Many of you have noticed “Zap Tales” are morphing into “Prison Tales.” As to be perfectly honest my memories of when I walked amongst you are evaporating as fast as a pot smoking Alzheimer’s patient. There are only so many drunk monkeys to go around in one’s lifetime. However, since you enjoy reading my Tales I will continue.
In The Combination I mentioned the winters here at Clinton are downright brutal. If you go out at night without a reason I think you should be instantly drug tested.
On a normal night I:
(1) Work out to stay in some kind of shape and just to keep my blood flowing.
(2) I call my comfortable, adult Honey Boo-Boo Wife to hear a caring voice. She is getting upset with me for calling her that, but in my defense I don’t use drugs, gamble, cheat, pee on the seat, leave the house a mess, and she knows where I am at night. So she should be able to deal with pet names.
Many inmates don’t work out. They just stand around freezing to death. They don’t use the phone, which leads me to believe they were so foul when they were out no one wants to bother with them, or possibly they get their dose of human affection without dealing with the outside world. I have not led anything remotely close to a sheltered life, and have met my share of gay people before coming to prison and far more while in it. They’re just as decent or not so decent as the straight people I know, but watch a different kind of porn. Yet, whatever the next man does behind closed doors (or cells for that matter) doesn’t affect me, so I’m happy they’re happy.
One fateful night, I’m waiting on the phone line in the normal minus degree weather. The wind is blowing the snow around in what could only be called whiteout conditions. This is the only time I wear sunglasses – especially at night. It has nothing to do with the song; I simply refuse to walk around with those stripes on the side of my head, which would make me look like a cross between a mutant skunk and the abominable snowman.
The sunglasses cut down on the glare and the amount of frozen ice particles flying in your eyes, then taking into consideration I’m in prison, I want to see as much around me as possible. While waiting in line, I was conscious several people were behind me. Since I didn’t speak to the majority of them a frozen conversation was out. However, as I waited, it appeared as though they were disappearing. They didn’t walk past me, they couldn’t have just retreated to my side, and behind me was a pile of snow some eight feet high and thirty feet across. A few minutes go by. Two more people join the line; seconds later, gone.
I know I’m not nuts, at least not the kind of nuts where you see people that aren’t there. Now I have to wonder if there is a Yeti somewhere in the yard, grabbing convicts. Several minutes later, I notice there are six people once again behind me. I was about to ask one of them if I was insane, and if they had been there all along, when two C.O.’s come running out of the bubble and jump feet first into the snow bank behind me. Now I think the whole place is going crazy – until I clearly hear the snow bank yell out!
Another C.O. rushes to the back of the pile and reaches into what I thought was a small hole where the snow had melted, and pull out an inmate with his pants around his ankles! Just when I thought I had seen everything imaginable in prison, an igloo love nest is added to the list! Taking the whole winter wonderland thing to a new level.
In the end, six half-naked gay people got dragged out. Two or three scooted out of a separate escape tunnel, and yours truly is watching this unfold, wondering if my open-minded unsheltered wife is going to believe this one. As god knows, there is no holding this story back. Now just seeing a pile of snow has me thinking of half-naked old gay dudes with their pants around their ankles.
God, I can’t wait for summer!