Chapter 7 - Evening Routine
Still Day 22
POP. POP. POP.
My eyes snapped open. Back to the grim reality that was incarceration.
I was trying to remember what I was dreaming about when the lock to my door opened with a POP. Saget quickly pushed his way out and the quiet cell was immediately flooded with the sound of 90 criminals racing to start their evening routines.
“Woo!” Saget yelled across the pod on his way out. “Hey Shorty, let me store box a soup!”
What the fuck does that mean?
Microwaves roared to life, warming cups of coffee. TV remotes became the subjects of petty arguments. Phone receivers were picked up and numbers were dialed. Chess pieces were set up. Cards were dealt. Commissary bags were brought out to tables. Like a high school cafeteria; the volume was turned up to 11.
It was 6:15pm and two fresh faces occupied the seats at the CO’s desk. All they had to do was survive for the next four hours and then they could ride out the rest of their twelve hour shift in relative silence.
I slowly made my way downstairs to join the fray, happy for the change of scenery, but overwhelmed by the chaos of it.
I wanted to use one of the eight phones in the pod, but all of them were currently occupied. I looked around for my chair — the one with 38-T written on the back of it in big letters. Cell 38. Top bunk. I was surprised to see it wasn’t where I left it, but instead it had been moved to Griffin’s table.
Griffin was sitting at the table going through a laundry bag full of commissary items. Each week we were allowed to order no more than 20 food items. I would always order 14 packs of ramen noodles, a tub of cheese, a bag of refried beans, and four bags of cookies. I could only just barely make it last a full week. We were on day six of the current commissary cycle, and Griffin’s bag was full of summer sausages, pepperoni slices, blocks of cheese, saltine crackers, a bag of chili, and a bag of chips.
Griffin looked up at me as I approached the table. “Hey, you wanna eat with us tonight?” he asked. So many questions entered my mind. Why do you want to eat with me? How do you have so much food left on day 6? What’s it going to cost me to join the table?
Griffin continued before any of these questions could reach my tongue. “You got two soups? That’s all we need,” he said.
“That’s all you need?” I asked in surprise. “Doesn’t feel like a fair contribution compared to what you’re bringing to the table.”
“Well now I see it differently,” he said in his slow southern drawl. “The way I look at it is I can sit here with a sausage in one hand, a block of cheese in the other, and I could take alternating bites like a chump. Or I could find four soups and make us a pizza. Clint already said he’d throw in two soups. You can get in on it too if you want.”
“I got two soups, but I’m waiting on a phone to open up,” I said.
“Go get the soups then. It’ll take me an hour to make the pizza. You can make your phone call and then food will be hot-n-ready right here just like Little Caesars.”
I agreed.
The bustle of the pod continued as I made may way back up the stairs to my cell. I slid my property box out from underneath my bunk and opened the lid. Only one soup was inside. That’s odd, I could’ve sworn I had two. I grabbed it anyway and returned to Griffin’s table. Clint had joined him at this point.
“I’ve only got one,” I said. “I could’ve sworn I had two.”
Clint answered. “I think I saw Ike comin’ out your cell after you first came down after lockdown. I bet you he just took it.”
“What the fuck? Who’s Ike?” I looked around, trying to figure it out. At this particular jail, it was against the rules for inmates to go into any cell other than his own. It was also rare for inmates to close their cell doors behind them. They would automatically lock and you’d have to ask a CO to let you back in. They didn’t like being asked to do this.
Clint continued. “Your cellie has a gamblin’ problem. I bet you Ike thought he was stealin’ from him.”
“Aw shit,” said Griffin. “I wouldn’t put up with that. You gotta straighten your cellie out. Tell him he owes you a soup.”
I looked across the pod at Saget who had just borrowed a soup from Shorty.
“Dude’s broke. He don’t have a soup to give,” I said. I felt stuck. I didn’t know what to do. I could confront Ike, but I didn’t actually see him do it. I just had Clint’s word to go on and I’d never really spoken to Clint before. How good is his word?. I could confront Saget, but I didn’t see how that was going to bring back my soup. I felt like this was a test. I’m supposed to act big and tough. I’m supposed to make a scene, or else people will know they can steal from me forever because I’m a pushover. But the idea of making a scene isn’t my personality. And the consequences of getting into a fight and going to the hole seem way more expensive than a soup that costs 50 cents. I’ll have to think about it.
“Well hand it here,” said Griffin, extending his hand for the soup. “One’s enough.”
I handed him the soup. “Sorry it’s not two,” I said.
“It ain’t your fault,” said Clint.
“Don’t sweat it,” said Griffin. “You can pay your fair share next week. Go make your phone call.”
“Thanks,” I said.
I looked at the phone bank and several phones were open now. I felt pretty insecure as I carried my chair toward the phones. So far I had kept my nose clean. I had learned that the people who got picked on are the child molesters, the old, and the scrawny. I was none of these, but I felt like I was being picked on. I also didn’t fully trust Griffin and Clint. They were two of the biggest guys in the pod and — judging by the laundry bag of commissary items — they had some clout that I didn’t understand. Are they playing me too?
I set my chair down at an empty phone and picked up the receiver.
“Please enter your 10 digit access PIN.”
I complied.
“To make a pre-paid phone call, press 1. To place a commissary order, press 2. To ...”
I pressed 1.
“Enter the 10 digit phone number you wish to dial, followed by the pound key.”
I complied.
“Your call is being connected.”
I stared at the tile floor while the phone rang. After a few rings, my mom picked up.
“Hello,” she said.
“Hi mom,” I started to say before the phone system interrupted me.
“YOU HAVE A PRE-PAID CALL FROM,” followed by a recording of my voice that said, “Mick,” before continuing, “AN OFFENDER AT THE SOUTHERN CORRECTIONAL FACILITY. TO ACCEPT THIS CALL, PRESS 1. OTHERWISE, YOU MAY HANG UP.”
She pressed 1.
“Hi mom,” I said again.
“Whew. That lady’s loud! Hi son. How are you holding up?” she asked.
“Oh, ok I guess,” I said. I didn’t want to tell her about what just happened. I didn’t want her to worry and I was also a little embarrassed.
“I’ve got you on speakerphone,” she said, followed shortly by the shout from my dad. “Hi son!”
“Hi dad.”
“Oh, what a minute,” said my mom. “What’s happening? Aww. Joker hears your voice through the phone. He just got up and now he’s looking out the window. I think he thinks you’re coming home.” Few things are more heartbreaking than the knowledge that your dog misses you and you can’t do a damn thing about it.
We made small talk for a bit before my dad asked, “how’s your cell mate?”
I looked up from the floor to see Saget sitting at a card table with five or six other inmates. “He’s fine I guess,” I said. “He told me earlier today during lockdown that his dad was never there for him when he was growing up. Said he was in and out of prison his whole life. He’s hoping to get out soon so that he can be there for his new daughter.”
My mom responded, “I hope so too, for her sake at least.”
Another inmate walked up to the phone next to mine, picked it up, and dialed some numbers. A few moments later he hung up and walked away.
“Yea,” I said. “I hope so too. He seems like a good guy when you talk to him. He just makes bad choices.”
“Don’t we all,” mom said.
“Some of us more than others,” I said.
I turned around in my chair, so I didn’t have to watch Saget. The conversation continued with my parents as I watched Griffin and Clint prepare the pizza from a distance. Griffin was smashing the bags of soups, saltines, and chips against the ground to break them up. Clint was heating up water in the microwave. The broken ingredients were all combined inside a single bag of chips and then the hot water was added. Half of a new clear plastic trash bag was laid out on the table and the “dough” was dumped out onto it. The other half of the trash bag was laid on top and a Suave shampoo bottle was used like a rolling pin to roll out the dough.
By the time I got off the phone, the chili was heated and spread onto the dough, and cheese, pepperoni, and sausage were added on top of that.
“Let’s eat!” said Griffin.
“Wait a minute,” said Clint. “Go get your headphones, Breaking Bad’s on tonight. They ‘bout to rob a train.”
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