Since my release from the box, or confinement, I have been housed in what's called the orientation dorm. New fellas from off the street, fresh to prison come to this dorm. Here they go through orientation. Watching movies about prison life.....How to identify a poisonous spider bite. What staff infection looks like. How to try and avoid prison rape. You know....regular stuff every prisoner should know.
So the dorm is what's called an open-bay dorm. A large common area with bunks. Then a day room area with tables and benches to play games and watch TV in.
The shower and bathroom area are also open. Eight toilets sit along one wall. No dividers and there's about an arms reach from the next stool. Makes it easier to pass the morning paper or loan toilet-tissue to your neighbor. Though I am not a big fan of being sandwiched between two wet swinging dicks in the shower, I noticed I can now watch TV while I take a dump. Not only that, but it's basically front row seating.
Before I went to confinement I was housed in two-man cells. A door closes on your room and you have privacy from the other jack-asses you live with.
Now, I find myself in open-bay housing sleeping in a whole room full of really dumb people. One could even wonder if this is some further form of punishment. I'm quite comfortable in the box. Once again, it's two-man cells that I find best for me. Perhaps they figured the best punishment was to stick me with orientation inmates.
My mother asked me how I liked the open-bay dorm. Mom likes to know things.
There's just no respect between these guys. Men that have been in prison grow to respect another man's space. These new guys carry on a conversation right over your head to their home-boy three bunks over. Yelling through you as if you're not even there. I usually just put my ear buds in and crank up my music. I can see their lips moving, but can't make out what they're saying.
Then there's the other group of dudes fresh to prison. All they can think about is getting all tattooed while they are in. They get all excited when they see me. Wanting to talk about tattoos. Usually, they have none, see how many I have, and think I must be the guy to talk to. So, I have to explain to them that I have 99 problems and a tattoo is not one of them. In other words, I let them know D.O.C is all up my ass already and I don't need the added stress of being marked as the tattoo guy.
Yes, I have a lot tats....I tend to get tattoos, but I do not give them. I draw....with an ink pen. And then I send my art home. I get money. I don't need to draw shit for these guys. Still...they bug me. Every time I draw, someone asks. I have nearly 200 pieces of art on the Judicious Jailbird art gallery. I don't have any interest in drawing the silly bullshit these guys ask for.
These days I remind myself that once upon a time I was new to prison life. There was a time I was a gung-ho kid that wanted to get a bunch of tats before I went home. Now, I'm a heavily tattooed man that just wants to go home.
Given time these guys will change too. It's all a joke to them now. Let them do a few years and see where they're at. I look around me and realize there are a lot of hard lessons to be learned by the guys around me. Well....nothing like a front row seat at the school of hard knocks.....
1 comment:
the term "take a dump" is one of the grossest ever. Next to "sitting on a turd," which was also featured on this blog. Clean up your poop talk, young man.
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