Jail || Shakedowns
Transition and Uncertainty
LOCKDOWN! LOCKDOWN IN THE FACILITY!
The phrase cracks over the loudspeaker with urgency. Never a request. Always a command. Stop what you’re doing and go to your cell. Nothing else matters. Leave the chess pieces where they are. Stop watching Bad Girls Club reruns on Oxygen. Take your cold, wet soup out of the microwave and go to your cell. If you’re lucky, you can still see the TV from the window in your cell door. It’s less important whether your radio can pick up the audio.
Maybe you’ll be out again in 5 minutes. It’s probably just a false alarm, right? Maybe there was a fight over in the other pod and once the offenders get taken to the hole the rest of us can come out again. Or maybe it’s a shakedown and you’ll be here for the next 5 days. God I hope not, my cellie1 fuckin’ stinks.
…
Over the next 3 or 4 days the officers of the institution will search every cell from top to bottom. Unmaking your bed, unfolding your clothes, scattering your letters all over the floor of your cell. They’ll strip you naked and search each individual piece of clothing you are wearing. Looking in the sewn seams for “contraband”. Once you’re naked you can turn around, lift your sack, squat, and cough for good measure.
Realistically they’re just flexing their authority muscles and making you take the 3x5 photo of your newborn son down from the wall because it’s a “security” issue. You saw Shawshank Redemption right? We all know you’re digging a tunnel out of here behind that photo with the razor blade we couldn’t find in your asshole.
Oh well, it’s the most socialization I’ve had in days anyway. It was fun while it lasted. Why does it take 3 days to do this for the whole institution when it took 4 hours to search 1 of only 3 pods? They’re probably just relaxing in the break room and enjoying the silence while we sit in our cages like good little dogs.
…
When we finally emerge from our cages it’s July. The door to the rec yard is open and the thought of fresh air and sunshine fills my heart with joy and longing. I step through the door into the generously-sized larger cage. A 2,000 sq. ft. concrete pad surrounded by 30' ft. high cinderblock walls with a chain link fence for a lid.
It’s hot. And the sun feels great on my skin. And I want more of it. So I grab a seat on the sunny side of the yard so I can continue to enjoy these sensations for the next…
LOCKDOWN! LOCKDOWN IN THE FACILITY!
Motherfuckers in the other pod fighting again. Always ruining it for the rest of us.
Everybody says cellie. Nobody says cell mate.