to type. And even this meager amount is kicking my butt. I have been awake for about eight hours out of the last forty eight.

But I am getting better. But oh so very slowly. So I'm going to make this short, if you don't mind.

According to the official calendar, today was both National Popcorn Day and Child Labor Day. I don't think we have to worry too much about child labor in this country any more. The lazy little punks don't even have to walk to the telephone anymore, let alone work for a living.

But then, I'm just feeling quite cranky.

Tomorrow is Serpent Day. I'm all over that. Tastes like chicken!

Except everything tastes like dirt right now, unfortunately.

Waiting To Breathe

It was my last day of work before my vacation started. I was in the 2-10 spot in 4 house thinking to myself "Okay, I can coast through this day and then I'm off. No big deal. I can get out of here before count time and be home."

And for the most part, that was how my day went.

Did some wing walks. We were all caught up on cell searches for the month so I didn't have to worry about those. Went down to dining and did some pat searches for awhile then walked around inside the chow hall.

So far so good.

One of the many (too many) Assistant Wardens came up into the bubble and hung out for awhile. Not on any kind of mission, it seems, just doing a routine walk through and killing time until he could go home. That wasn't bad.

Right after he left I was thinking about going to do another wing walk when Gums got up and said he was doing one so I decided to jump on the 'puter and clear out my email. I usually get about ten to fifteen emails a day on the system at work. 99% of them are complete garbage to me and I delete them sight unseen. I mean, what do I care if the fax machine in District 9 is broken? But they still send those out to everybody in the state, then another one later to say it's fixed. What a bunch of........ snap.

I'm going to be off for the next nine days so I figured any emails I could clean out of my inbox before I left would be that much less I had to deal with when I got back.

It's a good thing I went and looked. I'm in recert training the first two days off vacation.

Oh joy!

I have nine days where I can sleep in and then two days where I have to be up by six a.m. and in by eight. Nifty. Ah, well.

I was thinking "If that's the worst news I get, I'm okay."

Then Lt Gerber calls me and says "You have to go up to 1 house and relieve Miz Maybe. She's sick and has to go home."

So I toddle on up there and get her out of the house. Then I look around. There's no sergeant and it's just me and Chopper and Galahad in the house. And Chopper and I are both in the 2-10 slot. Oops.

I can't leave with only one person in the house, so I call Gerber and offer to stay late of he needs me. He says "No, I got it covered, I think. Maybe. If nothing happens."

Mr Peepers rolls in the door as Chopper heads out at 9:45. Me, I'm still waiting, wondering if I'm going to be here for awhile. I still can't leave. It takes three people to count. Two to count and one to open the doors.

Finally somebody rolls in from a house on B-side at 9:55. With five minutes to spare. Whew! Peepers takes over the bubble and I'm relieved! Yay! It was a close call.

So my vacation has officially begun. Nine glorious days with nothing to do but some woodworking projects and replacing the living room carpet with laminate flooring.

Oh boy isn't that going to be fun! Maybe I'll take some before and after pictures for you.

Let's check the calendar before I toddle off to bed, shall we?

Oh... crap. Well... Saturday is National Corn Chip Day, which isn't too bad. I like corn chips as much as the next guy. But Sunday is Escape Day. Oh man, I'm glad I'm not going to be there for that one! Yikes!

Missed Out On All The Fun

There was a time in the not too distant past, when if something went down and I didn't get a chance to get in on it, it pissed me off.

Especially uses of force.

It's not that I enjoy violence or anything. It's not. I'm actually a fairly peaceable person.

But if something went down and I wasn't in a position where I could at least try to get there and help it made me mad. Not at myself or anyone in particular, just in general.

If there was a 10-5 called and I was stuck in the comm room or in a bubble somewhere that I couldn't leave I would just run around in little circles and go "Yaaaaaaarg! Snap!" and other things like that.

Tonight I was out on the yard with Sausage and Sgt Archer (who was horribly sick and coughing all night, so don't blame me if I come down with it) and we had a pretty calm night. In between movements we sat around in the shack and listened to Sgt Archer cough and wheeze and groan and we offered homemade remedies. I gave him a pack of Theraflu I happened to have in my lunchbox. It didn't seem to help much. I told him to rub himself all over with Vicks and sleep in front of the vaporizer.

He just raised his eyebrow at me.

At any rate, I went off to do my Del Norte check after the movement. Just be-bopping along minding my own business, checking the fence.

Somewhere around zone 7 Uncle Scary drives up in the P-car and rolls down the window to shout at me "Why do we get to miss all of the fun? They had a 10-5 down in 10 house a few minutes ago and we missed it!"

Dang! But then the thought hit me "hey, I don't have to do any paperwork...... La la la....

By the time I hit zone 12 Kiss Fan drives up in the other P-car and tells me the same thing. Says it lasted about three minutes, which is a long time for a 10-5. Wow. Must have been a good one.

Then I get down to the sally port and Model A leans out the window and says "Hey! Did you hear they had a 10-5 in 10 house a few minutes ago? Sounds like it was a good one!"

I look up through the other gate and there's 10 house, not fifty feet away. I would have freaked if I had been in the sally port when they called that. Because even though I would have only been fifty feet away, I couldn't have gone. You cannot ever abandon the sally port. The only time that ever happens is if we have a tornado or something.

Apparently this little punk got mouthy and then got threatening and then shook a fist in an officers face and took a step towards him. Then it was on like Donkey Kong, as they say.

He got pepper sprayed twice and fought back and got banged up a little before they managed to get him under control. When I left all the adrenaline had worn off and he was crying about the pepper spray. I'll bet tomorrow he's going to be one sore critter and crying about that too.

Poor little punk. There goes his treatment program. I guess he can say goodbye to getting out of prison early.

So by the time I got back inside the fence again it was all over except the paperwork part, which they were still doing as I was leaving. I don't miss that part of it at all.

Yikes. Looks like we have a hat trick for tomorrow. A three-fer! Tomorrow is National Kazoo Day, Clash Day, Rattle Snake Round-Up Day.

I wonder if they mean clashing colors or the band? London calling.....

I Get By With A Little Help From My Friends

After wonder all night if I was going to end up writing about all of the little irritating things that happened this evening, my friend KP shows up at the comm room window and he drops this bomb shell on me.

He says (and I loosely quote the best i can remember):

"Do you suppose that we can draw a corollary between the increase in the safety of baby cribs and the increase in the prison population? Think about this.... When you and I were kids we were put in old wooden baby cribs that the sides slid down on. If you grabbed the sides it would pinch your fingers and hurt like hell and if you shook them hard enough they would tip over and dump you on your head.

We were taught that being behind bars was painful and you had to be good to get let out when you wanted to play.

But when Ralph Nader came along and consumer-safetied us half to death, they did away with those old wooden cribs and got these soft sided things that taught you nothing. Being locked away became a soft and comfy place to be.

Most of the new people coming into the system are young punks who never knew the harsh lessons that an old wooden crib would teach you."

By Gawd, if I don't think he's right. I think he's on to something.

And I do wonder if we put our heads together if we couldn't get a sizable government grant to do some research on the subject.

I can always count on my friends when the going gets tough.

Well, tomorrow looks like it's going to be quite the day. What with it being both Punch the Clock Day and Thomas Crapper Day.

I just hope it don't backfire on us!

Practically A Picnic

On paper, I was supposed to be the 3 house bubble tonight.

It didn't so much work out that way, pretty much to my relief. Ms. Archer was down there in the 2-10 slot and I walked down with Stubby.

When we got there Ms. Archer was running the bubble and she batted them big dark eyes of hers at me and said "You don't mind, do you Revvy?"

Oh heck no. Especially when she asks me like that. I don't think I could refuse her anything when she asks like that. Plus, she's somewhere around eight months pregnant and I wouldn't want to see her going up and down the steps in that condition. I was more than happy to let her run the bubble.

Not that I'm a chauvinist or anything. I just think it would be hard on her having to climb those steps as much as she would need to working the floor. I have no doubt in my mind that she would thoroughly dismantle any inmate fool enough to get within arms reach of her if it became necessary.

She's one tough cookie. And cute as a button besides.

So with her running the bubble like she was Captain of a battleship and Stubby out terrorizing the inmates on the floor it left me with very little to do. Between the two of them, I'm not sure which one the inmates are more intimidated by. Stubby teaches Defensive Tactics and knows the book by heart and gets to practice it several times a month. And he's damn quick for a little guy, too. He can get you in a hold and you won't even know it until you hit the floor.

I've been in a few mixups with him as my partner. He's a good man to have on your side.

I made sure that I did my wing walks and the stuff I was supposed to do. I took care of the tool boxes when they came in and out and fetched and carried for Ms Archer when she needed things. I think I justified my existence for the evening.

I was a bit worried when I came in, as it sounded like day shift had quite the time. Apparently some fool took offense to them trying to make him take his yearly TB test at medical and he ended up getting slammed all over the place. And I'm sure at one point while he was on the floor the nurse stuck him with the needle anyway, so it was all for nothing. And there was at least one fight, maybe two during the day. I didn't get all the details, but day shift seemed happy as heck to be leaving.

And as far as I can tell, we didn't even lock anybody up on our shift. If they did, I never heard it.

I hope the rest of the week goes like this. I'm on vacation next week. And that means I'm going to have to either do something interesting or find something interesting to write about for a week.

That should be a challenge. I have a couple of projects I need to work on. Hopefully the weather will be nice enough for me to be out in the shop then. We'll see, I guess.

So, what will tomorrow bring? Well.... tomorrow is Australia Day.

Well, that's cool if you're an Aussie. I wonder why they get a day of their own? Nothing against them, I'm just wondering.... Is there a Greenland Day? Botswana day? Antarctica Day?

I'm A Slacker!

Today I ended up doing almost the absolute minimum of work that one can do here in Raccoon City and get away with. I'm almost as embarrassed to tell the story as I am getting paid for it.

Almost.

I come in today and Lt Twitch says "You have the mail run. Then you'll do the restraint check. It'll be an easy night for you."

Holy snap he wasn't kidding. The two cake easiest details on our shift and I get them both together? I'm wondering if I can drag them both out to last all shift.

Well, not the mail run. It has to be done first. But I always get in way early and the mail isn't ready until almost 3:30.

So I hang around Central and shoot the snit with the lads a bit. Drink a cup of coffee. Then I get the cart and drive it out to the admin building and go in and check if the mail is ready yet.

Nope! Back outside. Have a smoke. Wander around. Say "hey" to everyone still coming in and those leaving. Lean on the cart some. Go check if it's ready yet.

On and on like that for very nearly an hour. I'm not actually working, but I'm not technically fooling around either. I'm waiting for the mail.

Finally they get it all ready and I load the bags on the cart and drive slowly around the camp delivering the mail. I only had to actually lift the bags once to put them on the cart. As I go around, they come out of the houses and take them off themselves. The only time I had to actually get off of the cart was to open two gates. Cake walk!

I get done with that and Sgt Uncle T tells me that I am coming out to the yard for awhile and I get to go do the restraint check after second movement this evening.

No big deal. Went down to chow and when they called it, I went up to the top of the hill to watch and let St Francis work the door and do the pat searches. That messed him all up. He likes to work the hill and when he was a little late getting out there, I took his spot just to frost his cookies a little bit. It worked. Heh. Heh.

He likes getting under my skin so much I figured I'd get under his for a change. And it worked wonderfully.

So after all of the movements I go up to get the list and the bag that goes with it. The list has the names of everybody on our shift and spots for their personal cuff numbers, the cuff serial numbers and the number off the bottom of their can of pepper spray. The bag has two cans of WD-40 and some pretty nasty oily rags.

I'm guessing that this detail has a two pronged reason behind it. One is to make sure that everybody has their personal cuffs and pepper spray on them. And the other is that it gives them an opportunity to have their cuffs serviced once every three months.

And I actually did the service part. Anyone whose cuffs were stiff got a good shot of WD-40 and a good workout to make sure they move freely again. There are people here who have been here for years and never once used their personal cuffs on an inmate. Or ever sprayed anybody.

That boggles me. Even though I have been out of the Hive for over six months now, I have used my cuffs at least half a dozen times since then. I haven't sprayed anybody since then, but I came close twice. And I've only been here close to eight years and I am on my fifth (?) can of pepper spray now.

But I guess that's beside the point.

So I took off with my little bag and my little list and moseyed around the camp and managed to check off close to half of the people on the list before I got stopped by count time. I had covered all of B-side but about four people who were busy and most of A-side except for the same couple of people who were busy and had one house left to finish when Sgt Uncle T called me on the radio and had me pack it in for the night.

I spent the last forty minutes of shift sitting on an empty yard.

Man! If they'd let me do that every night.......

I'd be bored to tears in a week. It was fun once but that was enough, thank you.

Tomorrow is Opposite Day. Or not. It's hard to be sure.

I Should Think These Things Through

A couple of months ago, I was somewhere working with Sgt Homer and he talked me in to agreeing to be on the Institutional Fire Brigade.

I'm not sure how he did that, other than just asking me nicely and saying he was in a bind. The only two people on the fire brigade on our shift are Homer and Sgt McGiggles. So if there was a fire or even just a fire alarm and neither one of them was on shift, they either had to call one of them or the Fire and Safety guy at home and have them come in and check it out before they could clear the building safe again.

It was a pain. So I said "Okay, I'll do it."

Then a few weeks ago there was an application sent out through the email that I didn't see. A more formal application for fire brigade. Sgt Archer told me about it and printed me a copy. I filled it out and sent it in and promptly forgot about it.

I figured it would go the way that all the other training I had ever put in for went. They would say "Yeah! You'd be good at that! We'll get you scheduled for the training right away!" And I would never hear from them again.

The way I looked at it, occasionally applying for training worked out as a good way to keep the training people from bothering me for a few months at a whack. It has been a flawless system up to this point.

Up to this point.

Today I came in and the Fire and Safety guy was in the assembly room. He turns to me and says "Hey, you have been accepted on the Institutional Search and Rescue Squad."

I just raised a somewhat confused looking eyebrow and said "What?"

Apparently somebody thought that just having a mere Fire Brigade sounded weak or something so they changed the name to the Institutional Search and Rescue Squad.

That sounds like a heck of a lot more work than what I originally signed up for. I wanted to ask "Will we get our own helicopter, some climbing gear and maybe a couple of those inflatable Zodiac boats and cool jumpsuits with lots of pockets?"

Hell, I'd settle for a uniform that wasn't as flammable as a strike-anywhere match.

But I reigned in my combined enthusiasm/sarcasm (enthusicasm?) and just said "Okey dokey."

He said "The list has been approved, so basically you are on the team as of now."

"With no training?" I asked, knowing full well what his answer would be.

"Yup." he nodded. "We'll get you some training schedule here in the next couple of weeks."

Yeah...... That seems oddly familiar....

So I am officially on the Fire Brigade. Or the Institutional Search and Rescue Squad. Or whatever they are calling it this week. I know just enough that if they called me in I could look at whatever is ablaze and say officially "Yep. That thing's on fire. You should really do something about that."

I'm just too agreeable sometimes. I need to work on that.

So your lineup for this weekend is as follows: Saturday is a double header consisting of National Answer Your Cat's Question Day and National Blonde Brownie Day. Blonde brownies? Like Girl Scouts only younger or what? Who knows?

Sunday is a triple header with National Handwriting Day, National Pie Day, and Measure Your Feet Day. Measure. Your. Feet. Really.

And Monday is a day we have all been waiting for all year... Eskimo Pie Patent Day! Huzzah!