Today was terrible. I woke up anxious to go to my computer class so I could master the intricacies of MSWord, but the teacher didn't show up. You're thinking, "No problem, you had a day off from school," but that's not how the day turned out.
I went back to my cell and started writing a letter. Twenty minutes into my letter-writing, the goon squad (prison gestapo-type unit) enter the housing unit and kick everybody out. They were doing their job and they had good reason because some inmate had done something real stupid which warranted a surprise visit, but it was a real inconvenience to me— at the time, I was not fully dressed.
Typically when I'm writing letters I am laying on my stomach on my bunk, wearing comfortable shorts, no shoes, no socks. When I'm in the cell I generally walk around in flip-flops.
I looked up from my letter and saw the face of an officer looking back at me through my celldoor window. My instinct was to be cordial. I jumped down from my bunk, slipped on my flip-flops and asked how I could be of help.
The officer told me to open the door and step outside. As I opened the door, she was telling me to go to the prison yard; with the door wide open, I paused and asked if I could put on a shirt and some shoes. She said "No, what you have on is good enough."
I gave her a shocked look. The prison yard is no place to be walking around in flip flops, but I knew not to argue with the gestapo.
I walked down the stairs and out the building and looked at my watch. The time was 9:10am. I saw everyone on the yard was sitting down, per orders, and twenty men were being searched. After the officers methodically searched all the men on the yard, more officers came and they searched all of the cells. It took them five hours.
While we waited for them to finish their sweep, they had us sitting on the ground in the middle of the yard. When we finally did return to the building, we saw just how bad our cells had been ransacked. Mine wasn't ransacked badly, because I'm not a "hot boy."
I put my few things in order, made up my bunk again, and took a sponge bath so I could lay down. I felt physically drained from sitting out in the yard all day in the hot sun. What a terrible "day off from school." I didn't get anything done.
After dinner, the program returned to normal. I went to the Protestant chapel and attended Pastor Dennis Fogel's service. On the way out I spoke with a friend named Mike, an inmate from Pasadena. Mike had also submitted an application to get into the Offender Mentor Certification Program. He told me that one of the instructors said that all of our applications had been faxed to Sacramento for review. I'm anxious for more news because I really pray that I get in.
I went back to my cell and started writing a letter. Twenty minutes into my letter-writing, the goon squad (prison gestapo-type unit) enter the housing unit and kick everybody out. They were doing their job and they had good reason because some inmate had done something real stupid which warranted a surprise visit, but it was a real inconvenience to me— at the time, I was not fully dressed.
Typically when I'm writing letters I am laying on my stomach on my bunk, wearing comfortable shorts, no shoes, no socks. When I'm in the cell I generally walk around in flip-flops.
I looked up from my letter and saw the face of an officer looking back at me through my celldoor window. My instinct was to be cordial. I jumped down from my bunk, slipped on my flip-flops and asked how I could be of help.
The officer told me to open the door and step outside. As I opened the door, she was telling me to go to the prison yard; with the door wide open, I paused and asked if I could put on a shirt and some shoes. She said "No, what you have on is good enough."
I gave her a shocked look. The prison yard is no place to be walking around in flip flops, but I knew not to argue with the gestapo.
I walked down the stairs and out the building and looked at my watch. The time was 9:10am. I saw everyone on the yard was sitting down, per orders, and twenty men were being searched. After the officers methodically searched all the men on the yard, more officers came and they searched all of the cells. It took them five hours.
While we waited for them to finish their sweep, they had us sitting on the ground in the middle of the yard. When we finally did return to the building, we saw just how bad our cells had been ransacked. Mine wasn't ransacked badly, because I'm not a "hot boy."
I put my few things in order, made up my bunk again, and took a sponge bath so I could lay down. I felt physically drained from sitting out in the yard all day in the hot sun. What a terrible "day off from school." I didn't get anything done.
After dinner, the program returned to normal. I went to the Protestant chapel and attended Pastor Dennis Fogel's service. On the way out I spoke with a friend named Mike, an inmate from Pasadena. Mike had also submitted an application to get into the Offender Mentor Certification Program. He told me that one of the instructors said that all of our applications had been faxed to Sacramento for review. I'm anxious for more news because I really pray that I get in.
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