A Day In The Life

Piss and Vinegar

(As with previous stories, please be aware that there may be foul language and inappropriate content. It is a prison after all, and not all inmates are polite. My goal is to give you a pretty clear idea of my job.)

Despite our best efforts, inmates still manage to get drunk. They brew up hooch out of tomatoes, apples, oranges, or potatoes. Basically anything that can ferment; they can and will make alcohol out of it.

On this occasion, some time ago, two inmates were found drunk in a housing unit. They are brought to a special housing for disciplinary segregation. They are placed in a holding cell to await intake. I am assigned to do their intake. Basically I am going to ask them their names and what size clothes they wear. I will also ask them if they are taking any medication or are on any special diet.

I go upstairs to accomplish this task. This is my first time seeing who the intoxicated inmates are. I have met them many times before, not drunk, out and about in my regular days. I don’t know their names or personal information. I stand outside the door and ask them for names. I can smell the hooch through the door. I ask again, “What are your names?”

They think they are so clever. They ask what my name is. I know they know. But I tell them anyway. I ask them again for their names. That is kind of where it all kind of goes crazy.

One of them begins screaming at me. “You don’t represent me you bitch. I am a (enter Native American Indian tribe name here). You cannot represent me. I will not tell you anything!” He begins kicking the door and hitting it with his fists. He is just screaming at me. I just smile and nod. The other inmate in the room with him is pointing and dancing, indicating that the screaming guy is crazy. Then he falls down. I gave up asking for names and left.

I come back a short time later and the one starts screaming at me again. I am a bitch and he is giving me the finger. I see the other is laying on the floor, pressed up against the door. I was concerned that he had been hurt falling down because he was so drunk or possibly his friend had beat him up. Then I notice what he is doing. He has wedged himself up under the door and is peeing under the door in an effort to pee on my shoes. I walk away and an inmate orderly cleans it up. But now they are mad. Again, the one begins screaming and the other again tries to pee under the door. Again, I ignore them and again the orderly mops.

I leave that area to do some other things. The orderly comes to me and tells me that now both of the drunken inmates in the holding cell are “pissing like racehorses”. They are calling my name and telling me that it was all for me. I try not to let it phase me. They are calling me a bitch and giving me the finger and just peeing everywhere. I just laugh and smile. They are ridiculous. But it is time to go home.

We tell the incoming officers what has happened that day, including the peeing drunks. The lieutenant tells them to leave them there until they sober up and to be careful and get some more people to come to help them if they need to. I went home and took a shower.

I wonder what they thought after they sobered up and were covered in their own pee.