My roommate drove around trying to find a spot.
“I’m not going to park five blocks away again”, he said.
Fine, maybe he could find a spot closer. He didn’t. He pulled up in front of the courthouse.
“I’ll just let you out here.”
“Ok”, I replied. I got out and looked back at him.
“So, I guess call me when you need a ride back,” he said from the driver’s seat.
“Ok”, I replied.
I shut the door and he drove off. It took a few seconds for me to soak in what just happened. I thought he was saying, “I’ll let you out while I go park”, since we were already late, but no, it was, “I’ll let you out and see you in the future.”
I was sad, but I realized I was glad none of my friends saw me taken away in handcuffs.
★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★
“The psychologist suggests a lie-detector test. Has he been given one?”, the judge asked.
“No, your honor”, the opposing lawyer said.
“Well, why not?”
“That’s something he has to do after his sentence.”
“Well, he’ll be done by then”, the judge snapped.
“It won’t hurt his case, your honor. It can only help his probation.”
The judge shook his head. I think he realized it was too late. Meanwhile, my schlocky lawyer said nothing. I’m sure if he demanded a lie-detector test, I wouldn’t be here.
“How much time does he need before reporting?”, the judge asked.
What? I was already given 90 days, and the judge was offering me more time?
“I was aware he’s ready now”, the rotund opposing lawyer stated.
“He is, your honor,” my lawyer said.
The judge shrugged his shoulders, as if to say, “I tried.”
After a bunch of legal jargon, a sheriff handcuffed me and took me away. We walked for what felt like forever, down to the basement of the courthouse. The sheriff took me into an office.
“Ok, I’m going to take the cuffs off and put them in the front,” he said to me. “I trust you’re not going to try and run or hurt any of these ladies?” he said, gesturing to the office workers.
“He ain’t gonna do nothin’! I’ll beat his ass!”, an older woman said in the thickets mid-Atlantic accent possible.
He switched the cuffs from the back to the front, and told me to sit in a chair next to the woman. She asked questions and typed in my responses.
“Is your middle name Philips?”
“No, it’s Phillipp. Two “I”s, two “P”s.”
She sighed.
“Well, I really can’t change it now.”
Not really sure why she asked then.
My lawyer always wrote my name wrong despite me telling he was wrong many times. After we finished, the sheriff took me down a hall where sounds of whooping, hollering, and chatter was getting louder and louder. I knew he was going to put me in a cell.
The cell room had about twelve old-fashioned bar cells going around the room. What made these cells extra unique were the Pepto-Bismol-pink walls.
I feel like this was done on purpose to ease the inmates.
The sheriff took me to a small ledge in front of a cell and uncuffed me.
“Wooo! Look at this blue shirt nigga!”, a guy yelled from the cell next to the one I was about to get into. The sheriff continued to pat me down.
“Look! This nigga’ got a whale on his shirt! That shit say “Charlie”!
My shirt clearly said “Charlie the Tuna”.
“He got red shoes on!” Now he was just being annoying.
The sheriff took my shoelaces and my jacket and made me sign a paper acknowledging that he had taken my property. He opened the cell and put me in. Now, it was just a waiting game until a can could take me to the prison: George W. Hill Correctional Facility.
★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★
“Ay, ay!” A guy who resembled Old Dirty Bastard was trying to get my attention. “What time is it?”
I looked down at the black and red watch I bought specifically for prison.
“1 P.M.”, I said. I must’ve nodded off while sitting on the floor.
“Man, I’m only in for domestic. I shouldn’t even be here!”, ODB said to no one.
“What you in for?”, ODB said to a guy who looked a lot like Carl Gallagher from series seven of Shameless.
“I hadn’t smoked weed in months when I was on probation,” Carl said. “And my P.O. never did a drug test. I do two hits last night, and I get tested this morning.”
“You in for domestic?” ODB asked me.
“Nope.”
“Then what?”
“Nine months.”
ODB squinted his eyes. “You from Chester?”, he asked me.
“No, but I worked there and lived there for a little while.”
“Yeah, I knew I recognized you!”
The last thing I want is for anyone to recognize me.
I looked at my watch: 1:30 P.M. We most likely would have to wait for the afternoon court cases before we left.
An older, well-dressed white man now stood at the spot I was patted down.
“Oh shit! They got my lawyer!”, the loud guy from the next cell down yelled.
“He done kilt his wife! Hahaha!” He seemed to be the only one who was enjoying his jokes.
They put the lawyer in with us. Soon after, a tall, older man was being patted down.
“Oh shit! They got Grandpa Moses! I think I saw that nigga’ in the paper for raping the girl! Hahaha!”, the jokester cackled.
The time was now 4 P.M.
Carl and I were put into another cell so we could be the first to go. A line of women in reds were handcuffed together.
“You ugly, dirty bitch!”, a small woman wheezed at a woman handcuffed two people away. “You look like and smell like shit!”
“Shut the fuck up, Weezy! I don’t know why you always talk shit!”
“Cuz you ugly, bitch!”
Weezy continued to throw out insults while the smaller, light-skinned woman taking the insults ignored her. The sheriff opened our cell, and handcuffed me, ODB and Carl together with me in the middle. The women and men aren’t allowed in the same room, so the women went to the van first. In the van, nine women sat behind us. Weezy was still hurling insults.
“Stupid, fake bitch!”, Weezy wheezed.
“Oh my god, Weezy! Give it up!”, one of the girls yelled.
“No, I don’t like this bitch!”
“Weezy, why do you have to act like such a child? Do you see what you’re doing? You’re a grown woman and you’re acting like a little kid! Grow up! We’re all adults and we’re all in jail! Your insults don’t do nothing but make you look stupid!”, the light skinned girl yelled.
Everyone was silent, sans a few “Mhmm”s and “Yeah, girl”s from the far back. Weezy lowered her head and sat quietly, before mumbling, “I’m not stupid…you stupid.”
“Aw, come on, Weezy!”, all the girls yelled.
★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★
The ride to the prison was short. Very short. I didn’t realize how close Thornton was from Media. In the prison, me, ODB and Carl were put in the first cell in booking. This cell was very familiar to me. I’d sat here for twelve hours last time. My name was almost immediately called this time. I left the cell.
“Anderson?”
“Yep, that’s me.”
“Stand in the square and hands on the counter”, the C.O. said.
He patted me down.
“What’s this? Paperwork?”, he asked, referring to the stack of blank paper (and one page of my friend’s phone numbers) that was in my pocket.
“Yes”, I lied. He asked a line of questions.
“Are you suicidal?”
“No.”
“Are you in a gang?”
“No.”
“Are you under the influence?”
“No.”
He scribbled on his paper.
“Take your watch off.”
“My watch?!”, I said, surprised.
I’d gotten this watch so I could tell time (obviously). Inside, there were no clocks, and everything ran on a schedule.
“Yes, your watch,” he repeated.
“But, last time I was here, they let me keep it.”
“When were you here?”
“2009.”
He chuckled, “A LOT has changer since then.”
Another C.O., this one a tall, dark skinned man who resembled Michael Orr from the Blind Side, took me into the changing room.
“Take off your clothes”, Blind Side said.
I stripped down to my underwear.
“Take your socks off and turn them inside out.” I did.
“Put ‘em back on. Pull your underwear down. Lift your balls.” I did.
“Turn around, spread your butt cheeks and cough.”
“Put your street clothes in the bag and change into your blues” referring to the uniforms reserved for general population. I put on the blues, but I knew I was a green, the uniforms reserved for P.C.’s, or Protective Custody. I walked out where Blind Side was waiting. He took me to a cell in the back, away from the front desk. As I walked, I saw the main cells filled with many other prisoners, most sleeping on the floor, around ten or so in each of the 20x15 foot cells.
Blind Side led me to an empty one of these cells, and as soon as he opened the door, the very pungent, very rank smell of shit flew out at us. Blind Side covered his nose, and locked me in.
I didn’t want to move. I looked around and found the source of the smell: a hole in the floor, about one foot in diameter. This was the toilet, but six metal rods covered the entry to prevent people from pooping in it. However, judging from the small, brown residue on the bars and the stained toilet paper on and around the hole, someone was not aware of this rule. This couldn’t be legal. The smell alone was enough to make me gag.
The cell was a 15x15 foot square. It had a white bench on one wall, and a heavy steel door with a plexiglass window with an additional plexiglass window next to that. I went to sit on the bench. It felt like there was poo everywhere. As I sat there, a tiny fly kept bugging me. I paid it no mind and swatted it away. But then came another and another.
They were annoying.
I looked down at the poo hole and saw that it was swarming with hundreds of tiny poo flies. Looking around at the walls, I realized MANY tiny, black dots covering the surface just around the hole. They were all poo flies.
65. I counted on one wall.
I freaked out. I needed to distract myself. I had to call my mom anyway. I went in my pocket…where were the pockets? These things don’t have pockets? SHIT! Where were my numbers! I went over to the laundry bag given to all the inmates, containing two bed sheets, a wool blanket, a “care” package, and a towel.
Nothing.
I went to the window, but because I was in the back, none of the C.O.s could see me. Blind Side walked by.
“Hey, excuse me!” He came over.
“I left my papers in the change room!”
“I’ll look”, he said as he walked away.
He never came back.
★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★
“Anderson!”
I was awoken by a C.O., Hard Ass, telling me to go to Booking Room 3.I went into the tiny room where I was separated from the office behind the front desk by a weave-pattern metal grate. An older man resembling the old man from Up sat behind a computer, mumbling and grumbling to himself as he typed away, occasionally cursing under his breath.
“This fucking piece of shit!”, he exclaimed. He was a very grumpy man.
He asked me a line of questions, stopping on:
“How do you spell your middle name?”
“Phillipp.”
“It says Phillips.”
“My lawyer made a typo”, I told him.
He let out a long, exaggerated sigh.
“Fuck. Well, I can’t change it now!” He continued to curse and grumble.
A woman net to him peeked her head out.
“Hey, do you have my print-outs?”, she said to Up.
“No, that printer is shit!”, he said miserably to her.
She turned to look at the printer.
“Fuck”, she grumbled.
“I hate my job”, he said.
“This is the worst job I’ve ever worked at”, she said in a melancholy tone.
“I hate my life,” Up said.
“Yeah, me too.”
★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★
I was back in the poo cell, doing the only thing I could do: sleep. I heard the door open, and a guy walked in, wearing the blues with a blanket over his head. He came straight in, laid on the other half of the bench, and went straight to sleep.
Time went by, and I had to pee. I noticed the C.O.s letting other inmates use an actual toilet in another cell. I knocked on the window.
“Can I go to the bathroom?”, I asked Hard Ass.
“Yes you can”, he said, and then walked away.
Fuck! What an ass!
I was going to burst, but I refused to pee into the hole in the floor. I was stuck and panicking. The guy on the bench was sleeping with his head under his blanket. I still hadn’t seen his face. I had no choice but to go for it. I peed in the poo hole.
And just as soon as I had started peeing, a shit-load of poo flies swarmed out of the hole! I screamed to myself, but remained calm, as to prevent myself from peeing on the floor. I was grossed the fuck out. I went back to the bench, put my towel over my head to black out the light that never went off, grabbed my blanket, and went to sleep.
