They called an ID number and bunk number. It was me. “They called my number! I’m getting out.” I said my goodbyes and gave away my belongings. Those consisted of fish kits, juiceboxes, peanut butter, toilet paper. Prison currency. Now I get to go back into the real world and die for US monies. Currency was king, you had to go through it to get things you wanted. But prison taught me to get what I needed. No need to impress anyone in there. Money’s hard earned. You traded time and patience for it. Those things above all were of the most valuable things a man had, had he anything at all.
The worst part about prison is processing. The sheriffs don’t do a thing until there’s a shift change. You could be waiting in a kennel, er I mean cell, for hours. Since this was California, you waited with about 36 other people. Sharing stories, talking about what part of what they hailed from, all that stuff I couldn’t care about at first because I went in a selfish twat. All I knew was we were all being fucked. Shift changes took an hour somehow, but we were hopeful because we knew something was going to happen and soon. We waited, in our billowing stench among stuffed toilets for something to happen, to change. And it took inhuman hours to. Usually we’re just plopped in the next processing cell only to repeat the waiting again. Like 5 more times. It’s not like the movies where you get a prison cell and a bed after getting arrested. No. You’d be lucky to get a bed. You won the lottery if you got a steel bench to sleep on with like 35 other people all playing the same lottery. And that bench is right next to the toilet. No pillows. No blankets. One roll of toilet paper for 48 others. If you had to go and the TP was gone, cause some jerk is using the roll as a pillow you better speak up. Processing…
Most of us being processed were mostly from traffic crimes. DUI’s, unpaid tickets, evading police, wet reckless, etc. We were all innocent. Of course we were. Every head in jail made the private owners of the prisons 180 bucks, and the unaware think prison overpopulation is a sign of crime increase. The Sheriffs dept. set out to make our lives more difficult, purposefully! Damn Fuzz! Pigs! Fuzzy pigs! They entertain themselves by mocking us. They treat us like we’re still free men, but just enough to the point where they remind you your ass is in jail. I earn them 180 bucks and I get to suck peanut butter from a ketchup packet for lunch. Those bastards, thumbs up their asses, and if their thumbs aren’t up their asses, you can bet a superior thumb is. To protect and serve! Balls! They didn’t protect and serve us. No they cruelly and unusually punished us. What’s worse is they’re not even doing it on purpose. They’re so used to doing it that way from learning from the assholes that trained them, that they don’t have the will to even consider treating prisoners like humans.
I paid good time for prison! I didn’t pay for a good time in prison. Patience is relative to time. In stagnant time, patience weighs a lot more and only gets heavier. You either start building mental muscle carrying it, for your own sake, or you turn into one of those assholes that start spitting at everything. Best to build muscle and learn how to make the situation a little more pleasant for everyone in the same hole. I never knew one that didn’t like a good laugh. And if they didn’t, they’re faking because they’re clenching their buttholes from fear of rapings they teach you in school and life about prison and the outside world. Men fear rapings just as much as women. They’re just too macho to get it up through the butt to the brain. Crack a joke! It’s free! If the people that run the world take your will to poke fun at the shittiness, (pun fucking intended) well you’re just wasting your time waiting to going back to being free. You make sure to keep your will close by. It’ll pull you through some hard times if you let it.