Saturday night fever

15 Mar

“For talking back to me, I warn you now, I’ll issue you an IEP.”

George is advised in no uncertain terms that any more transgressions will result in an Incentive and Privilege downgrade. The phrase: ‘You can’t reason with ignorance’ is applied here and my cellmate takes this as his cue to leave but not before asking for:

A bar of soap.

Some shower gel sachets

A new razor

A Visit Order form

A toilet roll, and any other items that Twat is obliged to hand him.

He joins me down stairs still trying to find a screw to come to location of my block. We grab one and when asked if he could open our cell door, he replied:

“It’s not my job to open and close your cell door.”

Think about that statement, from a screw, a prison guard.

It is actually the fundamental responsibility of a prison guard to:

a.) Open a door

b.) Close a door

Perhaps I asked the cultural liaison executive or mistook him for an inmate, but I doubt it.

If ever you want proof of Prison staff’s mental capacity, consider a prison guard telling an inmate that it isn’t his job to open and close cell doors.

The screw who finally relents and opens our cell door is an optimistically named, Mr Friend. I’ve never met a person with an aspiration as a surname. It shows its hardly worth being a model prisoner here, courtesy is not extended to even those who muck in and make a difference. Hand me my Methadone and ten packets of butter.

Across the wing, rumours spread of a Governor’s inspection. Search mobs in combat fatigues, loving the sense of thrill of doing a cell by cell sweep. It’s the nearest these overweight pretenders will get to feeling like SAS.

We have never been sat down and informed, what is and what isn’t contraband. My omission of any introductory prison briefing from management, is not sheer written idleness, it’s because there isn’t one. Everything you will ever learn in prison, will be from a fellow inmate. Prison rules and regulations change so frequently and often for little rhyme or reason, I realise over time, screws have just given up ever learning them.

I am a little worried that through no fault of my own, I have items deemed unacceptable. I found a two pence piece yesterday, money is banned inside, so i panicked and chucked it in the servery bins. Ridiculous isn’t it? I didn’t want  to put it in my own bins in case they rooted through my litter. George has pieced together what he can and we go through the cell assessing if it is or isn’t legal within our possession here.

First up is a towel pinned across a shelf to afford me some privacy from prying eyes skulking around the landing. Perfectly reasonable, completely forbidden. In place on my arrival, its clear there is no system of cell inventory keeping by the staff. Which begs the question, can any punishments for excess or misused kit hold up if the cell hadn’t been inspected on entry?

The answer….. YES, of course they can.

I’m not really sure how a disciplinary system can be implemented, when no one, including the enforcers know the correct procedures.

I have a little time before lock down to call home and speak to my dad; I wish him a belated birthday.

Tony grabs me as I walk back to my cell, braced for religion I’m disarmed with a working radio. He knows my desire to listen to the boxing fight tonight and has foregone his ability to listen to religious audio tapes for me. Good bloke, now all I need is David Haye to come good.

It doesn’t happen. Still, it was nice about the radio though yeah? 🙂



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