5/27/14
It's the day before I leave Carswell, commonly referred to as "the merry-go-round." If you conjure up an image of happy people riding plastic animals with music and smiles, then you know nothing of the type of merry-go-round I am on. Perhaps if going in circles and up-and-down is the idea - then, yeah, it's a merry-go-round of sorts.
So, typically, my name would have been on the call-out sheet last night informing me to show up to Property today for my "pack-out." As we know, nothing has gone according to process, so why would this be any different - no one was called out, not me, not Red, not the Third woman in my unit also leaving. So, after breakfast with Freckles, I loaded my two boxes onto a card and walked to the property open house at 7am.
It's an open house, but no one was there. Instead, the staff woman was working in the mail room. A line formed - people waiting to pick up their property (transfers to Carswell from other institutions) and the three of us trying to pack out. About 7:45am, the staff member told everyone there would be no open house today due to a heavier need in the mail room (due to yesterday's holiday). I informed her that we need to pack out and she asked if we were on the call-out. We said, "no, but we leave tomorrow." Her eyes got big, "tomorrow?!?!?!?" It's as if no one has ever done their job before. So, she tells us to sit and wait, and wait, and wait.
Red goes to the counselor's office, meanwhile, to pick up our merry-go-round papers, since we were also supposed to be there at 7:45am. The counselor isn't there at 7:45, 8:00, 8:15... So, Red joins back up with us and goes about packing out, finally. It was quick and easy for her. Her clothing from home were here and everything she's taking fit into the backpack her family sent.
For me, of course, nightmare!! The woman takes one look at my two boxes and says, "we don't do that mailing!" Umm, really?!?! She tells me that I needed to send them out through my unit counselor. The same counselor who recently told me that he's not responsible for mailing out my stuff. I have a pocket full of stamps and all I want to do is mail my few things home that I can't carry with me. Okay, I'm a hoarder, slightly more than a few things. The staff member just keeps bitching about the boxes and I inform her that I just got my official date a week ago - I couldn't really take care of this stuff in advance.
So, not wanting to give in, she calls my unit manager to complain that she has to do this mail out. I'm not sure what he said back to her, but then I am told to inventory my stuff - including the stuff I'm carrying out - which I did not know to bring with. There's no manual on this stuff. Ugh.
So, I try my best to remember everything I'm carrying out (forgot a few items), and also inventory my boxes thoroughly as she looks to see I'm not taking anything not allowed home, and I have to fill out some mailing forms. I ask the P.O. Box for here and she literally snarls at me, "how long have you been here?" "Nine months," I reply. "And you don't know the address?" I tell her that I barely ever had to write it. She says, "you never write anyone?" I tell her that our envelopes already have the address. It didn't go well when I had to ask for the zip code a wee bit later.
Then, we walk 20 feet to the mail scale and weigh the boxes - 49 stamps on one, 75 stamps on the other. So, I get to work putting one stamp at a time on the boxes - rows of 10 stamps at first to keep my counting easier. The staff member opens the door to the mail room, and we put my packages in their rightful place. Umm, property is literally attached to the mail room, but she doesn't do mailings??
I ask about my out clothing that Sporty over-nighted to me on Thursday, costing me $40. Not here. Okay, I know it's here, but she does nothing to find it - so, I'm leaving in my greys. Now, they will have to mail my package back to me -- when they actually go and get it.
Finally packed out, I roll the empty card that I need to now return to the housing unit and try to find Red and the Third. I catch them coming off the elevator - still the counselor is out. It's after 9am and we can no nothing without that paper. The paper lists 12 places we need to go to in the institution and have signed - psychology, med records, legal records, R&D, education, safety, business office, laundry, etc. We are told that they throw the sheet out at the end, but I still go about wanting to do it. I mostly follow rules and all three of us do choose to follow this one. So, we sat outside (closed move) to figure out how we go about getting our form if the counselor fails to show.
I'm still pulling the now empty cart and find my way into my housing unit to drop it off, but I get locked inside. My case manager comes by and I tell her about not being able to get the form from the counselor. Wah-lah - she talks with another case worker, who takes about 2 minutes to print out copies of the form for all of us. Yay, we can officially start the process!
The Third and I choose to take our clothes to laundry first, but no one was there to go through it, so a staff member told us to put our bags behind the door and come back later - okay. Then we go to the business office, where we fill out a form with our exit addresses - just in case money comes in for us (not likely in my part). We go to institutional records and get screamed at for knocking on the door, but someone signs the form without even looking to see if we have any detainers - really??? Why do they require this merry-go-round if people don't even look us up?
It's about that time with the Third one says, "let me see your sheet." I show it to her and she crinkles it into a tight ball. I looked at her with a crazy look, "what are you doing???" Turns out there is a superstition here that if your merry-go-round paper is all wrinkles and torn, it means you will not come back. It's well known, as not less than six more people throughout the morning crinkled up my paper. The OCD in me went off the charts - trying to reflatten it out!!
After we finished with records, we went to medical records. The way they are supposed to work is that we fill out a cop-out to get a copy of our med records. Weeks later, we are called in to receive the copy. I have been requesting my records since February and never received them. I brought a copy of my cop-out that showed that they said they would provide them to me, but still, they said, "no." to our getting our records. They gave us an address to write and request them. I explained that I have a doctor appointment this week - required by the BOP, and they need my records. The woman goes into the office (we are forced to have these conversations in the main building hallway), and then a man with even more attitude comes out. He doesn't believe I must have my medical records this week. I tell him that he call call my case manager for confirmation. I show him the cop-out they sent me. Finally, he goes back into the office, and then he comes out and says my file will have a cd with the records for me to take. I pray it's there tomorrow when I leave. Nothing goes easy here - nothing!!
Next step, education. Door is locked, so we have to wait. The Third one needs to talk to the Chaplain next door. We run into Red, who is taking care of her merry-go-round on her own. Meanwhile, we see the entire high rise housing unit being emptied. Is is a shake down? A fire drill? We are told that we need to go outside and join all the other inmates on the lawn - the staff is running an emergency drill. It takes a good 30+ minutes for full drill to happen. We stand in humid 90 degree heat, with the majority of the other inmates.
Once allowed back into the building, we go back to education for their signature. No love lost between me and that place, but I will always be grateful for the experience. 11am, I go back to my housing unit to await being called for lunch. I meet up with Freckles for our last meal together. I am not getting dinner here tonight, I'm having tuna with Nurse. Freckles and I toasted to "lifelong friends" and ate a decent meal of chicken salad, cottage cheese, cold noodle salad, a water beverages.
Freckles decided to join me on the rest of my merry-go-round. We start at laundry, where I am accused of not bringing my pillow earlier, then to psychology, I catch safety in the hallway, and finally we go to the Lieutenants office. For the first time ever, I had to sit and wait on the infamous blue benches (outside the Lieutenants office, where everyone in trouble has to go). We wait about 20 minutes, but finally I get someone to sign my form. My form fully filled out and signed, I bring it back to the case manager about 12:30pm. I was heading to my room to change into my greys and relax when Red reminded me that I have my 1:45pm injection. It's Tuesday, not Monday, so I totally forgot. So grateful she reminded me - stay in my uniform for another hour.
I started writing this in my unit at 12:30pm, but now it's 2:10 pm and I'm sitting in the clinic waiting for my name to be called for my last injection at Carswell - the only kind of "shot" I received. It really is possible to stay out of real trouble while locked up!
The clinic is pretty packed for an afternoon. As always, people are talking about when they will leave - November, next year, 5 more years, I hear. People talk to loud, it's impossible not to eavesdrop. A woman I know with a life sentence for murder, sits nearby. She likes me and hopes I have a good life. Some say she's confessed to her crime - she told me an hour long story, recently, about her innocence. I don't pretend to know the truth - she's considered a "famous" inmate - books/tv shows about her. To me, she's just a very sad and bitter older woman. Her biggest worry, she tells me constantly, is that her 40 year old son is not yet married. She has asked me if I will play 'matchmaker' for him on the outside.
My injection is now down and I'm outside sitting on "lovers row." Twenty-four blue benches next to one another on either side of a wide sidewalk. I guess early mornings and nights, couples make-out and try to get away with hidden touches here. It's 2:30pm right now and about 40 women are sitting here waiting for the next open move. No kissing or touching that I can see. Some are sitting along, some having conversations with friends - 18 to 80 year olds sharing the same benches. Some people in wheelchairs, some walkers, come canes. Officers are all over, getting fresh air and enjoying the cooler breeze that has come over the compound.
There's a landscaping inmate employee weeding the small flower gardens by the units. She seems perfectly happy working by herself, her hands getting dirty, adding beauty to this place. Another inmate is sweeping the sidewalk in a unit doorway. The sidewalks need to be cleaned many times per day. The pigeons sit above and their droppings cover that area. Just two days ago, I watched a woman get slammed on her shirt with pigeon droppings. Well, that's good luck for her, I suppose.
The officer in charge of my unit is outside, getting off on catching people trying to go toward the units early or exit out the door he left unlocked. While he is at one set of doors, women take a run for trying to get to other doors without being caught. This game the C.O. is playing is of his own making - usually, we stand by the doors until open move. Today, you can get in trouble for doing so. The rules change based on C.O. and people left to try to figure out the rules of the day. We are all set up to fail.
I'm going to spend most of tonight just relaxing. I didn't sleep well last night. My head is full of thoughts. I may be done with the institutional merry-go-round, but the circles of thought will stay going in circles in my head.
No comments:
Post a Comment
Please add your comments here: