Scottie is Going Home

So Mike comes over to my bunk and says, “Hey Scottie, I think it’s about time to write a piece about going home.” 

To which I reply, “Shit!”

That was two days ago and tonight is my deadline.  It feels like high school all over again (14 years later).  …Term paper due and I’m just getting started.  Ahh – the beauty of procrastination – there’s so much joy in crunch time.  I am now down to 57 days as I write this, and encouraging enough, it is going rather swiftly. 

I never thought I’d be asking myself from behind prison walls, ‘What am I going to wear?’  Ha Ha!  That’s funny because for the last ¾ of a decade, I’ve been wearing a rotation of 3 pairs of blue pants with a white stripe down the leg, 3 scrub-style shirts with a chest pocket, and let’s not forget the whites.  OMG!  “The whites” should be more like the yellows or the tans.  Laundry here is, shall we say… uh, bogus.  I have 3 “white” t-shirts with permanent sweat stains in them, 3 pairs of “white” boxer shorts, that after 2 or 3 washes have absolutely no elastic to keep them up, and lastly, 3 pairs of “white” socks that have numerous holes in the toe area and, like the boxers, absolutely no elastic.  You get the picture?

Well, being that I’m getting closer and closer to the “real world,” I now have to decide what I’m going to wear.  It still amazes me how many little things we sometimes take for granted back here.  I mean, I’m so used to the idea of being able to choose the alternative at meal time (the alternative, for those who don’t know, is a secondary choice, usually beans and plain noodles, as a substitute to the main course).  I’m afraid I may offend my family at the dinner table by asking for the alternate.  “What’s for chow tonight?  …Meatloaf??  Can I get the alternate?”  GASP! 

Or what about when it’s time to take a shower?  Do I do like I’ve been doing in here?  …Set up my soap and rag by the shower and tell whoever’s in there to “tighten up, I’m next?”  I don’t think that will work out too well.  So many things to deal with.  Even like super personal stuff like using the toilet.  I’m so used to sitting shoulder and knee to one guy on my left and one guy to my right in the shit jacket that I’m afraid I may be lonely in a private bathroom. 

And let’s not forget money.  In here, a Ramen noodle soup is currency.  Just one package of soup can buy any of the following:

1.       1.  Three cigarettes,

2.       2.  A stamped envelope,

3.       3.  Someone to make your bed on a sheet day,

4.       4.  Any main course at chow time,

5.       5.  Various radio/headphone repairs,

6.       6.  Minor stitch jobs on holey socks, shorts, or tennis shoes.

…The list goes on and on.  Soups are like gold. 

I can see it now:  I’m at the gas station getting $5 in gas and a pack of smokes, trying to pay with a case of chicken-flavored Ramen.  Yeah – that’ll work!

Anyway, so much to think about as I approach my E.O.S. date (End of Sentence), and these were just a few I’ve pondered over the last couple days.  Believe me, it’s gonna be a long time coming before I forget the people I call friends back here.  All the other crap – it’ll fade – but these guys, Mike, Mack, Lance, and H.A., they’re like family.  I’m gonna miss ‘em.  Promise to keep ya’ll posted and soon I’ll be able to help support my local felons too!

-Scottie