21: Across the Courtyard
Days in general population
I was sentenced to 30 days in low security prison, where quarantine was in place. Because they require a minimum of 14 days in quarantine on an inmate’s intake into the facility, and 14 days minimum before one is allowed to leave, it was agreed by medical and the officers that I would be in quarantine for my entire stay.
I can only guess that the BOP bureaucracy does not care about an agreement between two people, regardless of local influence, when it comes to implementing certain policies. The machines run, the calculations are made, and the orders are sent.
So, I was quite surprised to hear my (mispronounced) last name coming from the commanding officer one morning, a few weeks in, a bit before lunch. I was told to grab my mattress and all my belongings, because I was going to (gulp) general population. I asked if he was sure, because my understanding was I’d be here the whole time. Yes, he was most sure that it was his instruction to get me out and send me over to building F. F2 to be precise, 2nd floor.
I grabbed my belongings, stuffed in a plastic bag, and my mattress, and awkwardly made my way downstairs. I then went outside, in real fresh air, for the first time in over two weeks. One officer outside pointed to a door across the courtyard, where another officer was waiting. I went there, he opened the door, and I was then in general population. I was given a bunk number, and told to see the floor officer.
My bunk was the very first one. Of course, being the newest one, I got the upper bunk. The big area had, I believe, 32 bunk beds, for 64 inmates. Next to the bed was a desk area, and 2 lockers, 1 on each side. So, I set my stuff down and went to see the floor officer, as requested. I knocked on his door, and he told me to come in and sit across from him. He had a beard, an officer shirt with a badge on one side and his name on the other, and a cap with a punisher skull on it.
He pointed to his badge and said “I’m going to talk from this side. Do you know why you are here, and do you accept responsibility?” I said yes. He had a few more comments about leaving a better person than one comes in. Then, he pointed to his name on his shirt (so, not the “badge”).
“Now I’m going to talk with you from this side.” He explained how it is utter nonsense that this happened to me. Not only that, but it is a waste of so many people, so many resources in the prison system and judiciary, and, quite frankly, because there are some serious questions about the integrity of our (election) system. I told him my story, and asked him a few things about the prison system.
We got along well. I did mention I wasn’t sure I was supposed to be in general population, but he assured me that it was correct, and that I would be discharged on March 22. He then instructed me to get ready for laundry call. I should bring my stuff (outside again!!) to the laundry so I can get new clothes now that I am in general population.
At the appropriate time, the doors opened, and people went their own ways, either to the library, the recreation area, to work, or, in my case, to Laundry, which was just a few doors down. I entered, gave the workers my laundry bag and my inmate card, and waited. About five minutes later an officer waved me in. I was given some brand new clothes, and a few measurements were taken so they would fit after being altered. I was given new socks and brand new black boots. After the measurements were taken, I was told to come back after lunch to get my new clothes.
Lunch was like a high school cafeteria. Except not as nice. Everyone gets the same tray of food, except there’s an optional apple that you can grab. Then, it’s off to pick which juice or water in a fountain drink, and then finding a place to sit. As I searched around the room, I saw the Pakistani doctor, with his cane, walking over to a table with another older gentleman. I saw the happy Hawaiian sitting with a few others. Other than maybe five faces, the other 300 were unknown. I found an empty table and sat down. An middle eastern man two tables down looked at me and said “you should probably go eat over on the other side”, meaning with the “whites.” I moved, ate quickly, and left.
It was after lunch, so I went to laundry to pick up my new clothes. As I entered, an officer said, “you, come follow me.” He brought me back to the officers’ desks, and closed the door. I thought, oh no, what now? He asked me to sit, and then said, “so, what was it like? Jan 6?” I told them that it was a setup, and I walked right in to it. The officer behind the desk began to talk – “next time, there will be weapons! It will end differently!” I had to be careful here. Had I learned nothing in the past 14 months? “You have to understand that, as the one in this conversation wearing a jumpsuit, it would be inappropriate for me to discuss an armed insurrection in the middle of a prison??!!!” They both laughed at my humor. They said stay out of trouble, and make this a bad memory and move on.
My bunkmate was a 57-year-old black man who had been in already for a few years for weapons charges. He was kind, providing me with stuff to clean my area, and a few incidentals. He had spent his life working for an auto plant, and his children now do the same. While I was there with him, he received a legal notice. He asked me to read it for him because he could not read. He asked if it was an approval of a certain request (the details escape me now), and I mentioned that, no, it was a request for more information.
This was interesting to me. Regardless of what goes on in other areas of the institution (where to sit, who to be with), there was no problem with him providing me with things, and for asking for help. This seems strange looking back on it, but it made perfect sense to me in the midst of it all. Individually, we are all there to help each other. However, there are institutional norms that exist in group settings. I guess in a way that’s how the world may have always been. Hmm.
The evenings were interesting. I was reading in my bunk around 9:30, falling asleep. Things kick in to gear a bit later, as I found out! Lots of loud talking and laughing, and playing cards. I’ll remind you that this is a big, open room, with some tables on one side of the bunks. Unlucky me was in the first bunk. I wasn’t going to sleep much.
I had to look at a message board every day to see if I needed to be someplace. In the morning, I needed to be in the library area. I went there, and found the room. Outside were chairs, and I sat with a few others to wait my turn for whatever this was. A few of the guys were from quarantine, so we caught up. I also met another young man from California. Turns out he had a background in marketing technology, so we traded stories for about 20 minutes.
Once inside, I sat across the desk from another officer. He sized me up as I walked in, and said, kindly, “This is a ridiculous waste of your time and mine.” As a new person to general population, I needed to have a screening for being able to read, and to see if I have dyslexia. My prior interaction with my bunkmate came to mind! Apparently they need to know if I’m able to understand written instructions. The test is recorded, where the voice asks the questions, and the officer notes my answer. The officer would typically stop in-between to clarify or get the inmate’s response. In my case, he said “I’m going to let this play through. It’s the quickest way. Just say yes for everything unless there’s something that’s not right.” We breezed through it. We chatted for a few minutes about the fact that I have two weeks left and he still is required to do this.
I made it through the day by walking around the outdoor track with boots on that gave me blisters, and reading.
The next morning, I had a post to show up at “medical”. I went to medical, and met with a nurse. She took my vitals, and then wanted to talk about prescriptions I might need while I’m there. I stopped her. I said, look at my departure date. I’m not even supposed to be in general population, according to the head of medical. I asked to see the head.
I waited outside the office for a few minutes. Then she called me in. A wooden American flag on her office wall in front of her. Awards for excellence in service from multiple prison locations. Shorter, stern face, no-nonsense. She’s fine with me sitting there while she finishes up a phone call.
Her: “What are you doing here?”
Me: “I was assigned to unit F2, but my sentence is only 30 days. Rukstales.”
Her: (after pulling up my info) “Why did they send you out of quarantine?”
Me: “I have no idea.”
Her: “Why didn’t you tell them that you are not to go to general population?”
Me: “I said I don’t think I’m supposed to go to general population, but they were clear, and, well, it wasn’t exactly a business negotiation.”
Her: <pause> “I suppose not. We’re getting you out of there.”
Then the whip was cracked. The radio was out, officers were lightly reprimanded, and they were to see that I walked straight to F2, grabbed my items, and returned to quarantine. My time there was over.
As I returned to my bunk to grab my things, I noticed that my bunkmate was in the process of being moved. This is one thing I didn’t understand, and I wasn’t there long enough to find out. Inmates would be moved from area to area. I don’t know if it’s about control, or if a better spot opened up, but this seemed to be a common occurrence. I grabbed my items, said goodbye, and went back to where I started.
“HE’S BAAACK” I said to Gunter and the others from my circle of people. “I’ve never seen so many innocent people in one place before!” They laughed. I was gone for about 48 hours, but each of them wanted to talk for an hour about what they’ve been up to, whether it’s Gunter’s call with the embassy, or someone else thinking they are being discriminated against, or a discussion about the new group of inmates that came in.
I was among people who were mostly like me, trying to get on with it, but friendly enough to appreciate each other. I became closer to some of these men than I have been with people I’ve known for years. That’s real.