DannyBoyinExile

Here on the Wynne Unit, it was recently decided – and decreed – that all inmates who are in education will be moved onto the same section. This makes sense, as far as plans go, since it will make it much easier to assemble them all when it’s time to get them to class. Otherwise it will take forever, because they are literally scattered across every far-flung wing and dorm of the entire unit. (Which is the way it HAS been, by the way, until they decided to change it.)
Ordinarily this wouldn’t concern me any more than the price of tea in China, as I’m merely a part-time blogger, and full-time clothes folder – and such decisions are way above my pay grade. But I happened to LIVE on that particular wing. So imagine my surprise when I come home from work, ready to call my wife and take a nap (consecutively, I mean, not concurrently) – and they tell me to pack my stuff, because I’m moving.
My first thought was, “AGAIN?” Remember that I just went through this ordeal a short time ago, and was barely getting settled into my new wing! I even had a good cellie, since I cajoled, threatened, and coerced him into getting off drugs. Not to mention the fact that if they tried to move me in with ANOTHER crackhead, I would shortly be getting moved all over again. It’s almost enough to drive ME back to doing drugs… (just kidding!)
So I did the only thing I COULD do: I grumbled for a few minutes, packed my property, and moved to my new wing. C wing is an upgrade from A wing, by any standard. They were built in different time periods, with different views about how much space an inmate was entitled to in his cell. Not as much as just about any animal in a zoo would be allotted, for sure – but my new cell was bigger than my old one, and came equipped with a table, which is at least SOMETHING to be thankful for.
The commissary situation, on the other hand, was definitely something for me to complain about – which I did, of course. When my new wing went to commissary, I was informed that I couldn’t go, because I’d already been, on my old wing. I was like, “Au Contraire! When I made store on my other wing, that was TWELVE DAYS ago!”
The lady I talked to, reasoned with, and argued with was very pretty – but she had the heart (or lack of one!) of a fire-breathing dragon. She told me that it was the same spend period, so I’d have to wait until the NEXT time my wing went to commissary, which was two MORE weeks! I was like, “WTF? I may very well starve to death, or die of malnutrition before then! Not to mention going into withdrawal from running out of coffee.”
I had my mojo working, as they say, but it wasn’t working on her. I told her I was gonna pray for her – but I couldn’t guarantee that she’d get into heaven, after doing me that way. I even appealed to the commissary manager, who is the highest authority on such matters – but he, also, was unmoved. I was tempted to pray for him as well (that the good Lord would call him home to heaven, right away!), but I let it go, and accepted defeat.
I made my way to commissary every day in the meantime, to see if they’d given up their evil ways and repented – but it was not to be. Eventually I did make commissary, and the delay didn’t kill me, so I hope it made me stronger.
While not going to commissary isn’t exactly traumatic – it is just this type of situation that can cause an inmate to overreact, throw a temper tantrum, and make the situation much worse. I wasn’t happy about it, but I AM happy that I was able to deal with it, with my sense of humor (and my composure) intact.
One of these days, there will even be situations in the free world that irritate me, so I may as well learn how to deal with them now. So says DannyBoy.