The Early Bird

Chapter 3

"I used to bang the shit out of her.well actually; I just dated her, and wanted to bang the shit out of her." "You fuckin' Marines. Lies just come fl ying out of your mouth and then you back peddle. Think before you open your pie-hole so the fi lling doesn't fall out."

The Early Bird

In the eighth grade, my confi rmation teacher told me I was now a soldier of God. Somewhere along the line, I switched branches. What I am doing does not seem very Christ-like. For that matter, it does not seem very Marinelike either.

I was wrong about Friday nights. Just when I thought Count could be depended on to take advantage of the kitchen pass, he goes straight to his bowling buddy's house to watch movies or get to bed early. I began to wonder if he might be feeling under the weather. Something told me to pick up his trail the next morning and tail him to work. I arrived early hoping to become stealth and prepare my camera.

As I pulled onto the familiar section of Judson Street, in the Northern Havelock area, Count was already pulling away. It was a good 30 minutes before he would need to depart for work. Had I known he was leaving early, I would have arrived earlier, but I thought to myself, this might work out after all. I kept my distance, and followed Count's green Cavalier on his normal route to the penitentiary.

Had I been paying closer attention, I would have probably turned down the road behind Count, but I missed it. Count turned off at a park, just south of Van Dorn. I did not want to appear to be following him, so I went another block and turned right to a vantage point on Robber's Cave Road. It was a dead end, but I could see the park where Count had driven his Cavalier.

For a minute, I thought it was going to be too dark to see anything. Then the lights went on in her vehicle as she opened up the doors of her pickup. It was a huge red Dodge with the third door on the driver's side.

She's lying down, the pants come off, the doors shut, and then the lights go out. The windows fog up. Eight minutes later, Count climbs out and fi xes his pants. This guy gets more ass than a toilet seat. Again, Count is just over a half mile from work.

"Where's she workin'"
"The Reg."
"What the fuck is she doing at the Reg?"
"Fittin' in."
"Must be a big space."

The Traveling Trophy

"What the fuck is that.a bonsai tree?"
"Yah."
"Why are you being so careful?"
"You don't want to damage the chi of the bush."
"I think the chi in my bush has already been damaged."
"Well, don't let some giant-ass cat out of the bag."

Regina Busey-Abels has been in the department for a long time. On her fi rst go-round at LCC she was walking past the display case of inmate hobby items. LCC used to have a serious mental health ward, and the inmates there were allowed to create paper-mache projects. Paper mache was fairly safe. About the only thing they could do was eat too much of the paste, like most of them did in elementary school. They are probably in the mental health wing because they ate too much of it in the fi rst place. One object that caught Regina's attention was a strangely sculpted tree. The tree had two branches with a bird on each branch. In the center of the tree, coiled around it all the way to the top was a snake, with fangs bared. The center of the trunk had a slot for coins, as it was a bank. Other than the tree being brown, the color scheme was all fucked up. The snake was electric lime green with yellow stripes and pink polka dots, and the birds looked like they were a strange combination of cardinal and robin with the same combination of colors. Regina made the comment that this piece was the ugliest piece of shit she had ever seen in her life. A few of her coworkers were in earshot.

Shortly after this event, Regina was promoted and took a job at NSP. Her co-workers took up a collection and purchased the tree-sculpture eyesore as a joke. At her going away party, they presented it to her as a farewell gift.

The presentation of that farewell gift began the tradition. As each co-worker from that small group of friends promoted through the system in different facilities, a committee was put together to fi nd the ugly bastard, so they could once again, present it to the new proud owner. Since that time, Regina has received it again, and passed it on to another lucky recipient. All traditions come to an end eventually, and she attempted to make the most recent eyesore passing the last. From this point on, the passing of the bird-bank will be more diffi cult. The most recent recipient was Warren Ingargolia, upon his farewell. Warren is taking it with him to Walla Walla, better known as the Washington State Penitentiary.

"The more parents I meet, the more children I forgive."

Favored Inmates and Rat Bastards

"Comb your hair; it looks like somebody had their way with you. You look like you should be standing next to a burning barrel."
"Batiste, how long have I been workin' for you?"
"I'd say about as long as I've been employed here."
"S'pose you could do me a favor?"
"You know I don't do favors for inmates."
"Well, how about you do something for me anyway?"
"Does it involve something within the boundaries of my job description?"
"That depends."

"On what does it depend?"
"On your interpretation of your job description."
"Andrews, what the fuck are you talkin' about?"
"Look man, I'll just give you the down and dirty. I spoke with my mother on the phone today, and she told me that my father is dying. I would really like to call the hospital and speak with him before he dies."
"Have you fi lled out a kite for a time and charges call?"

"Man, you know they won't approve that! They would never let me call a hospital."
"Why the hell not? People do it all the time!"
"Cuz I lied about it last time, and made a prank call to somebody I din't like."
"Then how do you propose we make this happen?"
"Man, I know that you know Chan. He'll let you make the call." Chan was the operator, and all calls made external went through him.
"Yah, I know Chan, and he would probably allow me to do it, but I have too much respect for him to ask."
"Then why don't you do like Brisbane and bring me in a cell-phone?"
"No."

"I'll give you my fi sh sandwich. I know you like the fi sh sandwiches."
"Dude, they went lowest bidder with those. Now it's breaded bread or a fi sh-like substance. It's not fi sh, its toilet paper rolled in saw dust. The illusion of fi sh is gone."
"How about a bag of Doritos?"

"Look man, you know I like you, but I won't risk my job for you. Think of a better option. Think of all your options. Then, pick the one option that is most legal and ethical. Then you come talk to me about making this call. Why do you want to call him anyway?"

"I want to yell at the rat bastard, and tell him I wish he would die more painfully. I want to tell him he's a fucker for keeping me in a cage all those years. I want to remind him how much I hate his fucking guts. I want to tell him, if I ever get out of here, I'm going to dig him up and kick the living shit out of him."

"Anything else?"
"Yah, I wanna tell him that I'm gonna carve "FUCKER" on his tomb stone."
"Okay, what's the phone number?"
"I dunno, I'll have to go look it up."
"They better be Cool Ranch, and it better be the big bag!"

Dream Journal
As a kid, I was rarely in control of my dreams, but I always had a compulsion to fi nding out if I was dreaming so I could have some input. Checking to see if you are dreaming sounds diffi cult. People have been known to pinch themselves, or bark their shins intentionally on things. That never made sense to me because it would hurt like a bitch if you were awake, and maybe if you are dreaming. My researched, tried and true method has been checking my driver's license. It is always in my back-left pocket. If the photo on the license is me, I am not dreaming. If it is not, well, you get the idea.