I’ve been in a quasi-honor unit for 18 months. It’s insulated from a lot of the bullshit that constitutes life in the joint, like rampant theft, deuce head episodes, gang phones.
Here, guys take college classes, learn a trade, train a dog–anything to use their time constructively. Of course, there’s always a subset of knuckleheads smoking pape or making drank, but for the most part, this is as good as prison gets. I don’t have to lock my locker, ask to make a call, or use earplugs at night.
Things are so peaceful, I’ll go weeks, even months, without an incident, and start thinking how unjust the system is, how many good and decent men are locked up for far too long, how the penitentiary is full of untapped potential.
Then something occurs that reminds me this place is full of awful people.
On store day, they close up the small day room, put a table in the doorway, and pass out bags from there on a first-come, first-serve basis. More than hour elapses before the process is finished.
When I approached the window/doorway, I told the (civilian) worker my bunk number and produced my ID. Before handing it over, he examined the bag for holes; upon the discovery of a big tear, he informed me that I would have to return when the line had dwindled, because we would have to inspect its contents together to ensure nothing was missing.
This was an ominous sign. The clear, plastic bag sometimes gets damaged in transit, either from the warehouse to the metal cart or from the cart to the dayroom. However, when that’s the case, a small, finger-sized hole is usually the extent of the damage. My bag looked like it had been raped by Big Foot.
So I anxiously awaited the next 45 minutes for the line to end.
Two other people who had been in line with me originally were also waiting for the line to end.
“They tell you to come back, too?” I asked Tom.
“Yeah. Apparently my bag had a rip in it.”
“I don’t like the sounds of this.”
The fact that the same thing happened to two other people increased my suspicion that this wasn’t an accidental tear, but an intentional rip.
I knew the play. I had seen it before.
The store worker beckoned me into the day room when I reiterated my bunk number. He handed me the bag.
“Empty it on this table, and lemme know if anything is missing,” he said.
The coffees, the protein powder, the jars of peanut butters–basically, all the most expensive items–were conspicuously absent from the pile of store goods. In all, I was missing $45 worth of groceries.
(That may not sound like much, but in this disinflationary environment, where a ramen noodle is currency, and a bag of coffee carries the weight of a $20 bill, this loss was equivalent to missing 40% of one’s paycheck.)
Tom and the other guy had the same problem–all the expensive shit was missing.
I told the store worker, who marked it on my receipt and said I’d get a refund in the next few weeks (but would take over a month).
In the moment, I was so mad that I didn’t care about the refund. I wanted my shit. I wanted revenge on the anonymous perpetrators.
So, what happened?
The gate-pass workers, who work in the warehouse, handle the store shipment. They unload the boxes from the delivery truck, unpack the bags from the cardboard boxes, and assort them by unit. Store day occurs every two weeks and differs for each unit–A&B are Monday, C&D Tuesday, etc.
When A&B have store, the workers load all the bags into a train of metal carts. Those carts are hooked to the back of a John Deere Gator, which the civilian store worker drives onto the compound and onto the patio in front of the unit. From there, a convict store worker unlatches the cart, and pushes them into the day room.
The store bags are under constant surveillance once it enters the compound. There is no opportunity to steal a bag, or even tear it open and purloin a couple items.
Only the warehouse workers have the chance.
It’s this simple: while loading the cart, they rip open a bag, grab the most expensive shit, and stuff it into the bag of one of their homeboys. As long as their homeboys don’t report any other missing items, they’ll get to keep all the extra stuff in their bag. They split the loot with the warehouse worker, and the civilian store worker is none the wiser.
The ironic thing is that these store workers are heavily scrutinized before hiring. Certain crimes are disqualifying, as is a poor institutional record. They have to pass a drug test. And yet…they’re just as bad as everyone else.
Easy Trouble 