MyTimeToBlog
It's midday, quiet, and the day room is active. I'm at a table with my feet propped up as EST Gee's "The Realest" blocks out Benny's comical antics that get distorted by his Cuban accent. He and many others are just hanging out as the majority of the men are outside, working their jobs, and enjoying outside recreation. I chose to remain inside today.
My daily grind ended at 10:00 AM. I showered, so taking another one for the heck of it wasn't an option. Besides, I'm chasing the kiosk for pictures today. I'm looking for some from family and friends. So, I rather focus on that, while I wait for the movies to come on the prison movie channel. Hopefully, someone finally puts on Fast X; a movie I haven't seen yet.
The men in the day room are in their own little world. Rome, an old head, was painting on handkerchiefs. He has an order for a Las Vegas Raiders handkerchief. This one has a football player with a skull for a face racing at you. It's his best one yet.
The other table has Bill, Chris, and JT playing a Star Wars role-playing game. I know this due to them doing this daily. They usually have six people participating. But on a workday, it's just them.
The next table has Big Rome, a 70-year-old man who weighs three hundred pounds. He never leaves the housing unit. I lived with him for seven months, and during that time, he exited the building on three occasions: a parole hearing, medical for his chronic back issues, and commissary when the elevator was broken. He has a magnifying glass to read his newspapers. He harmonizes old-school songs loudly, and when you complain, he'll sing louder.
At that same table is Ozzie. He's another man who spent forty years in prison. He cleans the showers, and that's basically it. His life is void of anything exciting. He rarely speaks, except to say thank you for the season packs I hand him from the Ramen noodles that I never eat. All he does is write over a book that I never dared to inquire about. He's private, and since he is, I keep being polite to him.
I've encountered many men along this journey of incarceration. Some are weird, but some are so out there that you could write a book on them. I say this because Hung (a Vietnamese) strolled into the day room, after losing his mind today.
We had chicken for lunch. It's a rare delicacy for us with a menu that consists of Meat Rock. Anyway, Hung decided that he wanted a regular tray and not his usual Sealed Meal diet. The sergeant on chow hall duty knew what tray he eats, so she said you're not getting a regular tray. She even called in the lieutenant and another sergeant to usher him out of the line. Now this was where Hung spoke in broken English that he didn't want his Seal Meal diet, he wanted a regular tray. The lieutenant shook his head and told the two sergeants to deal with Hung. Well, the sergeant who made the call for assistance stopped the line, telling the kitchen supervisor not to send another tray out. Hung snapped. He tore off his jacket, yelling, "I have nothing."
I'm in line, pissed off because I just want to eat, have a chat with my friends, then take a stroll back to my housing unit. Instead, I'm watching this nonsense. So was Mike. He stepped to the front of the line to defuse the situation by offering up his tray so that Hung wouldn't get locked up. Well, when Mike opened his mouth, Hung told him to shut up. That froze everybody because a smack should've followed, but Mike let it go; he dropped the F-bomb on Hung, hoping he locked up. Mike departed the chow hall, and I followed.
Outside, I ran into Pee Wee. He returned from a medical trip off-site. He said, "They stuck a prob inside of him." I grinned, saying, "Better you than me." He flipped me off, then said he would see me at work tomorrow.
Back in the day room, V, this 20-something kid just returned from work. He made a pact with me that he would work out every day. That meant 15 pushups, adding 1 per day. This was his first time working out in his life. I gave him my routine that I started in jail: 50 pushups for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Well, V doesn't have my strength, so his numbers are his numbers. He gets embarrassed by those numbers he does, but I'm like who cares? You're working out for you. So, whether 1 or 3 pushups, you gotta start somewhere. He did his numbers for the day, then joined the Star Wars game.
My brother Red (not my real brother) entered the day room. His heavy-handed ass smacked my shoulder with a chuckle. I shook my head, but he pulled me aside and told me some prison gossip that had us shaking our heads.
Prison has its stories. I just go with them, enjoying my soundtrack for the day: EST Gee's "I Never Felt Nun." How true that is. None of this bothers me anymore. That's why I just live my life, and always keep my eyes open to what's going on around me. Hey, you never know, something might interest you enough to write about it.
Matter of fact, what's going on around you, and what music inspires you to sit back and take it all in?