From Inmates to Playdates

Archive for the ‘My Time In Jail’ Category

Seven years ago I walked out of jail and never looked back.

I had an infant at home and I looked forward to the challenges and the excitement that lay ahead. Still I knew a part of me would miss the place. For five years I roamed the halls – walkie-talkie in hand – amongst the crazy people.

The daily unknown.

The clanging of the metal bars as I entered the secured area.

And most of all THE CRAZY.

Have I ever mentioned how CRAZY jail is? The inmates. The employees. All of it. Every single bit of it was crazy. Fights broke out. Grown men cried. Grown women would start a cat-fight over a biscuit. I saw blood. And death. There were shakedowns. And uprisings. There were bets on the gender of my unborn baby (2 packs of ramen noodles said it was a boy!), movies on the weekends, haircuts on Mondays, and commissary one day a week. Kitchen trustees stirred the beans and continued with their daily pushups in the kitchen floor. Mothers called to inquire about the treatment of their angels. Girlfriends called about visitation.

Like I said, lots of crazy!

As you might imagine, I fit in perfectly there. Or at least I did back in the day.

Now, um, not so sure. You know because I am a refined stay-at-home-self-proclaimed-princess.

I haven’t made mention of it yet here on the blog, but  last Tuesday? Um, last Tuesday, I was there all over again.

As I approached the counter, I was assigned a number. That number would be my number and for the remainder of my time, I’d be known by that number.

It was hot and muggy. Rows and rows of people glared at me.

Anxious people were all around me.

All of them waiting.

Waiting to hear their number called signalling their time is done.

All of them thinking there are few places worse than where they are right now. I have to say I completely agree with them.

I take a seat. I quickly survey the room.

It is there. The crazy. In all of its unfound glory, it is there.

The wringing of hands.

The nervousness.

Even I, myself am jittery.

I hear people pleading. One person is pleading about paperwork and I shake my head hoping it doesn’t come to that for me. The pleading does not stop. It gets on my nerve because I know I am stuck here.

I look up to see a man having his picture taken. He has a scowl on his face and I can’t say I blame him. This place stinks and these folks couldn’t care less how your picture turns out. They are here to do a job. Period. Each person is but another number.

Each and every individual approaches the door with fear and apprehension because they are trying to come to terms with the fact that short of a miracle, they will most likely be here awhile. Many of them wonder if they’ll make it out alive. They are skeptical.

And they have reason to be.

There are crazy people here.

Crazy people with lots of attitude.

Scores to settle.

I am bored. Bored of being packed in here like a sardine. Bored of the time I am wasting because after all I do not belong here. I am here because they said I had to be.

I am not crazy, yet I am here amongst the crazy.

It is hot.

Did I mention it was hot? So hot in fact, a bead of sweat dropped from my brow. I quickly wipe it and attempt to stay focused. I keep to myself thinking it might make things easier for me. I do not make eye contact with anyone. I do not want to look crazy in the eye. I have enough crazy at my own place. Plus, you never know when one of these jokers might snap. They arrived here long before I did, so their crazy meters are off the charts. I see all walks of life. Each with a different story. All of them wishing they were somewhere else.

Anywhere but this hot, cramped, crazy place.

I’m the new girl in town. If there is a seat I will get one. If not, I will stand. That’s just the way the pecking order works in a place like this. I focus on the flashing light. I wonder when my time will come. When the light will flash with my number. The number they gave me when I arrived. I have not forgotten the number. I will NOT forget the number. The number is mine and mine only.

Must stay focused.

Water.

I need water.

My mouth is parched. My throat is dry. I break out in a sweat. I wonder if I’ll ever get out of this place. I wonder if I’ll still be here at lunch time. I can’t imagine the thought, but in this place anything is possible. I’m at their mercy. The mercy of these people who say I must. be. here. at this time.

I see more hand wringing.

More attitude.

I squirm in my chair and pray that it will be over soon.

I’ve had all the crazy I can handle.

And finally, just before noon, my number is called.

I step to the window, receive my walking papers, and get released from jail, er the D. M. V. just before lunchtime.

Whew. For a minute I wondered if I’d make it out alive.

Have a great weekend, y’all!

And stay far, far away from the jail. And the Division of Motor Vehicles.

Ten years ago, I walked the halls of South Central Regional Jail counseling inmates about their behavior and incarceration.

Today, I walk down our hallway here at the McResidence counseling two little boys about their behavior and punishment.

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Ten years ago, the only cell I inspected was a twelve by twelve concrete cell.

Today, I inspect my cell daily for e-mails, blog comments, and facebook statuses.

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Ten years ago, I scheduled visits for inmates and their family members.

Today, I schedule playdates for my boys and their friends.

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Ten years ago, I daily spoke with mamas who were at wits end with their children for the latest, dumbest stunt.

Today, I AM the mama at her wits end with her children for their latest stunt which is usually something like jumping from the top bunk.

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Ten years ago, I ordered inmates to their cells, and scheduled their in-house hearings.

Today, I order little boys to their beds and cancel their daily television programming.

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Ten years ago, I carried a walkie-talkie with me and called for assistance when the inmates got rowdy.

Today, I carry my iPhone with me and I’m the one called for assistance when the playdate gets rowdy.

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Ten years ago, I spent time in the booking department calculating release dates.

Today, I spend time booking playdates and calculating how long it’s been since our last potty break.

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Ten years ago, I was swamped with jail paperwork and inmate files.

Today, I am swamped with PTA paperwork and insurance files.

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Ten years ago, I worked with folks charged with all a host of crimes.

Today, two little fellas charge at me in Batman and Superman capes as they fight crime.

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Ten years ago, I found myself sitting in court waiting to take the stand.

Today, I find myself sitting courtside, screaming like a crazy person in the stands.

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Ten years ago, I thought I was living the best years of my life.

Today, I KNOW I’m living the best years of my life.