This is Her First Time in Prison

First day at the new job. My workplace was at the end of a winding drive. I was told to follow the signs and come in the main door. OK. At the end of the drive, and there are a couple of buildings and parking lots and nothing that looks like a main door. I’m early, cause I’m anxious. This is not helping. There’s a woman walking up, and I roll down the window and ask her.

“Are you the new psych?” “Yup, that’s me.” I get walked in. There is a tiny, rusted sign that says entrance that is visible about ten yards from the sidewalk. I could have wandered around for quite a while looking for it as I gazed at the twenty foot fences topped in rolls and rolls of razor wire. And there is a guy with a very large weapon. Don’t piss him off. And look, there is a group of men dressed alike behind the wire, carefully watching my every move.

The helpful person with me notices tampons in my clear purse thing (I was told to bring my purse stuff in this way). She suggests I might want to wrap them in a tissue. What is that? We’re all women? She explains there are “sex fiends” out there and apparently tampons are devices of sexual stimulation. Very confusing. Again, we’re all women, how exciting is a tampon? Maybe the guards are the fiends?? That doesn’t make sense, but I hide the tampons nonetheless… No reason to start an argument before I even officially start.

Fast forward. I’ve been checked into Personnel, and the ID machine is not working so I’m still a non-entity. I could be a prisoner…. The boss-guy and I go in through the gates. Unlike the exciting TV shows, the gates are glass not bars. I walk past the “bubble,” show my visitor pass, go through the metal detector, two more doors and we’re in. No problem

Where do you think we go first? Boss-guy and I? The Hole: it’s called Seg (short for Segregation). How many folk here are on our caseload? Three. And they’re all men. Well, there are three different facilities in this complex. My boss must have some responsibility for the guys. So we stop, and talk to the inmates through the meal slot in the door. Each cell has a cement bed thing, with a small mattress pad that looks like about two inches of cotton batting. There is a small corner table, again made out of cement in the corner and a column of cement blocks for a “chair.” I assume there is a toilet on the wall out of the general view. I’ve decided craning my neck and looking in is both unprofessional and impolite, so I’m still assuming about the toilet. There is NOTHING in the cell but two Styrofoam cups the mattress, and a couple of sheets, one wrapped around the waist of the prisoner. Where his pants were remains a mystery, but he doesn’t flash me, so I’m relived. OH, did I mention the VERY LARGE metal rings on the four corners of the “bed?” clearly where you tie the restraints. And at about hand level on the wall by the bed-thing, the paint has been worn off by the busy fingers of anxious inmates. It doesn’t have an appreciable odor, which is good, but what in Heaven’s name must you do here hour after hour? Except, of course, become more insane? But I’m projecting. I would become more insane; it might offer some kind of relief to be in a quiet controlled environment for a while if you’re incarcerated.

We’re done, and I’ve been introduced to my 20th person. No chance I’ll remember names. They’re introduced with first, last and rank. The name tags have only last names, and I call them by those when prisoners are around, but first names otherwise. I have the first initial for help…. What is the difference between a lieutenant, sergeant and captain? Who knows? But I’m sure it is important…. Damn.

Before we went into Seg, we stopped at “Control,” the central place that tracks the safety and general safety processes of the facility. It’s where the “Custody” hive mind lives. Custody is the euphemism for guards. I like guards, they are my friends. I try to look benign and competent simultaneously. I’m not sure I succeeded. I now have, on the belt of my brand new casual pants, a PDD. My first acronym. Personal Protection Device. I learn shortly that the button, when pushed, vibrates madly and gives my location via GPS. And I am assured that within sixty seconds three or four or five Custody will appear, out of breath, and ready to save me. This is reassuring. I’m especially pleased as now we are walking across the Yard. This is the MEN’S yard. Suddenly the tampon issue becomes clear. Apparently the Mental Health building opens onto two of the facilities.

I had imagined one large pile of cement, not walking through the open to get to my office, but oh well. The buildings are all older and made of brick, rather pretty. The grounds are lovely with verdant grass, large trees and a large greenhouse structure for growing annuals. The flower gardens are weeded impeccably. It is raining, so not too many people are out and about. I ask, and boss-guy says eye contact is fine, but don’t look down after you make it. I live in a community that is very racially mixed. The worst thing you can do is NOT make eye contact with the young African American men in town, or they follow you and harass you trying to scare you. I’m trying to balance this impulse but not gawk. Sunshine would be better as I could hide a bit behind my sunglasses.

The rest of the morning is pretty innocuous. I hang with the boss and see some of his male inmate/patients. Nothing too scary, some sexual criminals, and one murderer, but they just seemed like normal patients. Now it is lunch. We can’t bring many things into the perimeter. Obviously no weapons or drugs. But also no food except for factory wrapped snacks and a liter of sealed liquids in plastic (no glass or metal). No cell phones, one lipstick, one nail clipper one hairbrush and a day’s worth of sanitary products for women only. (Were men trying to smuggle in tampons?? Why did that bit of detail need to be in the policy?) So we stroll out across the yard again to eat lunch OUTSIDE the perimeter. Everybody is extremely friendly and amusing in the lunch room, even though none are from my unit. The boss introduced me before he left with the caveat, “She’s never been in prison before.” This is really rather an appealing place in many ways I didn’t expect. But as I finish my bologna sandwich, little pieces of information start to settle in my mind, and a suspicion starts to surface.

Third trip across the yard, and I ask the boss-guy where the women are… “Oh, we haven't had women here in years.”