The Dynamic Duo

After working here for more than a month, I am starting to recognize names, from inputting store orders and faces, from just being around, but not usually able to put the two together. I am also getting to where I can tell the new guys, not only by their names, but also by their orders. Different prison stores carry different products; we are particulary limited by the size of our store room. Joe requires our inmates to put all electronics, body-building supplements and unusual clothing items on a special order form, and new guys don’t always know that.
In this age, many are here for the crime of “identity theft”. Having worked in the bank for so long, I saw the other end: the victims. I guess it is a price we pay for convenience. When was the last time anyone checked your credit card to make sure it was you? Many stores now have self-check out registers where a machine makes the decision. I don’t really like self-check outs, but sometimes you have no choice. I believe it is ridiculously easy to perpetuate this type of crime, and agonizingly difficult for a victim to straighten it all out. I have heard. “But they aren’t really going to be out any money if they report it to their credit company or bank.” That may be true, but having spent a lot of time helping investigate such incidences I don’t have a lot of empathy for the perpetrators.
There is one guy I am getting to know. Joe and Carlos call him “Crash”. He hangs around the store window a lot and runs any errands the guys can think up, such as taking out empty boxes and trash. Crash is 26 and is currently serving his 5th prison term. All 5 have been for auto theft; he can tell you make and model of each car he has stolen. Crash seems nice and fairly harmless, but he craves attention. Once he stuck his tongue on a frozen pole, and once ate a pound of butter all on a bet. Joe and Carlos tease him, but are nice to him too. I like that.
Our minimum security prison is called a conservation camp. I’m not sure why, but here everyone works. A handful of inmates work in the camp, like grounds maintenance workers, kitchen staff, and several clerks, including my two. Most of the men work for the state Forestry Department, known informally as “NDF”. Officially they are fire-fighters, but in reality, fires are, for the most part, few and far between. The rest of the time, they work on projects in surrounding communities. I have seen them around town several times. The other day, I took my dog, Murphy for a walk. As we were returning home from the park, I saw some of the prison crew on an adjoining street working on trash clean-up I suppose. I waved a little in case some of them recognized me, and went around the block so I didn’t have to walk right by them. Murphy and I went straight into the back yard to check on Polly, the cat, and by that time, the crew members were walking through the alley in back of my house! This time there was no doubt they recognized me, a fact confirmed later that day when I went to work. We are told not to tell prisoners where we live, but all it takes is seeing a familiar car in a drive, or spotting the “store lady” walking her dog!
The guys all get paid once a month, with their wages being directly deposited into their inmate accounts. The big question is “Did my money clear?” It seems to take a long time, and lately, we have been having more “wish lists”, as Carlos calls them, than actual store orders. There are two main attractions about working NDF. First, when you are on a fire, the money is relatively good, for prison wages that is. Also, for every so many hours of fire-fighting you get a day off of your prison sentence. Carlos has done this before, and, for the most part, has no wish to go back to it. “The fire fighting is okay,” he says, “but its all the stuff you have to do to get to the fire.” Once, his crew was assigned to pick up garbage at the dump! Recently a bus full of NDF workers were dispatched to an area across the state to help sandbag a flooded area. They returned about a week later, exhausted. Jim, my youngest son, who has worked BLM fire-fighting for the past three years tells me he often works alongside prison crews on various fires. When I tell this to Carlos, he replies, “But he was on the right side of the fence.” True enough, thank goodness.
Joe has “health” problems that prevent him from holding a physically demanding job. I’m not sure what they are, but not apparently not very serious from the way he manhandles those crates full of store merchandise. I’m glad to have him in the store, whatever the reason.

to be continued