Zoned

Chapter 5

"The Earth is round?"

Zoned

Dining facility inmates attempted to poison the chow going to housing unit #4 where segregation inmates and protective custody inmates are located in an attempt to kill off all the chimos. They used soap and lime in most of the entrees, and jacked off in the pudding for good measure. Staff frequently ate the leftovers. Nobody knows what they put in the tea, but it made the foam cups dissolve. "Don't eat the pudding; you don't want to know what they did to the pudding."

Inmate Joe Dark was one of the dining facility inmates who allegedly doctored the entrees with soap. The warden said since soap was not that serious, he would let him off if he would implicate those who poisoned the tea. Dark denied knowing anything about the tea, and the disciplinary committee only punished him with a week of bunk restriction. Legal calls can still be made when you are on bunk restriction. Dark had to make a legal call to his lawyer in New York City. I am a huge Yankee's fan, so I am sympathetic. I also like Derek Jeter, but I get the feeling he would sign your breasts and dot his 'e's. Dark knew enough to realize that there might be a time difference. The afternoon before his call was to be made, he had just enough foresight to check with a staff member. That staff member happened to be me. His lawyer's secretary instructed him to call the offi ce at 10:00 a.m., and he was certain she had not been considerate enough to tell him what time that was in Nebraska, because he wasn't sure if she knew he was in Nebraska.

Nebraska is a foreign country to many New York State natives. I had Marine Corps basic training buddies who asked me if Nebraska was in Iowa, or if we still had Indian trouble. I tried to simply tell them that Nebraska was a state all by itself, west of Iowa, and that we did not have Indian trouble, unless we won big on the reservation.

I told Dark that New York was an hour ahead of us, so we would make the call at 9:00 a.m. tomorrow morning. Dark was not satisfi ed with simply being informed. To his credit, he wanted to know why. I still wanted to simplify. "Did you ever watch prime-time television?" "Yah."

"Well, do you recall that the announcers of programs often state viewing times during advertisements?" He gave me a puzzled look. "Does this sound familiar?" I used my best announcer voice, "Eight eastern.Seven central." I hardly recognized myself, my voice was so deep and rich. "Hey, that does sound familiar."

"When the announcer says Eastern, he means the Eastern Standard Time Zone. When he states Central, he means the Central Standard Time Zone. Central is where Nebraska is, and Eastern is where New York is." "Oh." He still looked confused, "Why are they ahead an hour, and not behind?" I was losing patience. I thought I had better get as elementary as possible. "Ok Dark, imagine you are the sun, and this basketball is the Earth." I happened to have the ball handy. "I wish I had a Wilson."

"This Wilson logo is New York City and this air-pump hole is Nebraska." Dark's eyes focused and his jaw slowly dropped open. Trance-like, he watched. I decided to remain stationary, just demonstrating the Earth's rotation on its own axis, temporarily omitting its revolutionary path around the Sun, "Dark, notice that when the Earth rotates, you see the Wilson logo fi rst, before you can see the air-pump hole, just like the Sun shines on New York before it shines on Nebraska." Dark looked at me. In an instant, his slack jaw jumped up, and he had a revelation; the proverbial light bulb went off in his head. "The Earth is round?"

Dream Journal As a kid, before I thought about girls, I thought about Godzilla. Why parents ever let their kids watch that, I do not know. You are just begging for company to jump between you and your spouse for the next week. Godzilla chased me every night. I would run in slow motion with the sheets holding me back, while looking over my shoulder, not able to escape the grasp of his claws. I have heard that if you hit the ground from a dream fall, you really die, but it is not true. Godzilla always bit one of my legs off and threw me down. I would hit the ground and get up, hopping away on one leg (I dream in color too).

"Tupperware and tanning, two terms not typically associated with correctional employees."

Dirty Dicks

We used to tell inmates, "Carry your anger. Tape two phonebooks together and carry them around to simulate carrying anger." Then a few of them started using the phonebooks to climb the fence, fi guring the bullets would not get through. It is actually brilliant thinking. Too bad they do not apply that brain power to something constructive. Now inmates can not check out phone books from the law library, and housing units only check them out one at a time in exchange for their ID cards.

Count seems to be in a hurry today. He has been distracted and moody; all together unfocused. My camera is charged and ready. There is no telling what he is thinking or planning.

"Hey, Batiste, you in a hurry?" Fowler has a doublehinged gravity-defying bounce to his gay stride. You can almost hear him say, "I'd gladly pay you tomorrow for a cheeseburger today."
"Yah."
"Have you got time to drop me at the Extreme Tan?"
"You tan?"
"Yah, it makes me look skinnier, and my dick bigger."
"Hey whatever it takes, huh?"
"So, can you?"
"It's really out of the way, and I'm in a hurry. I'm sure you'll fi nd somebody else."
"But they have like four locations. How do you know the one I go to will be out of your way?"
"Because I'm not sure where I'm going just yet."
"What do you mean you don't know where you're going?"
"Later dude. Go make your dick look bigger. Shouldn't be too tough."

I almost lost Count from the parking lot, thanks to the compensating clown needing a lift. He was just getting onto Highway 2 as I was pulling onto 14th street. Luckily, I caught the light before it changed. I needed to stay a bit behind him, which was easy. Two-o'clock traffi c is not bad at all. Most of the drivers leaving the area are correctional employees. Count aims his mouth at his speaker phone clipped to his sun visor. "I can't stay today; I'm in sort of a hurry. I've got to stop at Bryan-LGH, the east one. Friend of mine is there, they think he has West-Nile."

"What happened to him?"
"Hey, somebody is beepin' in on me, can I call you back?"
"Sure, bye honey."
"Hello?"
"Hey Charlie, could you stop at the Wal-Mart and get a gallon of milk?"
"Sure honey, but I'm going to be running a little late. I've got to stop at the hospital to see a guard buddy."
"What's wrong with him?"
"He was camping, and now they think he has West- Nile."

"Is he going to be okay?"
"So far, they think so. He's young and strong, but it really knocked his dick in the dirt."
"How late will you be?"
"I'll still beat you home, Claire."
"Okay, thanks."
"Bye honey, love you."
"Uh-huh, me too. Bu-bye."
Count is not on to me yet, but he drives like he is trying to shake a tail. He got off of Highway 2 at Pioneers, and then took 40th street north to A. I followed him into a parking garage at Bryan-LGH East.

"What the fuck is he doing here?" I rhetorically asked myself aloud, "I'm probably wasting my fucking time." Can I take a camera into a place like this? What the hell? All they can say is turn it off, or take it out. Wait a minute; don't people take cameras into hospitals all the time.for newborns and shit like that? Screw it; we take our chances.