was still in there for the 12-2 visits.
Not only were we not getting sent out, no visitors were coming in. The whole operation was at a complete standstill.
During the ensuing twenty minutes, the inmates waiting for visit became restless. They weren’t nearly as patient as the ones before.
“Man, where the fuck my visit at?”
The CO looked scared and little standing behind the podium. “They’ll be here, don’t worry.” He did a round to act busy.
Under his breath, the inmate seated behind me cussed him out. “Bitch ass nigga. Pussy bitch, he scary.”
(They don’t say “he’s scared but “he’s scary.” As an English major, I cringe every time I hear this grammattical abortion.)
The other inmate with whom I had been stuck in the VR lost his cool. He accosted the CO as he did his round. “Man, you need to get me the fuck outta here. I’m about to piss myself.”
“Sir, sit down. Please,” he asserted, mustering as much bass as he could.
I didn’t know how much loner I’d last myself. I had been holding it for two hours now, and was about to burst. It was fast becoming an untenable situation. I thought about raising a scene so the podium CO would have to call for help. I’d at least get to use the bathroom in the hole.
Almost exactly when I was about to get out of my seat, the other CO opened the door to the shakedown room and called out, “Table 12!”
Fuck, finally.
The CO doing the searches was green, too. Rather than being scared of the inmates, he overcompensated by being a complete dick, and enforced every tiny rule to the maximum extent. I remembered when he trained in our unit.
He was an overweight goof with glasses; some inmates taunted him by calling him Peter Griffin. I imagined that that humiliaton must be in the back of his mind every time he wrote a ticket over a petty infraction.
There’s nothing that can lessen the awkwardness of getting strip searched, soI got to it, taking off my shirt and handing it to him.
“Yeah, I’m doing the strips by myself,” he explained. “Im the only one who finds stuff anyway. Ole boy before youhad steel toed shoes and he hadn’t been down long enough to have those.
Wow, you’re really saving the world, super cop, I thought.
“Well, you dont have to worry about that,” I said, handing him my pants.
“What unit are you in?”
“C, ” I said, peeling off my socks.
“They just took someone outta there. Caught him with a bunch of shit. Every unit is full of contraband.”
There’s contraband in every unit, but some contraband is worse than others. Technically pants could be cntraband.
The last guy to get caught with anything occurred months ago, and it wasn’t with smuggled contraband. It was jail broken tablets.
The guard closely inspected each article of clothing as I handed them over, running them thru his gloved hands, feeling for anything out of place.
I handed over my drawers, and stood there, buck naked.
“Alright, lift yourself up,” he nodded, and I knew he’s referring to my scrotum. I complied.
“Now turn around, squat, and cough,” he commanded. “okay, you’re good to go.”
I put my clothes back on but can’t find my dignity.
I returned to my bunk at 130 pm for a visit that was supposed to end at 10am.
I questioned if I wanted another visit anytime soon that experience was so unpleasant.
Easy Trouble 