Friday, July 30, 2010:
I’ve had two experiences this week that depict the two sides of human nature that we deal with from corrections officers.
In the first incident, I’m standing outside the Unicor factory waiting to go back to work after lunch. The heat index is nearing 115 degrees and I’m already soaked with sweat from just standing in the sun.
So I take one step off the sidewalk to cool off under the shade of a tree. It’s a bit cooler with a light breeze blowing on my wet skin.
Then three Unicor foremen come walking down the sidewalk headed back to the factory. One of them, Mr. Jerkins, who occasionally engages me in conversation, asking me what I plan to do when I get out and such, while also pointing out to me which of my fellow inmates need a bullet in the back of the head, says to me, Get off MY grass.
I don’t know whether he’s serious or not. I guess I’m not supposed to be standing on the grass, but that rule is not strictly enforced. Besides, I’m not the only one.
So I ask, It’s your grass?
to which he replies, Yeah it’s my grass. I’m a taxpayer.
It’s no big deal really. It’s not inhumane treatment and I’ve seen and heard of much worse abuse from correctional officers. It’s just a subtle form of psychological manipulation. He singled me out to remind me of where I… stand. (Sorry for the pun.)
We have numerous petty rules, mostly just to remind of us who’s in charge, and I try to obey them all only because I don’t like being talked to like this. I don’t like being treated like a kid.
In the second incident, one of my co-workers, a big, corn-fed twenty-five year old from Illinois, whom I happen to like a lot, missed breakfast because of the way our schedule is structured in the mornings.
We are let out of our cells at 6 am, and, depending on what order our unit eats, we’re usually not let out of the unit for breakfast until about 7 am.
Those of us employed by Unicor have to be at work by 7:30, so this gives us thirty minutes, more or less, to eat, pick-up or drop-off laundry, and make it to work.
Picking up laundry and eating both usually involve standing in long lines, so sometimes it’s impossible to do all this in the time allotted to us. So we have to choose to wear dirty clothes, miss breakfast, or be late for work.
Three write-ups for being late to work result in termination from Unicor, so that’s not really an option.
Anyway, my buddy skips breakfast, waits in line for his laundry bag, which turns out to be lost, and is still late for work. 0 for 3.
He tells Mr. Jerkins what happened. He doesn’t care. Tough shit, now get to work. So he goes to Mr. Mercy. Mr. Mercy stops what he’s doing and goes to the chow hall to get something for my buddy to eat.
This is unheard of, and Mr. Mercy could get into a lot of trouble, so he has me help him come up with some sort of ruse to hide what he’s doing from the prying eyes of the other inmates, who will snitch out of sheer hatred and jealousy.
We go into an office and Mr. Mercy acts like he’s counseling me while my buddy ducks out of sight to eat.
I think a prison job is a perfect test of a person’s character, humanity and compassion.
How would you treat people who are in a position lower than you? It would depend on how you look at why these people wound up in prison. Are we just disadvantaged and unfortunate? Did we just make some serious mistakes and bad choices; or are we just pieces of garbage who deserve to be treated as less than human?
And what will be the results of that treatment? Will it help to make us better, or worse, or have no effect?
If you treat me like an animal for twelve years and then release me back into society, what will you get? How will society benefit from that?
If I’m a tree producing bad fruit, do you punish me by withholding water and sunshine, or do you treat me with nourishment and care? Or do you just chop me down?
Read my book Running Away From Me.
Buy Running Away From Me as a Kindle format ebook.
