Housing Unit

Three times I’ve walked through the housing units here on the facility. As desperately as I want to stop and peer in, it feels so wrong. It is not a zoo. I can’t just stop and take in the reality. So, instead, I set up with one of my guys in my building, to do a visit. I explained to him my dilemma, and asked him to check with his cube mates to allow me a visit. He came back, and told me it was cool.

We set up a time during count for me to come in. I arranged with a friend to accompany me; I promised the boss buy not to go into a unit by myself. Well, the friend had disappeared during our arranged time. Promises are so important, and I knew I needed to honor this one, so I trolled down the hall to find somebody to provide me a chaperone.

I found the lieutenant from Bad Bad Bad in an office, and shanghaied him to come. He was quite gracious about it, and of course, I then foolishly realized that I didn’t know quite where I was going. I was pretty sure he was in a certain unit, and I knew he was up by the front desk. The units are an open dorm set up, with a couple of hundred guys in a single room. Rather than an open barrack set up, it has smaller partitioned areas with six guys in each. I stride/slink along the rows of cubes, making quick eye contact, thinking I will find my guy in a minute. How stupid, to not understand my destination.

And in a moment I find relief. I see Mr. Phillips lying prone on his bunk, grinning at me. God knows what he would have done if I’d wandered by without seeing him. I am suspicious he would have just let me wander onwards.

I smiled and walked in, expecting him to do a bit of introduction and explanation. Clearly he is not on that wavelength, and he continues to lie there pleased I’ve come and curious about the next bizarre behavior I will perform. So I explain why I am there to the group in general. The guy in the middle bunk, unknown to me, sits up and starts to take control of the interaction. He is interested, but apparently confused. I get that sinking feeling of voyeurism.

“Mr. P. told me it was okay to visit your house…that you had all agreed.”

“Yeah, he did, but I didn’t believe him,” he tells me, eying Mr. Phillips balefully.

So I address my questions toward him. There are three bunks and six lockers, a row of hooks to leave your coats in a space about 8x12. How do you get into the top bunks? In college, there was a ladder-like thing built into the head and base of the bunk. Not here. You apparently have to levitate yourself from the chair three feet into the bunk. I’m not the most unatheletic person, but that leap fills me with a bit of trepidation. Plus, there are clothes and things on the chair. How do you elevate yourself without tromping on somebody else’s shit? I got no good answer to that question. The top bunks have the completely useless privacy screen of the partition wall. it appears exactly three inches higher than the mattress, so if you lie on your back without a pillow, you can’t see the guy six inches away. I’m sure you can hear him, though, not to mention smell his particular funk. I understand flatulence is a high art in the housing units, partly due to the diet probably.

Each bunk has a shelf the width of the bunk and about 16 inches deep for televisions or writing or whatever you might wish a shelf to provide. No bookshelves, no desks no tables. I realize I’m leaning against the most westerly bunk, and somebody I don’t know is lying within. I ask for an introduction. He gives me the freaked eyeball, his street name, which sounds like Dharma something, but can’t possibly be that… and I decide to leave him alone. At that moment, I scan the larger room. Every single guy in the top bunks of the unit is sitting up watching us. The minimal partition walls not only provide little privacy for sleep, but apparently I can’t have this conversation without a rapt audience. My only option is to pretend I’m oblivious.

Mr. Phillips’ lower bunk mate is also one of my patients. He is the guy who didn’t want me to walk through the snow, insisting I walk ahead of him. He is sooooo excited I’m there. So after initially greeting him, I return to chat him up a bit.

The lieutenant is beyond his ability to contain himself at this point. He explains I am mistaken, this is not Mr. Grand, and he’s known this prisoner for years, “this is Mr. Johnson….,”

“No, lieutenant, she’s right, I’m Mr. Grand.” The lieutenant just gives me the eyeball and we end the visit.