Fire On The Line

Houdini

George came into the Infirmary screaming. He wasn't screaming about the disposable razor handle he'd surreptitiously lodged into his urethra, but the fact that he was being restrained and that we were going to remove the object.

George: "Motherfuckers! Let me go! I didn't do anything wrong!"

George is one of our 'unstable' inmates, and among other things, he enjoys sticking things into his penis. As with the other guys who are into penile penetration, I call George a 'pipe-fitter'. He'll put anything in there. Pens, batteries, fingers, it doesn't matter. I guess he gets some form of sexual gratification from it. Or maybe he just likes pissing us off. Either way, he shouldn't have had a razor in his cell in the first place.

During a routine strip-search an officer discovered the razor handle in his penis, so he told him to remove it. When George refused, the officer's only option was to transport him to the Infirmary and have the medical people extract it. George wasn't happy with the decision and it took four officers to subdue him and load him onto a stretcher.
After much screaming and cursing the handle was successfully removed. I then took him to an isolation cell to monitor him for the night. The cell was of standard size with bars instead of a door so we could easily observe the inmates' activities. It contained just a bunk, a blanket, and a toilet. We keep these cells pretty sparse so the inmates won't have much to mess around with or hide behind. Also, the inmates are usually stripped down to their underwear to prevent them from attempting suicide, but since George wasn't showing signs that he was suicidal I allowed him to keep his clothes.

George: "I never got any dinner. Can I have something to eat?"

Me: "Ok, here's a box-lunch but I need you to behave, alright?"

George: "Sure, what can I do in here?"

I went back to my office to start on the report, and an old nurse named Dorothy came in.

Dorothy: "He had that razor stuck in pretty far."

Me: "Yeah, I can't believe he could fit that in there."

Dorothy: "You think that's bad? He had an entire toothbrush stuck in there last time."

Me: "Ouch!"

Dorothy: "He just giggled the whole time. I think we should just let him do it until he splits the damn thing in half. Then he'll think twice about it."

Me: "I don't want to think about it anymore. It's giving me a stomach ache."

About an hour later I returned to check on George. He was sitting on his bunk eating some baby carrots from his box lunch.

Me: "How are you doing George?"

George: "I'm alright. I'm still pretty hungry though."

Me: "Well, you'll have to wait until breakfast."

George: "That's ok. I'm sure I'll find a way to entertain myself."

Me: "What do you mean?"

George: "Do you promise not to freak out if I show you?"

Me: "No... Don't play any games with me. If you don't show me I'll just come in there and find out for myself."

George: "Oh you're going to love this..."

As he said that he pulled down his pants and showed me his penis. I looked up to tell him I wasn't interested in his worn out dick, but then something caught my eye. The color wasn't right.

I slowly lowered my eyes again and noticed a little speck of orange at the tip. When I met George's eyes, he had a funny grin on his face. Like he'd just let me in on a major secret that he was barely able to contain.

Me: "Is that...? Don't tell me... That isn't what I think it is... Is it?"

George: "Yep! It's a carrot!"

He said it so cheerfully that I had to look again to make sure we were talking about the same thing.

Me: "Jesus Christ George! I thought we had a deal? You said you were going to behave."

George: "Well, what can I say? I'm an inmate."

He had a point.

Me: "Any chance you'd remove that so we won't have to do it for you?"

George: "No, and I'll just find something else to stick in it anyway. You can't stop me."

I thought about just leaving him that way. I really didn't think a baby carrot would to do much harm. Maybe he'd just get tired of waiting and take it out himself. I think George could tell that I might not play his game, so he upped the odds and produced a small piece of plastic from his pants pocket. Then he began cutting on his arms with it.

Me: "George, I need you to stop doing that. Just toss me the piece of plastic and we'll leave you alone."

Unfortunately I don't think he wanted to be left alone. George apparently likes attention.

Me: "George, I'm ordering you to hand over the plastic. If you refuse we'll take it from you, remove the carrot, and then we'll put you on the restraint board for the rest of the night. (The restraint board is a flat backboard that has multiple straps and cuffs to immobilize an inmate and prevent him from hurting himself.)

George just laughed and said, "We'll see." Then he started cutting one of his legs.

I grabbed a couple of officers and male nurses to assist me. We threw on our protective gear and slid open his cell door. He laid face-down on the floor and put his hands behind his back before we even touched him. After snapping cuffs on him, we hauled him into one of the examination rooms so the nurses could remove the carrot and check his cuts.

I didn't watch them remove the carrot. It made my penis hurt to even think about it. He was yelling and screaming the whole time but I think it was more for attention than any pain.

When they were finished one of the nurses informed me that the cuts were all superficial 'attention getters' and had stopped bleeding on their own. Then she showed me the carrot. It was about half an inch across and as long as my pinky.

Me: "How the hell did he fit that in there?"

Nurse: "Practice, I guess."

I asked a couple of other officers and a nurse to assist me in taking George back to his cell and placing him on the restraint board. A Lieutenant from one of the housing units arrived and asked us to brief him on the situation.

I didn't know Lt. Puck very well but I'd heard a couple of unflattering stories about him. I gave him a chance anyway and filled him in as we escorted George from the Infirmary. When we got to his cell, I grabbed the restraint board and laid it on the floor. While I was directing the other officers on how to secure George onto the board, Lt. Puck stepped in.

Lt. Puck: "Hey Hadley, I'll handle it. I've done this before."

Me: "Ok Boss, have at it."

I don't claim to be an expert at using the restraint board (I had only seen it used once before), but as I watched Lt. Puck fumble with the various straps and restraints I suspected that he really didn't know what he was doing. When he was finally finished I could tell that he'd gotten a few things wrong but it still looked pretty secure. One of the nurses checked the straps to ensure that George had adequate circulation to his extremities and then we locked his cell.

Most of the officers returned to their posts except for Lt. Puck who stuck around to flirt with one of the nurses. I guess rank does have its privileges. I got started on my report.

After a few minutes I figured I should check on George. Policy required that he remain under close supervision while he was on the board so I didn't feel comfortable leaving him alone for more than five minutes at a time. As I approached the cell I noticed that George was not on the board anymore. He was sitting on his bunk scratching his leg.

Me: "What the fuck George!? Why..."

Then I noticed that he wasn't scratching his leg. He was digging at it. I had heard that he sometimes cut himself with his fingernails and would dig until he hit a vein. Then he'd use the blood as 'war-paint' or to 'decorate' his cell.

I immediately called for another emergency response.

After a few guys arrived we began suiting up. Lt. Puck conveniently showed up after enough officers were prepped to handle the cell entry.

Lt. Puck: "You guys need any help?"

Me: "No, I think we have enough to do the entry."

Officer Hansen looked at me and whispered, "It's funny that it took him so long to show up when he was only a couple of rooms away."

We lined up at the door and Lt. Puck popped it open when were ready. As we rushed in George once again dived to the floor and placed his hands behind his back. I realized that even though George likes to hurt himself he doesn't like anyone else to hurt him. We held him down while a nurse checked and bandaged the hole he had made in his leg.

With that completed, we placed George back on the restraining board. I had learned from the Lieutenant's mistakes and thought I knew what to do differently this time. Lt. Puck had other ideas and insisted on doing it himself again, with George taunting, "I thought you said you knew what you were doing last time .You can't stop me from getting out."

Fifteen minutes later I was calling another emergency response, while I watched a once-again unrestrained George calmly pick at the hole in his leg.

George: "Nobody can keep me locked up. I've got powers and shit."

Me: "Why are you doing this? Wouldn't you rather be back at your unit, watching TV and hanging out with your buddies?"

George: "No, that's boring... I'd rather mess with you."

The hole in George's leg had gotten substantially larger and was steadily dripping blood. The nurse walked in and put another bandage on it. He started to warn George to leave it alone but he quickly realized the futility of it and walked away. Just as I was about to fasten the first restraint on the board, Lt. Puck arrived and took over.

Me: "Hey Lieutenant, I think you're getting the straps wrong. That's why he's getting out."

Lt. Puck turned and gave me a look that said, "Shut the fuck up!"

I decided not to hassle him any further so I sat back and watched as he put the straps and restraints on George again.

George: "Are you sure you know what you're doing? I've never had such an easy time getting out of this thing."

Lt. Puck: "You're not getting out this time."

George: "Sure I am and you're going to look like a god-damn moron for fucking this up again."

Lt. Puck: "Shut the fuck up! You better watch your mouth or..."

George: "Or what? You'll spank me and take away my birthday? You really are an idiot. There isn't anything you can do or say to me that hasn't been done a thousand times before. I'm immune to this shit. It's a game! IT'S A FUCKING GAME!"

Lt. Puck finished up and stormed out of the cell.

Even though I don't really like the Lt. I could understand his frustration. In 'The Good Old Days' we could have beat George to death and nobody would have even raised an eyebrow. Nowadays inmates have rights, and free lawyers, and civilian representation groups to catch even the slightest abuses. I'm not saying that there aren't cases of officers assaulting inmates anymore, there are, but more and more often they are getting caught and punished for those kinds of mistakes.

We shouldn't be able to assault an inmate just for pissing us off but not having the option does change prison dynamics. It can be pretty hard to keep the convicts in line when they don't fear you. Worse, an inmate with no interest in keeping any of the privileges that motivate most inmates to behave is at best a waste of resources and at worst deadly.

With George strapped down for the third time, I thanked the officers who had assisted, and Hansen yelled out as he left, "See you in fifteen minutes!" I'd started calling George 'Houdini' in my mind, and soon thought it might not be a bad idea to check in on him. As I walked up to his cell I noticed that he was wriggling and straining at the restraints. I was about to tell him to stop when I realized that I had an opportunity to figure out his escape method.

I peeked around the corner and watched as he wormed his way around and slowly worked the chest strap over his head. Then he sat up and used his teeth to undo one of the leather hand restraints. Once that was done he used his free hand to undo the other straps.

I stepped back out of view for a minute so he wouldn't know I had watched him and then I walked up to his cell. He sat on his bunk and worked at the hole in his leg. A steady stream of blood ran down his calf.

Me: "Well this is it, George. You're not getting back out again."

George: "Hahaha! You guys are so fucking stupid. Just give up."

Me: "I would leave you alone, but you need to stop cutting yourself."

George: "It's my body and I'll do what I want with it."

Given that George likes to paint his cells and body with blood, I really didn't feel like letting him have his way.

Me: "Normally I wouldn't care what you do to yourself, but you're under my supervision and I can't allow you to harm yourself. I know what you do when you are allowed to cut yourself."

He looked up at me knowingly.

The other officers arrived a few moments later.

Hansen: "Well, isn't this a shock!"

Me: "Where's our favorite Lt?"

Hansen: "Surprisingly he found something really important to do. He sends his best wishes."

As we rushed the cell and removed George, he talked shit, laughed, and tried to flick blood at us. We hauled him to the Doctor on duty so he could stitch the hole in his leg. George was still defiant, "I don't know why you're bothering. I'm just going to rip them out." With fresh stitches and a bandage, he was back in his cell. Then we laid him on the board.

George: "Where's that dumb-ass Lieutenant? I want to watch him fuck this up again."

Me: "He isn't here. I'm doing it this time."

George: "This should be fun."

First I secured George's legs. He didn't resist at all. Then I did his arms. He just laughed and said that I was tickling him. When I put the strap across his chest I ran it under his arms instead of over them. He immediately started telling me that I was doing it wrong. As he got louder I realized that he was panicking. He knew that I had caught on to his trick.

George: "Hey man! I promise that if you let me out I won't be any more trouble."

Me: "You lied to me before. I'm not going to trust you now."

George: "But I was just playing with you. I'm serious now."

Me: "I was serious the whole time. It seems you fucked up, George."

George: "But I'm claustrophobic! I can't be trapped in this thing!"

Me: "Then don't do the kind of stupid shit that gets you put into it!"

After the nurse checked the restraints a final time we left George alone to think about his situation. He didn't escape again that night.

I finally released him a few hours before morning when he agreed to start taking his meds again. I found out from Nurse Dorothy that George is pretty normal when medicated. He was then transferred back to the psych housing unit, a.k.a. The Fun House, where he could run and play with all of the other criminally insane boys.

Inmates who suffer from severe mental illnesses make up a significant percentage of the population housed within US prisons. While we are victims of their crimes they are victims of their minds. I'm not saying they are innocent or that they shouldn't be incarcerated, but I do take their conditions into account when determining how to handle them. In any case, it's a sad situation.

Women in Prison, Part 2

I'm not sure why I came back for my second shift in the women's facility. I could have called in sick and never returned, but that would have been letting the female inmates beat me. I decided that it couldn't be much worse than my first day there. At least I thought I was prepared for most of their games this time.

I ran into Officer Cunningham, who looked exhausted, at the front door.

Cunningham: "Are you my relief?"

Me: "Yeah, you seem beat."

Cunningham: "I just worked a shift with Tracy. She's working a double and covered Lisa's shift last night. I couldn't get her to do shit over the last eight hours! Good luck."

Then she tossed me her keys and stepped out the door.

I walked onto the block and did my best to ignore the catcalls, but a few caught my attention.

"I heard you found Trudy's little friend! Did it scare you officer?"

"Hey Offica Hadley! Wanna see what I can do wit a mop handle?"

I did my best to shut out their voices and walked to the control room, where I found Officer Tracy reading her book. She glanced up at me.

Tracy: "Oh... You're here again?"

Me: "Yeah... Unfortunately."

Tracy: "Well, I hope you're ready to work today. We've got Consuela Trujillo back."

Why in the hell was she asking me if I was ready to work? I did all of the work yesterday. How could she expect me to do more? Also, why should I care about Consuela?

Me: "Who's Consuela?"

Tracy: "She's one of our level one's [Maximum Security Inmate]. She's pretty famous around here. I'm surprised you've never heard of her."

Me: "Since I never work with women I'm not really in the loop. Why is she famous?"

Tracy: "Oh... She's just a bit of a problem child... Nothing we can't handle."

I scanned the corkboard where we keep pictures of all the inmates that live on the unit and there she was looking back at me. Dark hair and brown eyes with a thin face and a pouting lower lip. She looked like she used to be attractive but too much hard living had put a certain harshness into her features.

I turned back to Tracy.

Me: "So what do we need to do now?"

Tracy: "Huh? Well... I only had 8 hours off yesterday and I'm working a double today. Is it... Is it ok if you kind of run the show today? I'm beat!"

I guess there's nothing new there.

Me: "Just tell me what needs to be done and I'll try to do it, ok?"

Tracy: "Ok."

Then Tracy picked up her book and did her best to be unavailable.

Since I had worked there the day before I figured that I'd have to do things pretty much the same as yesterday.

I glanced into Section One where we keep the level one, maximum security inmates. They're a noisy bunch but they really didn't cause any trouble the day before. I hoped that it would go the same today.

I started letting the inmates in the other 3 sections out one section at a time so they could shower and take care of business. Almost immediately a line formed outside the control room again.

Me: "Hey Tracy what do you think they- Oh... Shit! Not maxi pads again!"

Tracy: "You didn't think that it just lasts one day did you?"

Me: "No, I just... I... Goddamn it!"

Tracy: "They're still under the counter."

Ten minutes later I was regretting coming back. I should have known better.

Just as I finished handing out the last pad the control point opened movement for school and work. The Section One inmates rarely get to go anywhere. Sections Two and Three are receiving and orientation (R&O) sections. They are considered high risk, so they are restricted to the housing unit for most activities. That left Section Four, a general housing section; they're allowed to attend school and go to work.

With the Section Four inmates gone we let some of the R&O inmates out into the mini-yard. The mini-yard is much smaller than the main yard and doesn't allow the inmates to mix with inmates from other housing units. Once that was done the day went by pretty slowly. I spent most of my time sorting mail and doing some work on the computer.

Suddenly there was a loud bang from Section One. I grabbed Tracy and we ran there to find most of the inmates shouting and banging on their doors. I couldn't understand a thing they were saying but after a few seconds I pieced together that something was happening in cell 403-- Consuela's cell.

I looked inside her door and saw a nude, slightly overweight girl matching the corkboard picture standing on her bunk. She was bleeding from her head and had some scrapes and bruises on various parts of her body.

As I turned to Officer Tracy to ask her to take a look, Consuela suddenly did a front-flip off of her bunk and landed on her head. The sound of her head hitting the concrete made a sickening smack. I figured that she was knocked unconscious but after a few seconds she got up and climbed back onto her bunk. She looked like she was preparing to jump again so I called out to her.

Me: "Jesus Christ! You're going to kill yourself!"

Consuela: "That's tha plan motha-fucka!"

Me: "Why don't you come over here and talk to me for a second?"

Consuela: "Why don'choo come in here and eat me?"

She then reached down and spread her lips open and began to gyrate her hips.

I turned to Tracy with what was most likely a huge 'what the fuck?' look on my face.

Tracy: "She probably got bored. She just likes the attention."

Me: "She jumps off the bunk and lands on her head just to get attention? Jesus!"

Tracy: "It's not as bad as it looks. She's been doing this for years. She's a pro."

I turned back just in time to watch her flip off her bed again but this time she missed her mark a little and landed on the top of her head. The smack was definitely a lot louder. I realized that on her previous jumps she landed on the back of her head so her shoulders took a lot of the impact. This time it was 100% on her head and she wasn't getting up. She wasn't even moving so we popped the door open and walked in to check on her.

I checked her pulse and made sure she was still breathing while Tracy called for a medical response. I evaluated her head injury. She was bleeding but since even small head wounds bleed a lot I wasn't too concerned. I decided that I'd just support her head and neck until the EMTs arrived.

After a couple of minutes Consuela's eyes fluttered open and she immediately looked at me.

Consuela: "I... I've got a present for you."

Me: "What are you talking about?"

Consuela: "I've got some'en special for you. Jus stick a finga in my pussy."

Me: "No thanks. I think I'll pass."

Tracy: "What do you have in your vagina, Consuela?"

Consuela: "Jus a lil present fo this sexy cop."

Tracy: "I need to know what you have in there."

Consuela: "I'm not telling. It's a surprise. Why don'cha jus reach in and find out."

Tracy and I made eye contact and enough was said in that look to know that neither of us wanted to find out what she was hiding in there.

Finally the medical team arrived and as they loaded her onto the stretcher she began to yell, "Stop moving me! My pussy hurts! Somebody please see what's in there!" One of the EMTs turned to me.

EMT: "Do you have any idea what she's talking about?"

Me: "I'm not sure, but whatever you do don't stick your finger in her. Wait until you can get an x-ray or something."

Consuela looked over at us and began to cackle. After a few seconds she stopped laughing and got a pouty look.

Consuela: "Are you scared of my pussy Officer Hadley?"

Me: "Yes, Consuela... Yes, I think I am."

As the EMTs wheeled her away she began to cackle again.

I turned to Tracy for her opinion but she was already walking back toward the control room. When I caught up to her she told me that she couldn't write the report since she had arthritis. Funny, it didn't seem to stop her from holding her book for the next three hours.

Later, I got a call from the Infirmary. Consuela's head injury was minor and they expected her to be returned to the unit by the next day. Then the nurse went on to tell me that they had found three small razor blades from a disposable razor in her vagina. She said that she'd been hiding them there for two days. When they asked her why she put them in there she said that she was hoping to convince a male officer to have sex with her. She hates men, especially male officers.

And that is why I'd never ever have sex with a female inmate. Not that it's particularly tempting. I have no desire to even touch their rancid bodies and to top it off it's completely unethical. But a little fear goes a long way, too.

I thought that working with women would be much simpler than working with men since they are so weak but that just wasn't the case. They are manipulative, compulsive and completely insane. Working with them totally fried my nerves, which is why that was the last time I ever worked in a female housing unit.

The Fun House

As I walked through the front door of Cell Block Four I was immediately overwhelmed by the sound. Over one hundred inmates were screaming, yelling, and howling at the same time. How did these guys get so riled up?

I looked around and spotted my partner for the evening, Officer Garand. Garand was a nice guy and we'd been friends for a few years, so at least I knew I had some competent help.

Me: "What in the hell is going on?"

Garand: "I don't know! I think the day shift gave them coffee."

Me: "Shit!"

I wasn't working in a 'normal' unit tonight. I was working a shift in 'The Fun House'. That's what we call the unit where we house all the mentally unstable inmates, and by mentally unstable I mean bat-shit crazy.

The Fun House is an entertaining place to work. The inmates are doped up on meds and are pretty mellow, but occasionally a guy will stop taking his pills and end up chatting with the light switches or talking to his pancakes. Sometimes the inmate will decide that he doesn't like what the light switch has to say or he's being threatened by his pancakes, so he'll flip out and start eating his own shit or cutting on himself with a sharpened piece of plastic he'd found.

I once watched a guy who had cut his abdomen open with a small piece of metal try to flush his own intestines down the toilet while he mumbled something about 'feeding the beast'. He was one of the extreme cases though. Most of the time we put them in a 'strip cell' when they get upset or become neurotic. A strip cell has had everything that could be potentially dangerous removed from it and has a camera mounted on the wall. The inmates are usually kept there nude with a special kind of blanket that is difficult to rip or alter so they can't hurt themselves. Then we wait them out and try to get them to take their meds.

Tonight we had 100 guys flipping out at the same time. A quick call to medical confirmed our fears. The guys that were covering the day shift forgot to take the coffee packets out of the meals and had made other mistakes that caused the inmates to become excited and upset.

It was explained to me that the caffeine in coffee doesn't mix well with some types of medication. Plus it's never a good thing to get mentally ill people worked up, which is what happens when you give coffee to people that haven't had any caffeine in months or possibly years.

The inmate's reactions were varied. Some just babbled and behaved abnormally, while others screamed and cried like the devil himself had come for them. Then there were the ones who go crazy because they don't want to be left out.

The only thing we could do was wait for the caffeine to wear off and keep a close eye on them. Eventually their meds would kick in. Garand and I decided to alternate checking the cells every fifteen minutes. I went first.

Some of the inmates seemed to be coming down already. That was a good sign since that meant that the others would be soon to follow. I had just starting to think that my shift was going to go pretty smoothly when I walked up to cell 301 and looked into the window on the door. The inmate was sitting on his bunk and jacking off. In prison it isn't uncommon to catch an inmate masturbating, but most inmates don't jack it until it bleeds. He wasn't gushing blood but it did have a pretty steady drip.

My attempts to get his attention failed so I keyed my radio and called for Garand to assist me.

Garand showed up a few seconds later and I showed him what was going on. He knocked on the door to get the inmates attention.

Garand: "Hey there! You look like you're doing some damage. You might want to take a break."

The inmate slowly turned his head toward us. "Huh?" He looked down, "Oh, yeah... I guess I am... Thanks." Surprisingly he stopped, pulled up his pants, and lay down on his bunk.

During this incident another crazy, inmate Jones, was yelling at us from his cell down the hall. He kept saying that he didn't like Officer Garand working on his block and that he would kick his ass if he didn't leave.

Jones: "I've got moves like Bruce Lee! I'll kick your ass you fucking cop!"

Me: "Why don't you like Garand?"

Jones: "That asshole pissed in my toothpaste!"

Garand: "I have no idea what you're talking about. Why would I urinate in your toothpaste?"

Jones: "Fuck you! I know you did it. They told me!"

Ah ha! The infamous 'they' that the crazies blame for everything.

Me: "Maybe 'they' lied to you?"

Jones: "Maybe you can suck my dick!"

Garand walked down to the cell.

Garand: "What's the problem? I've never even met you... Hey! Who left your cuff-port open?"

A cuff-port is a one-foot by six-inch waist high slot in the door that we use to handcuff and feed the inmates. They are usually locked shut and for some reason this one had been left open.

Garand reached down to close it when a hand holding a mug popped out and threw the contents up into his face. He stumbled away and when he turned toward me I thought he looked like he'd just been hit with a chocolate cream pie. It wasn't a pie though. He'd just been slimed. Realization crept into his eyes and he started gagging and yelling.

Garand: "What the..." [Heaving noises] "Oh my god!" [More heaving noises] "Somebody get me a towel! I think I'm going to... Blaaaaaah!" [Sound of puke hitting the floor]

Jones: "I told you I didn't want you here mother-fucker!"

I ran up to Garand and told him to go out to the yard to hose off. I then called for backup so we could take care of inmate Jones.

The officers arrived and started suiting up for a forced entry. I decided to chat with Jones a little to see if I could get him to surrender and cuff up. I quickly reached around and closed his cuff-port before I walked in front of his cell. When I looked into the window inmate Jones stood and smiled at me.

Me: "Jones, I need you to cuff up."

Jones: "No!"

Me: "I've got a bunch of guys getting ready to come in there to get you. You're coming out of there one way or another."

Jones: "Bring it on mother-fucker!"

I turned to the entry team and repeated what inmate Jones had said. Their eyes lit up in excitement. Most inmates give in at the last moment so having an inmate who is ready to go all the way is somewhat uncommon.

I turned back to Jones and watched as he poured the remainder of the 'slime' on his hands and then he reached into the toilet and grabbed some shit which he began smearing over his body.

I turned back to the entry team.

Me: "Hey guys, he's putting on his war paint. You might want to make sure you have all of your protective gear on."

Officer Johnson: "Jesus Christ! Of all the guys why do we get stuck with a shitter?"

I turned back to Jones.

Me: "This is your last chance. If you do not cuff up now we're going to come in there and get you. Are you willing to comply?"

Jones: "I'm willing to kick your ass!"

The five man entry team lined up at the door. The front guy, Johnson, held a large Plexan riot shield since he was the biggest and would be going in first. Two guys were designated to handcuff arms and the other two were going for legs.

Just as the team announced they were ready, I popped open the cuff-port and sprayed Jones with my OC spray. A good amount got him in the face and he started to try to wipe his eyes but his shit covered hands and arms didn't help much.

He seemed distracted so it was a good time to send the team in. I slid the cell door open and all five men rushed in at once. Johnson slammed into Jones with his shield sending Jones flying back until he bounced off the wall and fell face first onto the floor. The team pounced on him and quickly had him cuffed. They then hauled him out of the cell so he could be hosed off, evaluated and sent to an appropriate housing area.

The entry team seemed to have escaped most of the shit storm except one officer, Larsen, had a brown hand print on his crotch. Jones had tried to grab Larsen's crotch while he was putting handcuffs on him, but Johnson used his knee to apply a little more pressure to Jones' neck. That seemed to change his mind.

Once Jones was hauled off I walked out to check on Garand. He was standing on the grass soaking wet but he and another officer had managed to spray most of the shit off. He still looked pretty pale though. I started to tell him how we got the stupid bastard when he began heaving again so I decide to wait until later to fill him in on the details.

One of the worst parts was that Garand had to be checked for blood borne diseases since the body fluids had hit him in the face. I can't imagine the stress he probably went through while waiting for the results of the multiple blood tests he had to take. He was eventually given a clean bill of health though.

Incidentally, inmate Jones was convicted of assaulting an officer but since he's already serving a life sentence I don't think he really cares.

The Wedding

Inmates are allowed to marry while in prison. I don't know why we permit it, but if I was a woman who made the mistake of dating an inmate, I think I would at least wait until he got out of prison to tie the knot. Call it a get-out-of-prison incentive.

Sadly, it doesn't always work out that way.

Inmate Robert Lobo (from the 'Casanova' story) was on his fifth or sixth girlfriend when the love bug finally bit him, or so he claimed. It probably didn't hurt that the girl's family had quite a bit of money. I imagined her parents' reaction would be one of utter horror when they found out their daughter was not only dating an inmate, but marrying one. I got the memo approving Inmate Lobo's wedding a couple of weeks beforehand, and hoped for her sake he'd dump her before it happened.

On the day of the wedding Lobo's fiancée, Jezebel, was so excited she arrived almost an hour early-- wedding dress slung over shoulder, covered in a plastic dry cleaning bag. She was a fairly attractive girl; 'girl' being operative as she was only nineteen. As I've said before there are three types of women who fall for inmates; they are usually fat, ugly or dumb. This girl had to be the latter since she was svelte and obviously attractive. I fought to restrain myself from telling her that she was making a mistake. That she could do better and that this inmate was one of the worst users of women I'd ever seen, but I couldn't. We have rules against that sort of thing.

I honestly felt bad for her. She was getting married in an inmate chapel, behind fences and razor wire, without a honeymoon. They don't even get conjugal visits.

As the hour approached her family began to trickle in. They seemed well off, but also a little shady, like people you'd find at a Mafia funeral. Surprisingly, they appeared to be quite happy for Jezebel and kept telling her how wonderful it was that she was getting married. To this day I have no idea why they felt that way. Maybe she had cancer and this was her one shot at love before she died. I guess I'll never know.

We usually don't allow very many people into the inmate areas of the prison but weddings are an exception. By the time the Chaplain arrived there were close to twenty family members waiting to go in.

Chaplain O'Hare was a nice enough fellow but a little old and forgetful. He was technically an officer but didn't seem like he'd kept current on officer training. I reviewed the game plan with him so the operation would go as smoothly as possible. We discussed where family would be seated, where the bride would be and how we would deal with Inmate Lobo once he arrived. When we were ready, I escorted the bride and sat the family members in the chapel. We just had to wait for the groom to arrive from his cell block.

The ceremony was supposed to start at 1:00 pm. By 1:15 we still didn't have the groom so I called the block and asked the officer what was holding up inmate Lobo.

Me: "Is Lobo showing up for his wedding or should we just reschedule it to a day more suitable to his liking?"

Officer: "Hell, I don't know. I called for him over the loudspeaker three times. It's not like I'm his mommy. I'm not going to make him go."

Me: "Well, is he there or should we be concerned that we're missing an inmate?"

Officer: "He's here, but some of the other guys are saying he's busy."

I walked down to his cell block to find out what was going on. When I arrived I checked the housing list and saw that he was on the second tier, so I went up the stairs to his floor. I didn't even have to look for his cell. He was sitting in the common room watching TV and I caught his eye as I approached.

Me: "So, are you getting married today, or were you just planning on wasting everybody's time?"

Robert: "Hold on! The game's almost over and I have $20 riding on it."

Me: "You're telling me that a $20 bet is more important than getting married to the woman you love?"

Robert: "Jesus! Just give me five more minutes. Goddamn! It's like I'm married already."

Me: "No! You either come now, or it doesn't happen. In fact I'm going to write you up for wasting my time."

Robert: "Fuck, fuck, fuck! I have fucking money on this game!"

Me: "You realize gambling is against the rules and I could write you up for that as well, right?"

Inmate Lobo looked at me and slowly realized what he had done. He was so caught up in the game that not only had he delayed his wedding, but he also forgot that he wasn't supposed to get caught gambling. I gave him one more chance, if only to redeem this girl's pitiful wedding day.

Me: "Are you ready?"

Robert: "Yeah, let me grab my coat."

We finally arrived at the church around 1:45. Chaplain O'Hare told me the family members were impatient, but they immediately cheered up when the groom appeared. Inmate Lobo ran up to his bride and said, "Dang baby! I'm sorry! Those damn officers on the block wouldn't let me leave. They wanted to ruin our wedding."

Jezebel looked at me over her soon-to-be husband's shoulder with the frostiest glare I'd ever received in my life.

I just shook my head and indicated to the Chaplain that he should get started. He cracked open his Bible and the couple came forward.

Just as ceremony began, I received a call on my radio. I was needed elsewhere for a moment, and headed for the exit. I hesitated with my hand on the doorway, wondering if it was a good idea to leave the Chaplain alone with an inmate and twenty of his soon-to-be in-laws. I decided that he would be fine for ten minutes. He had a radio and was technically an officer. Everything seemed to be going smoothly so I opened the door.

I walked off trying to think of the fastest way to complete my new assignment.

Less than ten minutes later I returned to the church expecting to find a happily married couple and a joyful family. What I found instead was a perplexed looking Chaplain standing in the hallway outside the closed doors of the chapel.

Me: "What's going on? Why are you out here with the doors closed?"

Chaplain: "Oh dear! I just went out to my car to fetch the marriage license and when I returned I found the doors closed and apparently blocked."

Me: "Blocked? What the... Wait! You left the inmate and the visitors alone inside the chapel? What in the hell were you thinking?"

Chaplin: "Oh dear! I don't know. I just thought... Oh, I wasn't thinking!"

I grabbed my radio mic and called for backup; a few seconds later Officer Jackson came running through the door. I explained the situation and we began trying to kick the doors down. After a few tries, I stopped to listen for an idea of what was happening inside the chapel.

At first I thought a woman was injured and moaning in pain. Then I realized that it wasn't pain she was moaning about.

Me: "Shit! They're fucking!"

Jackson: "No fucking way!"

Chaplin O'Hare: "Oh Jesus!"

I pounded on the door again and demanded someone open it immediately. From the other side of the door I heard a woman say, "Just a minute! They're almost finished!"

I couldn't believe it. Was the family actually watching?

Officer Jackson and I began kicking the doors again, while other officers piled in through another set of doors on the opposite side of the chapel. I asked a couple officers to find something to break the doors down, when they suddenly swung open.

The family was standing at the back of the room, while the bride and groom redressed behind the altar. Inmate Lobo paused to give us a huge grin and two thumbs up.

A couple of officers quickly grabbed Lobo and ushered him out of the building. He was going to be in lock-down for a long time.

As I escorted the bride and her family out, they protested that the marriage needed to be consummated and that we were violating their rights. I informed them that they had broken so many rules that we could charge them with crimes. Instead we settled for giving Jezebel and her family lifetime bans from the prison. Inmate Lobo may have been married but he wouldn't be seeing his wife again any time soon.

When things settled down a bit, I enlisted some inmates to clean up the chapel. After a few minutes a creepy old inmate approached me holding a soggy tissue.

Inmate "I found this behind the altar. Do you want it for evidence? It might have some DNA on it."

Me: "What the...? No, I'm not touching that! Just throw it away."

Postscript

When I ran into Inmate Lobo a few months later, we had the following enlightening exchange.

Me: "So, how's your wife?"

Robert: "I left that bitch! Why would I want a wife that can't even come and visit me? Besides, she made me lose a bet."

Me: "Watching the game would have made a difference?"

Robert: "You're damn right it would have!"

Lessons Learned

We changed the rules after that fiasco. No more family members at inmate weddings.

A short time later Chaplain O'Hare decided to retire. I guess he realized that he was becoming a safety risk, or maybe it was just the embarrassment. Maybe after working in Corrections for over 30 years it was just time to hang up the uniform.

Women in Prison

I don't like working with female inmates. No, cross that--I hate it. I have such a dislike for female inmates that I've only worked two shifts in a women's facility.

Female inmates are nothing like male inmates. They don't follow the 'Code of Silence' like male inmates do. They love to tell on each other, they love to kiss up to the officers, and they loooooove to complain. Worst of all, they throw off my Prison Mojo. With male inmates I usually know what's going on and my internal compass points me in the right direction. A gang-banger looks and acts like a gang-banger. A child molester looks and acts like a child molester. My Prison Mojo is finely tuned enough that I can usually walk into just about any situation and know what I'm dealing with.

Not so with female inmates. One second they are sweet and innocent 'girls' who cry if you look at them funny. The next they are furious harpies willing to claw your eyes out. Some women earn reputations as more insane than the others, but that's never much comfort because each and every one of them has the potential to snap on you without warning.

My first experience came when I needed to work some overtime. The fates decided to fuck with me, and I was assigned to work in the female maximum-security unit. As the male inmates put it, "That's where they keep all them 'Super-Crazy Bitches'."

I was very apprehensive about this. I'd heard horror stories about male officers losing their jobs over a female inmate's accusation that he touched her inappropriately or intentionally looked at her in the nude. To top it off, the women always back each others stories-- true or not. As a result, all male officers need to be accompanied by another officer, preferably female, wherever he goes.

Upon stepping onto the block I was greeted with catcalls and whistles. The women peered at me through the small windows in their cell doors. I couldn't even see most of them and the ones I could see were just shadows silhouetted behind the glass. It was eerie. I'd heard that this was a standard occurrence for all new male officers as they arrived. What I didn't realize is that it would last all fucking day.

"Hey Officer, those pants seem to fit juuuust right!"

"I want joo to step into my cell Offica'! I'll show joo what a reeeeal woman can do!"

"Offica', I know's you want to fuck me, but choo have to let me fuck you in da ass wit a mop handle first! How's dat sound suga'?"

Now, before you start thinking that this is like that video 'Prison Sluts 3: The Escape from Dildotraz' I assure you that there is no such thing as an attractive female inmate. They may have been attractive before they came to prison, and I guess they might someday be attractive after they leave, but 99% of women in prison are completely repulsive. Their poor hygiene, dysfunctional personalities, and lack of intelligence conspire to make them ugly beyond belief. The weight gain that often occurs while in prison doesn't help either. It's quite frustrating to need an escort because some crazy bitch might decide that you actually intended to look at her nasty tits, and that the cry of, "Oh dear God, my eyes!" could have somehow been an exclamation of enjoyment.

After their relentless harassment I now have an understanding of how an attractive woman must feel. At first it's kind of nice to have so many women acting like they want you, but you know you don't want any of them, and you're not certain if they are being sarcastic or not. After awhile I started to feel like a piece of meat. It was... uncomfortable.

I finally made it to the control room where I met up with the other officer I'd be working with. Her name was Tracy. Officer Tracy was a fat old crow who didn't give a shit about anything. She was more than happy to just sit in the control room reading a romance novel instead of doing anything even remotely job related. I call officers like her 'Bodies'.

A Body is an officer who only does the absolute minimum to get by. They are usually assigned to a post of little significance because they would fuck up anything even remotely important. Fortunately, Bodies are a fairly rare occurrence. Unfortunately, they are sometimes assigned to posts they have absolutely no business working, such as a women's maximum-security unit.

Being the new guy I asked Officer Tracy what the order of the day was.

Me: "So Tracy, what do we need to do first this morning?"

Tracy: "Hmmmmm... Ugh... well, I'm just filling in here today. I don't know."

She turned back to her Danielle Steel novel.

Now I know that Officer Tracy has been working in the women's facilities for the last ten years, so that leads me to believe that she is completely full of shit. I decided to call her on it.

Me: "Tracy, how many times have you worked in this unit this year?"

Tracy: "Well... Why do you...? I... Oh, I don't know. A few times I guess."

Me: "Look Tracy, I've never worked here before. I've never worked with women before. How about a little help here?"

Officer Tracy glared at me, and after a few moments she slammed her book down. Then she said, "Well, it looks like I'll have to do everything today."

She stood up and punched a few buttons to let some inmates out of their cells to shower. Then she made a couple of announcements over the intercom system. After that she returned to her chair and picked up her book.

This was going to be a long day.

A herd of inmates had gathered at the section door and they were all pushing the intercom button. Unfortunately, every time I turned on the speaker I couldn't hear a thing, just a bunch of high pitched voices all babbling together.

I turned to Tracy and asked, "What do they want?"

Without moving her book she replied, "Oh, it's the 15th. I suppose it's that time of the month."

I had no idea what she was talking about, "What do you mean? Are they starting school or something?"

"No, they probably need sanitary napkins."

It took me a second, but I finally realized what she was saying.

"Ooooooh no! I'm not handing out maxi pads. Why don't you come over here and do it?"

Tracy just turned a page in her book and said, "They're in that box under the control panel."

I looked under the counter and saw an industrial sized box of super absorbent maxi pads.

Since Officer Tracy is just a Body, I realize I have two options. I can be like her and let the unit go to shit, or I can do my fucking job. I don't know why, but my work ethic won out. I walked over to one of the windows and opened the shotgun port so the 'women' could hear me, "Ok, who needs maxi pads?" I think I heard one of my testicles say to the other, "What the hell was that? Did our boy just say 'Who needs maxi pads'? What's going on up there?"

Nearly every goddamn one of them rushed for the window.

I've always heard that women who live together eventually get on the same cycle, but I'd never actually seen it. I handed out around 200 pads that day. Call me a chauvinist if you want, but it was humiliating.

Eventually the female maxi pad stampede abated, so I moved on to other duties.

After coaxing Officer Tracy from her chair I got her to accompany me while I delivered mail and did a couple of random cell searches.

I walked up to the first cell in the section and tossed the inmates' mail under the door. When I stood up I saw a horror of white flesh, varicose veins, and stretch marks. I quickly looked to the side and shielded my eyes. I turned to Tracy who didn't seem to be paying attention.

Inmate Saggy Tits: "Officer! How dare you look at me naked? I'm telling! Haha!"

Me: "I didn't look at you intentionally! Can you verify that for me Tracy?"

Tracy: "Huh? What happened?"

Inmate Saggy Tits: "Haha! I got you!"

Me: "She... never mind, just help me get this mail delivered."

I quickly made my rounds and delivered the mail without looking in the cell windows, all the while catcalls echoed through the section.

I considered just skipping the cell searches, but decided that I had to do at least one. I wasn't going to let a bunch of nasty women scare me off. I picked a cell at random and pulled the inmate out. She was a pasty white woman who must have weighed over 300 lbs. She started bitching in a high pitched whiny voice immediately.

Inmate Fatty: "Whyyyy do you have to bother meeeee? I wasn't doing anything wroooong. I'm going to files a grievance against yooooou."

I think I felt one of my teeth chip as I clenched my jaw.

Tracy just stood off to the side staring off into space.

Me: "Look, I've got to do random cell searches today. This will only take a second."

Inmate Fatty: "But whyyyyyyy? I didn't dooo anythiiiiiing!"

I glared at Tracy for a few seconds before her gaze wondered my way. I gave her my 'A little help please!' look.

Tracy: "Come over here and talk to me for a minute while Officer Hadley does a quick search."

Inmate Fatty: "Ooooh okaaaaaay."

Once Inmate Fatty waddled out of the way I walked into her cell and put on some latex gloves. First, I went through her laundry bag. Then I searched her locker. Finally, I moved to her bed. I felt around the top of the mattress and then I reached underneath. My fingers slid over something long and hard. Every fiber of my remaining innocence told me to just leave it alone, but the officer in me said to investigate.

I slowly extracted a broken broom stick that was over a foot in length. For a moment I felt relief until I noticed the build up of dried lotion and... stuff.

I dropped it on the bed and quickly walked out of the cell. I should have taken it with me since it is considered contraband, but I just didn't have much interest anymore. I only wanted to get away. I noticed that Tracy and Inmate Fatty were engrossed in a conversation, probably about Oprah or romance novels. I signaled to Tracy that I was finished and walked back to the control room.

The remainder of the day went by in a haze of catcalls, whining, and the smell of menstruation. I swear I could actually smell the women menstruating. If it were up to me I'd never return to that hellhole, but I was already scheduled to work another day there.