I haven’t talked about if for awhile, but I am still at the prison. I am becoming more competent at my job of running the prison canteen, but our sales are still usually the lowest of prison canteens in the state, as my supervisor Jackson keeps reminding me. It’s not like I can increase sales with better marketing; we have a captive clientele and, for the most part, if they have money, they spend it. Its just that most of the time, except for right after they get their small monthly pay, most of them have no money. We just got some new guys in the camp, however, with a little cashola on their books, so sales may be looking up. I asked the LT the other day if he had any ideas on new items we could carry that would sell well. Tongue in cheek, he mentioned that little wine-coolers or shots of whiskey or scotch would probably be pretty popular. I told him I had no doubt they would be, but I thought I may have a little trouble getting them approved by the warden.
I had a shock when I got to work yesterday. I was, once again, short one inmate clerk. Sean had been uncerimoniously “rolled up” (just means sent somewhere else with out warning) along with 2 other inmates and sent to Cedar Prison. He had left about an hour before I got there. There seemed to be no clear cut reason. There had, it appeared, been some trouble with some members from his “car”, and he was “guilty by association”. Did I ever explain “cars” to you? A car is “who you ride with.” It was surprising for me to learn that, apparently, prison systems are very racially biased and segregated, if the inmates have any choice. ( I just realized I am using a lot of “it appears, it seems, apparently” because, of course, I am reporting all of this as it has been told to me, and (thank goodness) have no first hand knowledge, so I am going to start leaving out much of those qualifying phrases, and just understand they are implicit in most of what I tell you, okay?) Anyway, a car is defined along racial lines. There is a car for whites, one for blacks, one for hispanics, and a different one for paises, or hispanics directly from Mexico who don’t speak that much English, and for whatever other races may be present. Sean, though half white, half Phillipino, and classified as “other” as his racial designation, “ran” with the non-paises Mexicans. He grew up alongside them, and considered them his “homies” or “homeboys”. I think there may be a difference between homies and homeboys, but the distinction was never that clear to me. I know that several recent transfers into the camp were guys Sean knew from “the streets,” and some of those associations may have gotten him tagged for this recent transfer. Also, Sean had been at Calvin for a long time, which may also have contributed to his leaving. We are warned not to become attached to our clerks, or consider them our friends, but this is rather improbable, if not impossible. When you work with someone, you have to develop a level of trust, which can lead to mutual respect, which makes for a much more pleasant working environment. Yeah, I realize these guys are in prison for a reason, and I’m not really that naive; I don’t uncategorically trust them or even like everything about them, but I do miss them when they leave and wish the best for them.
Sean is actually pretty young, and besides having been in prison for awhile, is also an alumnus of the state youth correctonal facility. You may remember from an ealier post that he had a bad attitude when he first got to Calvin, but that Carlos, my former store clerk, had helped him get that turned around. Sean was thrilled to get the store job, and I heard him tell several guys that he actually “looked forward to going to work now.” He was devoted to his family, esp his mother and brother, and worried when he hadn’t had contact with them for a while. He sometimes marvelled that his mother was still so supportive after all he’d put her through, and he was very proud of his younger brother for choosing a different path from his own.
Sean is on the parole agenda for this month, and if he gets it, he could be out In August. I hope he does and that I hope things go well for him. I will miss his enthusiasm, humor and hard work.
For now, time to start reviewing those job applications kites…...........
UltraMom
Sometimes when you have been away for a long time, its kind of hard to come back. There is SO much to tell, yet so little that I hardly know where to begin. Perhaps I’ll ease back in gently so I won’t scare me (and you) off.
Last weekend I spent with family, which is always a tonic to my spirits. When I thought about it I realized that not one of these people is related to me by blood, and when I further thought about it, I realized that it didn’t matter in the slightest. Let me start by saying I don’t think I could live here if it weren’t for my sister-in-law Pat. I have always liked her, but now she has become one of my closest friends. I know I can drop in any time and always be welcome. And, of course, she is Murphy’s Grandmother, as she is the “mother” to both of his birth parents. But the person I really couldn’t live in Carlin without is my husband, UltraDad. If he hadn’t been here, there would have been no point in moving, right? Okay, I know this sappy stuff is kind of boring, so I’ll leave it there.
Pat’s son Billie is UltraBob’s oldest cousin, and they were always pretty close. Billie and his sisters Chenoa and Mary spent a lot of time in Howe when they were growing up. Billie is now a practicing attorney in Cheyenne, WY and is married to Brandi, who also practices law, and who is cute, smart, funny, and an awesome Trivial Pursuit player. Billie & his family lived in Eureka, NV for about 5 years when he was young, and when he was in college in Reno, Billie hooked back up with some childhood friends and ended us working several summers in the courthouse in Eureka. He is still a member of their VFW, and was invited to be their featured speaker at this year’s Memorial Day ceremonies.
Billie and Brandi brought with them, on this long and arduous journey, their 7 year old nephew Dalton, one of 4 children belonging to Brandi’s sister. Second from oldest, with ages ranging from 8 year to 2 years, Dalton suffers somewhat from “Middle Child Neglect Syndrome” and when asked if he wanted to take a trip with his favorite aunt and uncle replied “I would be delighted.”
Besides the extra attention, he got to do a lot of cool things. He got to see horses, cows, geese and kittens at Aunt Kathy Lear’s house, baby poodle puppies at Aunt Pat’s house, and learned to play Cribbage and Crazy 8 with Aunt Kathy McDonald, Pat and Brandi. He had a little menagerie of his own by the time the trip was over; I gave him a little dog I got in a Happy Meal one time. He named it Kizzy after a dog he used to have, and it played pretty happily with my own Happy Meal dog, a dalmation named Idaho. His Aunt bought him a toy horse in IFA, the farm goods store, hiis Uncle bought him a toy snake in the variety store in Eureka, and he also had a lion from somewhere. The snake was sometimes pretty nice, but other times was lying on someone’s bed trying to scare them. (It looked and moved a little too realistically). We all went to see the movie “Over the Hedge.” It was about this racoon who has to amass a lot of very specific foods for an angry bear, and cons other woodland creatures (including a turtle, manic squirrell and a possum who’s daughter’s name is Heather) into going “over the hedge” to Suburbia to raid garbage cans, cars and homes. I slept throught the first little bit, and missed the major premise, so spent a while wondering what was going on. (the story of my movie-watching life.) Anyway, Billie gave an excellent speech, and if I can wrangle it, I may post a copy for your enlightenment and enjoyment. Afterwards he went to lunch with the VFW dignitaries, and the rest of us had an excellent lunch at the farm home of Billie’s good friend Travis and his parents. Susan and Jim Gallagher had a little apricot poodle they called Louie, who reminded me somewhat of Murphy, though she was much older, daintier and had an odd habit of growling at you when petted.
UltraDad had to work through most of this weekend, but did get to spend most of an evening with everyone. Billie really likes and admires his Uncle John from the summer he spent, along with UltraBob, irrigating on the farm. In fact, when we play pinochle, Billie will have no other partner, and they usually win.
So, all in all, a pretty good weekend for me. How was yours?
UltraMom
