Date: Thu, 13 Jun 2013 09:47:16 -0400
From: d.a. w <daw62@hotmail.com>
Subject: The Professor's Punishment    Chapter 3

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THE PROFESSOR'S PUNISHMENT CHAPTER 3

I stood there feeling dumb.  What was I supposed to do now?  I had just
been given a set of rules, but none of them seemed to apply to the moment.

"Well fish, get your bunk made up.  And stow those personals there at the
back of our house.  Over there, by the back wall."

"Yes Boss."  I stowed my personals-- towel, washcloth, soap, paper, pencil,
and cup—on the floor at the back of the "house" and started unfolding
the two-inch thick plastic that was supposed to be my "mattress."  I made
up my "bed" with the worn-out sheets and the thin blanket.  I thanked my
previous training in solitary about how to fold the sheet to make the bed
have the proper smoothness of the sheets and how to place the blanket.  I
then moved the other personals of in the same small space on the floor.  I
then hung up my spare set of browns on my assigned hook.

I completed this task and looked over to see that the Boss was now sitting
at the tiny fold down seat and desk observing me.  "Not bad, fish.  Sit
down on the deck and tell me who you are and how long you'll be here with
us."

"Boss, I just came from court.  I was here at Princeton before but I was in
segregation.  I was serving six months to five years for breaking into
cars.  Then a prosecutor discovered that I had a juvenile conviction, and I
didn't disclose that on the sentencing information.  So I'm looking at 15
years, hard labor.  The judge was pissed at the lying part, and he wasn't
impressed when I tried the `juvenile records are sealed' excuse."

"Boy, you sure are one dumb fuck-up, aren't you?"

"Boss, yes Boss."

 "You should fit in, all right.  I guess I misjudged you.  When you came in
you reminded me of a college prof I had who flunked me once.  I called the
asshole and tried to get him off the `F' because I was only six points away
from a `D-` but the fucker wouldn't budge.  I spend a lot of nights in my
bunk thinking of all the ways I'd like to educate him on some prison
discipline.  Course I'll be 60 when I get out, but I bet I could still
scare the shit outta that pompous fuckwad."

I pictured the scene, and went with it.  "I bet he'd croak if he recognized
you at the door.  What you really need to do is get in the door, slap some
cuffs on him, then use his credit cards.  Have him build a cage for
himself, and show him some prison guard style.  Take a shitload of
pictures, and tell him if he ever tried to get back at you, you'd out him
as a homo pervert who asked you to come and treat him like a con.  Some of
those college types really have that as a fantasy."

"Man, you are weird shit.  Maybe you oughta go to the hole.  I mean the
real one, not that pussy solitary you were in."

"If you mean the one down a bunch of stairs, with a solid steel outside
door and then a barred door inside of it, and you get to freeze your ass on
concrete and use an open hole in the concrete to piss and shit in, I
already got sent there."

"Bro, you don't look like you could piss anybody off enough to get yourself
in the hole, but I guess it's true that sometimes you got to read the book
and not just look at the cover.  However, you're still my boy, and I'll let
the rest of them know your k."

"Boss, thank you, Boss.  I will try to be the best boy here, Boss."

"Boy you got to learn a new way of talking.  You still sound too free
world.  We'll work that out."

"Boss, yes Boss."

I was beginning to feel a bit of relief from the tension that had been so
prominent all day, from court to our pleasant little reception at Princeton
CF, and especially Boss's attitude when I appeared at HIS cell.

"Boy, I'm going to explain dinner here because we will be going across the
yard to the mess hall in about a half an hour."

I was surprised.  When we got meals in Seg, they seemed about the normal
times...probably around eight in the morning for breakfast, around noon for
lunch, and around six for dinner.  Admittedly they were always more cold
than hot, but my biological time pattern was not upset.  I would
guess...depending on just how close Boss was in guessing that we would be
eating soon, it must be closer to 4:30 than 5:00 right now.

He must have noticed that I looked surprised.

"Yeah man, the times for meals are fucked up, like everything else in the
joint.  The COs claim that the cons need to get back to their blocks for
count.  So they gotta eat early.  Course, the times for count could be
changed, but nobody in the CO corps is smart enough to think of that...or
maybe they just liked fucking us over in one more way.  Make it clear that
we're shit and they are gods.

"Anyway, you'll hear the squawk box go off.  That means if you're in less
than your tee, your boxers, your browns, and your boots, you need to get
yourself squared away.  The cage doors are released by tier, top to bottom
. . .  Yeah, it's backwards, but again...you just need to figure what would
be the right way to do something, then do the opposite, and you will have
the Princeton Correctional Facility way.  Hard labor cons form up in
squads, like the army.  Four across, 15 long.  When all the squads are
formed up, they open the bay to the outside, and we peel off single file
through the sally port.  Then we REform out on the concrete.  Whatever boss
is tier leader that week counts off a cadence and we march across the yard
toward the mess hall.  Man you should see the common cons scatter as we
come to the door.  All the other cell houses release the tiers and they
just stream across the yard in clumps, with screws spaced out pretending to
watch them.  But when we start coming across the yard, the boss leader
counting cadence and every boot hitting the pavement hard and together,
you'll see them common criminals scatter to get out of our way.  If these
INMATES get in our way...  Let's just say that we've got a straight path
from this house to the messhall.

"We go into the chow hall in our four wides, through the big doors, then we
split down the lines in order, trusties and their boys together.  If I want
more, I'll nod and the servers will get you a `good' serving for me to use.
When we leave the serving line, we'll go to the first sets of
tables. Follow the line.  When we sit down the men will be on one side of
the table and the boys on the other side.  You'll sit with your hands at
your sides, and await permission to eat.  I'll take the extra I wanted, and
then I'll let you start.  You'll keep your mouth shut unless we give the
boys a nod, which means they can talk quietly among themselves.  When the
men are finished, we'll put our trays on top of yours, and you boys will
take it all to the drop window.  Then you'll wait as we form again to leave
the hall and go back to our block.

"When we get back here, we we'll have open cells for an hour.  The men can
go and visit other cells, and the boys if we let `em.  Then at the head
guard's whistle, we'll go back to the cells, the doors will be closed and
locked, and we'll get to look at each other, play cards, or whatever until
lights out, which is an hour later.

"Tomorrow morning—there's a bell at 4:30.  We'll shit and shave, and go
back to the mess hall, then back to the block.  We'll form up, and the work
orders for the day will be given.  Then it's hard labor for the rest of the
day.  If we work off-site, they give us grub out there; otherwise, we go
back for `lunch' at 10:00, then back to work until they prep us for dinner.

"There you have a 24 hour day in the hard labor block of Princeton
Reformatory. There ain't much else.  You'll get the hang of it in no time."

It had been a long speech, and I had listened carefully.  "Thank you,
Boss," was my reply.

I'd been sitting on the deck, in front of the Boss, but now I began to look
around.  I thought I'd like to go to the front bars, and just look out.  I
remembered my second boss con at R&D, so I asked.

"Boss, may I go to the bars and look out?"

He looked a bit startled.

"Sure, boy.  Why you asking?"

"Boss, when I was still at R&D, I had two experienced cons that I shared
the cell with.  The first one was really helpful and considerate.  The
second one told me that he was my master, and I had to ask permission to
move or do anything in the cell.  When not under orders, I was to sit at
the back of the cell, and just be ready to serve him whenever he wanted."

Boss did not rely immediately but just looked at me.

"Shit boy, you've been through some shit already.  In this cell, you can
move around, look out the bars, or sit on the deck either at the back or
the front of the cell, without asking permission."

"Boss thanks Boss.  I really appreciate your consideration."

Boss again fixed me with a searching gaze.

"Are you absolutely sure you were never a college prof?  You sure do sound
like one."

"Boss no Boss"

"Well you can stand or sit by the front bars, or any place in our house
here except on the fold-down seat.  That's mine."

"Boss thanks Boss."

I stood at the bars, and automatically did the prisoner thing, grabbing the
bars.  It wasn't possible to use a mirror to look out, because of the steel
mesh welded to the outside of the bars.  I looked out toward the cell
house, listening to the background noise of an enormous zoo full of men,
talking to each other.  But even with so many inmates, the noise level was
less than at R&D.

As I was standing there, I heard footsteps coming down the walkway.  I
expected to see a guard making his rounds to look at the animals in their
cages.  I did see a guard, but with him was a slightly framed young inmate
with a sack of some kind.

I stood up, and moved over from the barred door of the cell to the small
space between the bars and the sleeping shelves.  The duo of guard and
convict stopped in front of our cell.

"COX 117213" the guard stated.

"SIR yes SIR."

"Here is your crap from segregation."

The guard wrestled with his set of keys and opened the cell door a bit.

The convict him handed me a small paper bag.

The officer had a clip board, which he handed to me.

"Sign next to your number to acknowledge receipt of this crap."

"SIR yes SIR" was my now automatic response to any guard.

The convict runner, who looked like a late teen and probably weighed 115
pounds, handed me the paper bag.

"Look inside to make sure everything is there, then sign the receipt."

He was just a convict, so I knew I didn't need to respond to him.  I looked
inside.  There were my legal pads, and some of the cleaning materials I had
acquired for my clogged toilet.

I closed the bag.

"Look, dumbass," the guard said.  "You need to empty the bag and check all
the items to certify that everything you left in your cell this morning is
in that bag.  We don't steal from cons in here."

I took the bag and emptied it on the floor.  My pencils and the legal pads
tumbled out.  Also one of the toilet cleaning brushes, and a bottle of the
cleaner itself.

"SIR all items are here, SIR."

"K, shithead.  Now you may sign."

"SIR, OFFICER, SIR Yes SIR."  As I was signing the little form, I noted
that I automatically signed myself as Cox 117213.

As soon as I returned the signed form, the two stepped away from the door;
the guard locked it shut, and I stood there looking at the legal pads and
toilet cleaning items.  I thought to myself that my worldly possessions
presented a somewhat interesting picture of convict 117213.  His focus
seemed to be toilets and legal briefs.  I smiled to myself.  Perhaps there
was indeed a connection.  My legal pads were part of my attempt to keep out
of the toilet of society which is another name for the Department of
Corrections, which was now correcting me.