It's Not My Fault I'm Short
It was count time. Those of you who are regular readers already know that inmates are counted at various times throughout the day. Inmates are generally locked into their cells and, during the day, are required to stand up to be counted.
So I am counting along with another officer. (As I have said before, two people always count.) We get about 9 cells over and there is an inmate standing in the window. (Don't worry, he is dressed.) He is very tall and wide and is taking up the whole window. Yes, he is standing. Yes, I can see him. However, the cells are built for two. I can not see around him and see if he has a cellmate in there.
I ask him to move. He won't. He says he is alone. I know this to be a lie. So again, I tell him to move. He says his cellmate is fine and I should move on. Again, I tell him to move. He moves an inch. I still can't see. I tell him again to move. Finally he moves. He says it's my fault I couldn't see. I am too short. The other officer who is with me comes behind me to count.
Again, the inmate is taking up the window. Again he is told to move. He moves, but he says something rude to the other officer.
The inmate was just being a giant jerk. So I wrote him up.