Date: Tue, 7 Aug 2012 12:31:42 -0400
From: d.a. w <daw62@hotmail.com>
Subject: Professor's Practicum   Chapters 5 and 6

The Professor's Practicum

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Chapter 5

I awoke the next morning, and tried to sort out the feelings from last
night.  I decided I had a classic approach-avoidance situation.  I both was
frightened by my experience getting a mug shot, and also very stimulated by
it.

I went downstairs and began my usual breakfast -- Cheerios with chopped
strawberries, and orange juice to drink.  I looked at the paper, but my
mind was elsewhere.  Again I heard my doorbell ring.  Absently I thought
that over the years I had lived in my home, rarely had I heard the doorbell
ring because I had a note on the door that stated "We do not answer the
door to someone we do not know.  If you are not a friend and have not
called to confirm you are coming, you don't have any reason to ring the
bell.  We will not answer."  There was of course no "we" only "me" but it
sounded better to let strangers believe that more than one person lived in
the home.  Since Jim's dinner having someone know at my door, and my
answering the door had become a much more common occurrences.  And I might
add Jim never called ahead.  So much for truth in advertising.

Jim was there at the door in Bermudas and a white "T."  I opened the door
and let him in.

"Well how did an overnight sleep affect your reaction to being mugged?"  I
like bad puns myself but did not react to this bad one from Jim.

"Well it was informative but not pleasant."  Lame reply I thought to
myself.  Where were all the thoughts I had had during the experience?
Where was my reaction to being cuffed, stuffed in the back of the cruiser,
and led around the station like a common criminal.  Secretly I knew where
these comments were -- in my secret desire for bondage and the libido that
caused this desire.  I had asked for these experiences, and secretly
fantasized about them, but I could not reveal these ideas, and so I came
out with the lame comment I just uttered.

"Well all the pieces are coming together.  The trial judge will be off
Friday to make a speech, and Jim Cox's sentencing has been scheduled for
Friday.  You will need to work fast to let everyone know you will be out of
town rather than perhaps up the river?

 [Historic note: "Up the river is a phrase primarily out of New York City.
Those sentenced to prison geographically but not literally went "up the
river (The Hudson) to Sing Sing Prison]

As he looked at me, he must have seen some reticence in my eyes or body
language.  "I'm sorry your atrocious sense of humor seems to have worn off
onto me.  But with that look I guess I need to know if you are still going
to go through with this.  If not tell me now.  I can still pull this
hearing, and quash the whole deal."

I knew that my point of decision was at hand.  I was afraid after last
night.  Last night told me that fantasy and reality were really very
different in the criminal justice system.  I was afraid, and I feared that
I would break under the pressure of being a prisoner, and as a convicted
convict, I knew that I would not be given a mulligan and released after I
told guards my story.  I knew that all I would get for telling the story of
being a college prof who volunteered to do six months in prison as
research, would be at best some time with a shrink... who would not believe
me...  and more likely some solitary disciplinary time for bothering
officers with this type of a con story.

I would like to say that in the end my desire for knowledge and my desire
to better help prisoners was the reason I decided to continue but honestly
my secret fantasy life was more a reason for my continuing with this crazy
charade than a professor going on an extreme practicum.

"No I am determined to have this experience, and this experience will make
me a much better advocate and valuable as a lawyer to prisoners unjustly
convicted or abused in the criminal justice system" I wondered if that
speech sounded like so much crap to Jim as it did to me.

"OK.  You need to make all the arrangements, and I will be around 7:30
Friday morning to take you downtown.  Here is my private cell phone number.
Call me if you have questions" With that Jim left, and I felt my heart
racing.

>From Jim's walking out the door until Friday morning, I did the complete
checklist of list of suspending deliveries and telling the university I
would not be available by phone as I would be traveling to places where I
would not have access to phones.  I knew prisoners did have access to phone
calls, but I also knew that this access was controlled, and Jim Cox would
have no believable reason to need to put the Dean of the state university
law school, or the chair to the criminal justice department.  The whirlwind
of activities ended and Thursday night I went to bed, and I tossed and
turned all night.  Finally I got to some sort of sleep but I would not call
it restful sleep.

My alarm woke me up and 6:30 am, and I went downstairs and had my last
cheerios and strawberry and orange juice breakfast.  To be honest, after I
had it, I was not sure I could keep it down, but I did go upstairs and
shower, and put on the clothes that I decided to wear to me sentencing.
Jim had approved my wearing some decent clean blue jeans... not new... but
acceptable in our current informal society to wear to most situations.  I
also wore a decent, but not designer sports shirt, in a solid dark blue
color.  The shirt and jeans, as well as my J,C, Penny blue print boxers
were actually mine.  I finished my outfit off with a pair of black leather
shoes rather than tennis shoes.

I was ready and then waited for my ride.  I sat down to watch tv only to
find that I had suspended my cable beginning today, and today began at
midnight.  I was watching for Jim, and so when he began walking toward my
house, I took a last look around, and went out through the garage and met
Jim in the driveway.  Jim had actually watched my house two years earlier
when I was on a legitimate sabbatical in Europe, and so when I handed him
my remote for the garage door, and my list of codes for the alarm system
and other information that would allow him to keep the house safe and
running for my time away. I just glanced at the cards.

"Looks like the list you gave me two years ago when you were in Europe all
summer."

"Yes, I don't think much has changed."

"Well I suppose it something really does come up, I can find out where you
are in the DOC website and come to visit you as one of the arresting
officers."

I had not thought about that I would be now officially listed and locatable
by and free citizen who just knew my name...or my name as of this morning.

"Yah.  I guess you could both find me and I would definitely be available
to you when you wanted me."

"That's right...You'll be a captive audience."

With that remark, we had arrived at Jim's black Ram truck, and I hesitated
to see if I was going to ride there in cuffs or free.

"We'll just go down as a friend taking you down, and not as a policeman
hauling you down."  Jim clearly understood the reason for my hesitation in
just opening the door and entering the truck.

In a sense I was anticipating the life of a prisoner when most doors were
not opened or closed by the inmate, but were controlled by others.  An
inmate requests or begs for a door to be opened.  Others decided if and
under what conditions that inmate might have it open and even how he might
be allowed to go through it.

The ride downtown was mostly quiet.  I was very nervous.  Normally when I
am nervous I talk, but in this ride I found myself still second guessing my
leap into another world.  I smiled as I thought that unlike Alice in
Wonderland, I was going into a crazy world in which I might indeed be
unprepared for all the persons and situations I would be facing.

Finally we got downtown, and Jim parked in a parking lot across from the
fifteen story office building which contained the city and county
government offices including the county courts.

When we got inside, Jim showed his police badge and ID, and still had to
pass through a special police scanner.  I went through the normal person
scanner, and had to show put my billfold and watch etc. in the basket.  I
had little to take off, and so I also sailed through the check point.  I
could not decide whether it was my paranoia or did the officer running the
security scanner recognize the sparse belongings of a person who would not
be leaving the building by the front door.

Jim was through, waited for me, and then gently grabbed my arm to lead me
to the bank of elevators.  I had been in the building many times, and did
not need the assistance, but accepted his guidance or perhaps his
unconscious realization that soon I would be handled and controlled by
officers.

Up the elevators we went to the third floor.  Jim somewhat led me the way
to Courtroom 307D, and opened the door for me.

We sat down toward the back, and say that the court was already in business
dispensing justice.  There were several lawyers at the front in a sort of
queue.  When each lawyer reached the front of the line, he addressed the
court rather informally like "Judge this is a standard issue, and all I
need is for an order to allow me access to the financial records of Mr. so
and so."

The judge then would look over a set of papers in front of him.  Clearly he
had received all this stack of papers earlier, and the lawyers were in
order of his stack of papers.  If the judge had a question he asked it, and
if not, the lawyer got the "I have examined this order, and it is so
ordered."  He then tapped his gavel, signed the paper, and off the lawyer
went.  Justice on the assembly line.

Finally the line was done,

"The court will take and fifteen minute recess" the judge announced, again
tapped his gavel and disappeared through the door on the left of the
courtroom from the observers' viewpoint.  I looked at my wrist to see what
time it was, and realized that my wrist watch was one of the items that I
had left at home, as Jim had advised me that they were not allowed in the
department of corrections.  I looked around and saw a clock at the back of
the courtroom.  It was now 9:35, and I was 35 minutes after I had been
instructed to be in court.  I now realized, I was already being controlled.
I had to be there in case the Judge wanted to do something with me, but the
system did not feel any requirement to follow the schedule it had imposed
on us.  It was subtle, but even at this early part of being UNDER the
justice system's control I was learning that I would be at their control
and leisure, and my needs and interests were not important.

I suddenly felt my orange juice had traveled through my digestive system,
and I needed to piss.  I got up, and by the time I got to the back of the
courtroom Jim was there with a concerned look on his face.  I realized that
he was afraid that I was bolting.

He was rapidly beside me, and so I leaned over and whispered "I've got to
piss.  Orange juice goes through me fast,"

Jim nodded, and I continued out the door.  I realized that I had no idea
where the rest rooms were.

"Down the hall to the left, around the corner to the elevator area, past
the elevators and on the right."  Jim informed me.

I started fairly rapidly moving down the hallway, and soon became aware
that Jim was traveling with me.  "Might as well squeeze out some piss too,"

he said smiling.

We got to the rest room, went in and found placed at the urinals.  I
suddenly realized that Jim was just making sure I was not bolting, much
more than also taking a seriously necessary leak.

As we walked together back to the courtroom, I just asked "You just came
with me to be sure I didn't take an elevator downstairs and out of the
building didn't you."  It really wasn't so much a question as an
accusation.

"Yes Andy, I was worried.  You are now more Jim than Andy, and there would
be severe consequences for both of you had you decided to take off."

"I can see that," I replied, and I really could but it did really signal
that as Jim Cox I was in a much different position in society than as a
professor and lawyer.

Together we returned to the courtroom.

A bailiff noted my return also.  "You Cox?" was his question as he moved up
beside me.

"Yes Sir" I surprised myself by my differential reply to this court
functionary.  In my former life I would have looked at a court bailiff as
well below me in every possible way.  Now in some way, I had become Jim
Cox, and was aware that soon persons like the bailiff would have great
power over me.

"If you need to leave the courtroom again before you appear before the
judge, check with one of the court bailiffs.  We will accompany you
wherever you need to go, or we will let you know if you should not go at
all."

I was already under scrutiny and supervision and I had not even changed my
plea yet.  However, I could see that the court bailiffs had been briefed on
who would be appearing today, and had seen my mug shot and knew to keep an
eye on me,

As I re-entered the courtroom, now with the bailiff in tow, he escorted me
to the front row, and I noticed that he and another bailiff stood in the
aisles at the end of the rows of seats just behind me.

We waited for another fifteen to twenty minutes.  It was hard to keep track
of time as I no longer had a watch and the clock was behind me.

Finally closer to 11:00 than 10:30 the bailiff at the front of the room
intoned, "All rise, Superior Court 6, in and for the Marion County, the
Honorable Judge Anthony Fisher Presiding is now in session."

When the Judge sat, we all sat down.

"Call the next case bailiff" the judge ordered.

"State vs. Jim Cox, sentencing hearing." was the announcement.  I was on.

The bailiff nudged me, and I stood and stood in front of the judge.  I was
on the floor, and he was at least one step above me.  I looked up to him.
He looked down at me.  I suddenly saw this arrangement for what it was --
an intimidation of the offender.

The judge began reading the file in front of him.  "Do you have anything to
saw before sentence is imposed?"  I realized the question was routine, and
the judge was expecting the standard "No Your Honor." reply.

"Yes, Your Honor.  I would like to change my plea to `Guilty.'"  I thought
about asking for mercy, but one look at the Judge told me that would be
wasted breath.

"The Court notes your change of plea."  There was now a pause as the Judge
read through more of the sentence recommendation.



"James M. Cox, the Court accepts your plea of `Guilty' and will follow the
sentencing recommendation.  You are hereby sentenced to no less than six
months and no more than five years in the custody of the state Department
of Corrections.  Bailiff take charge of the prisoner."

The gavel banged, and I felt strong hands grab my wrists, and handcuffs
being snapped on my wrists.  As soon as the handcuffs were snapped and
locked on my wrists I felt strong hands grab my pinioned arms and begin to
lead me to the door on the opposite side of the front of the courtroom.
There was no doubt now that I was in custody, and others would control
where and how I moved.

One bailiff opened the door, and we entered a cement block hallway.  Gone
was the wood paneled and carpeted courtroom.  I was on a concrete floor,
walking down a hallway with no door toward a set of bars.

When we arrived at the bars, one of the bailiffs stepped forward, and with
a rattling of keys opened a doorway in the bars, and I entered into being
literally behind bars.  Down that hallway, we turned a corner and there was
a two inch thick wooden bench, which was fixed onto the wall by heavy steel
brackets about every two feet.  It was clear that the wooden bench was not
going to be moved from the wall, and was much too think to be moved up or
down.

There were already others seated on the bench.  There were four black
men---two of whom looked to be teens, and one other Caucasian.  All of them
looked over at me as I arrived.  My look of shocked surprise must have
identified me as new to this process.

I was placed on the bench, and my handcuffs were removed only to be
replaced by cuffs that were attached to a long chain which rested on the
steel supports for the bench.  I was now part of a chain gang.  I noticed
that there were two more cuffs awaiting two more prisoners.

When I was seated and locked into the connecting chain, I was facing a
cement block wall, painted an institutional yellowish green, and on which
in very large letters.  "PRISONERS WILL REMAIN QUIET WHILE AWAITING
TRANSPORT."

Quiet was no problem for me.  I did not want to talk to any of my follow
prisoners.

After what seemed to me to be a fairly long time, the other two handcuffs
on the chain were filled by another orange jump suit clad white teen, and
another black in jeans and a shirt.

We were then order to get up, and form a line.  The connecting chain was to
our right.  We had about a yard between each of us.  We were herded into a
steel lined elevator.  The officer fished out a key to activate the
controls, and down we went clanking to the first floor.  When the door
opened we were met by another officer, and clanking across the floor we
went out a public door, being watched by ordinary citizens.  I could tell
workers in the city-county building as we were ignored by them.  Persons
not used to seeing six men some in bright orange jump suits, and the others
in jeans and mostly in "T's" clanking across the lobby just stared.  One
guard called one of the security officers on the first floor to "Get the
Door" and he held it open so that out little parade could clank out.  Then,
with one officer holding the connecting chain and leading us, and another
holding the end of the chain behind us, and another with a drawn shotgun
traveling slightly behind us, we traveled on public sidewalks across a main
street, by a parking lot, and to lastly to a door at the four floor county
jail.

The door was labeled, as I was to discover almost all doors were in the
jail.

This one stated, "INMATE INDUCTION."

An officer talked to someone on his shoulder radio, and so to the sound of
keys jingling the door opened, and I entered the first of my places of
incarceration as a convict -- the county jail.





CHAPTER 6

Our clanking chain gang entered the door which was slammed shut behind us.
We were facing a wall of bars.

A man in uniform released us in turn.  I followed all of my fellow members
of the chain gang who rubbed their wrists after wearing the cuffs for so
long.

We just stood there waiting.  I realized again that we were items to be
processed not persons to be consulted or informed.  Then a new superior to
us appeared, and his uniform was different than the ones who had guarded
and brought us to this little anteroom.  "More important goon."  was my
thought.

With a nod to the others, he looked at us "For inmates returning form a
line at the gate in front of you.  Those of you entering this jail for the
first time, when you are released from the cuffs immediately grasp you hand
to your opposite elbow and move over to the wall to your left.  Put your
toes and you nose ON the wall and await further orders.

A man in different uniform but not police came by and released us in turn.
I followed all of my fellow members of the chain gang who rubbed their
wrists after wearing the cuffs for so long.


I was third in line to be released, and the second to move immediately to
the wall.  I could not reach to grasp the opposite elbow, and so grasped
the arm as close to the elbow as I could.  I put my nose on the wall first,
and then wiggled my feet up to touch the wall.  This position is extremely
uncomfortable.  As I stood in this very uncomfortable position, I knew that
I had indeed been very stupid to agree to this experience, but there was no
hope.  I had stood in front of a judge and pled guilty to a crime, accepted
a sentence, and it was too late to say "Oops."  I have already found that I
hate being so totally being reduced from free citizen to totally controlled
inmate.

We heard the other inmates being moved to the gate, and then the guard in
charge give orders, "Just check their wrist bands.  Two are supposed to he
in Third West, and the rest are in Two Bullpen."  We heard the door in the
bar wall opened, and we heard the other inmates' feet trudging away from
us.

"I'll take these two to be processed" the man in charge stated.  I realized
that we were just like some item on a production line... to be put through
a series of steps to transform us from persons until we were turned into an
numbered, not named, object; locked up, not free, watched and counted,
controlled and punished, and not totally human, but more an animal-like
convict.

As I was going through this thought process, apparently I missed some
command and my introduction to the smaller version of a patrol officer's
baton which when brought firmly across your butt did command your
attention.

"BOI! PAY ATTENTION!"  was the command.  "Yes Sir," I responded loudly.  I
guess there is a connection from butt to brain, and the primitive brain
recognizes that one who can inflict that pain on you is your superior,
making you a child no matter what your age might be, and therefore deserves
the title of one of a higher rank, "SIR" when addressed by an person or
less than total person of much lower rank.

"Nice try asshole, unclasp your hands for cuffing."  was this superior's
response to my acknowledgement of his superiority.  I moved my wrists side
by side and was rewarded by the already becoming familiar feeling of
handcuffs being slapped onto your wrists hard enough for the movable part
of the cuff to travel around and latch into the immobile part of the cuff.
I wondered how long it would take before my wrists were toughened enough so
that it would not hurt so much when it was done to you.

The officer who controlled us, unlocked the opening in the bars, and
indicated by his club for us to walk through.  We did so and moved down the
hallway, but carefuuly did not try to get away from the man in charge.

"Turn left at the hallway" was the order, and we did so.  The other newbie
inmate was ahead of me, but I soon noted we were headed to another set of
bars, and through the bars I saw another of the heavy benches identical to
the ones outside the court area on which I had just spent my first time as
a convict.  "I mused that perhaps I could ask my superior if the city and
county got some sort of special price for buying several of these
industrial grade benches especially designed to be able to keep anyone
seated on it secure, with no chance to move the bench.  I immediately
decided this amount of professorial witticism would not be well received,
and I had no desire for another baton across the butt experience.

When we got to the bench "SIT" was the order, and we docilely sat.


"Charlie, two for induction mugs and body shots, showers, and uniforms."

"Yes Captain" came a voice from somewhere in another caged area to our
left.  I noted there was some sort of counter and a lot of shelves.

Charlie soon appeared with two small cardboard boxes, which he placed on
the counter, and looked at the two of us.

The Captain gave Charlie our folders and Charlie looked at the one on top,
which happened not to be mine.

"Thomas follow me!" he ordered and my fellow newbie rose and followed him
around a corner.

"Left.  Right.  Front."  Were orders.  I heard some sounds clicks and of
equipment moving, and then "Left, Right, Front, Back."
 I guessed Thomas was being photographed, and not just his mug, but all of
him.  In my mind I could see him, and soon me, being positioned by a large
measuring stick.

"Strip down!" was the next order.  There was a pause, and I could almost
watch Thomas stripping, and then standing naked in front of Charlie.  I
wonder if he did the normal male deal of holding his hands in front of his
cock and balls to give them whatever little covering was possible with no
clothes.

"Any tats?"

"Yes Sir, on my right and left arms, SIR."

"K Hands by your sides."

"Turn"

"You didn't mention that little design on your let butt cheek."

"Sorry SIR.  I guess I forget that one, SIR."

At that point Charlie reappeared, and picked up one of the two cardboard
boxes and took it into the little room.

"Place all your clothes in the box, and write your name on the label."

When Thomas was finished with putting his clothes and whatever items were
in his clothes into the box, Charlie took the box from him, and told
Thomas, again to sit on the bench.  I wondered what the bench felt like on
s his naked bottom, and what he thought of sitting naked in this open
hallway.

"Hands behind you back, and grasp elbows." Was the order from the Captain.
Thomas sat and did as ordered.  Thomas and I were sufficiently cowed by our
surroundings, and I how clearly and completely it was clear we were objects
who were to follow orders without delay and definitely without comment.

"COX!" was the order and it was my turn.  I entered the room and saw a
camera and again a wall with a large line measuring height.

"RIGHT," adjustments of the camera.  "LEFT" click.  "FRONT" and I was was
not just mug shot but totally shot.  I again thought of one of my professor
puns.  "Help I'm being shot!" I thought would be a great funny joke in the
coffee room of the offices at the university.  I of course knew this humor
would at the least earn me another stroke across my butt if mentioned
outside.  I must have allowed my musing to show on my face.

"Something funny asshole?"  was Charlie's comment

"Sir no SIR.  Sir sorry SIR!" was my response.

"Just you be careful fish or we can arrange some real fun times for you
upstairs."  was Charlie's threat, which I took very seriously.

"STRIP." was the order now, but I was prepared, and knew there was no
alternative but to do as ordered.

"ANY TATS!"  this was yelled in my ear as if I were hard of hearing.

"No SIR"

"FRONT , HAND AT YOUR SIDES"

I did as ordered.  Charlie moved the camera on a bit of track to which it
was attached, and I was photographed front back and sides naked.

"For your protection.  These photos document what you looked like upon
admission."  Charlie then stated.  It was in a monotone and might have been
recorded for all the involvement Charlie really put into the information.

I also then placed all my clothes into the box, and sat.

Charlie then placed the boxes somewhere behind the counter, and then
ordered "Follow me."

We followed, and went down another short hallway to the left, and then made
another short right turn and soon were stopped by an opening in the wall to
our right.

"You have three minutes to shower.  Make sure you wash completely, I don't
want to smell you.  Especially make sure your privates are clean."

I mentally thought.  If Charlie were bright enough, I would accuse him of a
very bad pun.  There was nothing about either of us now that was private.

We entered the shower area which could accommodate probably twenty or more.
Suddenly a set of four shower heads sprang to life.

"Soaps on the board under the shower heads.  GET MOVING!"

The water was cold I thought, but I knew complaining about the temperature
would only get me yelled at and so shivering and I began using the soap and
washed myself.  We were being watched by Charlie, and so I went to turn
around to soap my cock and balls."

"Keep turned this way.  We need to be sure you do a proper job."

Part of me was thinking over all the prison regulations I knew about, and
decided that probably prisoners had no rights to take a shower without
being watched.

"I know that little prick of yours is probably no more than three inches,
but make sure it is clean." Charlie ordered.  I blushed and soaped my cock,
which had always been an embarrassment to me.  He was right it was only
about three inches soft, and didn't get all that much bigger when
stimulated.

After I soaped my tackle acceptably. I reached around to soap my butt.

"Reach back there and spread the cheeks, and get that crack and hole
clean."

Charlie moved in my mind from being a neutral sheriff's jail functionary to
sick voyeur as he examined from his post at the opening into the shower
area my thoroughness of soaping by butt crack and hole.  On the other hand
Charlie had probably watched this intro shower so many times that we were
just two more naked males being processed and being naked and open to
inspection and control just was a part of our new life and his job.

"One minute left.  Finish up!"  Charlie intoned.

We both finished, and looked for a towel.  None appeared.  We appeared to
be required to drip dry, and indeed we stood and shivered as Charlie
disappeared only to return with two orange jumpsuits.  There was a thin
pair of boxer shorts each with the word "JAIL" stenciled across the butt on
top of the pile of orange.  We also got a pair of white socks, and a sort
of soft sandal footwear.

As we passed the desk again on our trip around the intake area, I saw a
sign on the area where Charlie worked which, in large black block letters
announced "INTAKE."  I mentally noted how concentrated on what was
happening to me I had become that I could miss the sign earlier.  We were
stopped at the desk area again, and this time around our left wrists one of
those labels inside plastic was fastened around our left wrists.  While I
could see my left wrist as I anticipated that soon I would be cuffed behind
my back, I noted that I was 2012 -- 1197 and I guessed my intake companion
would became 2012 -- 1198.

"Keep track of your number, Names can be confusing so we normally just use
your intake number .  We expect you to respond with a respectful `Yes Boss'
or `Yes Sir' when you report to whatever officer has called your number.
Do you understand?"

Charlie received two fairly prompt " Yes Boss's."  We thus showed that we
were trainable.

 Now shod and clothed in our prisoner identifying orange and shoes, the
Captain re-appeared.

 "State tier on Four for these two.: I'll call for an officer to take them
up, Lock'em on the bench until he gets here."

We were led back to the bench, and when we were seated, Charlie leaned
behind us and soon we were cuffed again, but this set of cuffs had a
connecting chain to the strut connecting the bench to the wall.

We were now photographed to document exactly how we totally looked as we
entered this strange world, and were hitched awaiting someone who was above
us... that was almost anyone NOT in a jumpsuit,... to take us to where we
would be kept until our transfer to the state prison.

I hated being so totally helpless and so totally controlled.  I hated my
warped mind that overruled reason and got me into this mess.  I mused that
the old saying that all men have two heads, and it is the smaller of the
two that gets all males into trouble.

Yup

As I finished my mental castigation of myself, the Captain reappeared.  "I
just checked.  I want `97' in B-14, and `98' in A-6.'"

"Yes Sir," was Charlie's respectful reply.  I smiled to myself to see that
in replies to the Captain, Charlie was just the same as us inmates.

"Something funny asshole."  was Charlie's sudden and irritated remark.
Since he was glaring at me, I quickly replied.  "Boss no Boss."  and
mentally reminded myself that I had to guard myself from either thinking or
letting my face reflect what I was thinking.  I mentally wondered which
skill thinking or freezing my face would come first in my new world.

At this point the Captain exited, and Charlie was on the phone.  "Escort
needed in Intake."

As I sat in my thin boxers, and bright orange jumpsuit, my ID tag.  and
cloth sandals, with my hands cuffed behind my back, and chained to a
immovable object, I realized how easily and quickly I was turned into an
object and no longer a person and citizen.