A Day in the Life of....

I am bored, so I thought I’d write about my day. Maybe write one of those “a day in the life of” pieces, but in my opinion my day, if not most of my life, is rather on the low end of the excitement scale. I must confess I read the tabloids, but I never buy them as tempting as some of the headlines might be. I read them online at work when I’m supposed to be (gasp) working. There is some small part of me that lives vicariously through my favorite actors and actresses, although they have absolutely no idea who I am. Wishing I was like them, but not exactly like them. Wishing I had their money and their private hideaways in the Caribbean, but not a life lived in public view. Wishing I had the money. Yes, the money. That’s what it comes down to.

Now back to my uneventful day. Time check: 12:20am and currently 39-degrees. I am sitting in my office snug as a bug in a rug with my heater blasting. There are thirty women in my housing unit, most of which are asleep. I know they are asleep, because I can hear a cacophony of sound: snoring, farting, belching. It is not a pleasant sound, very unladylike and the smells that emit from under their wool blankets are horrendous. Tonight is especially bad because it was Commissary Wednesday. The day their Snickers, Doritos, Corn Nuts, Top Ramen soups, Honey Buns, and O’Brien’s Hot & Spicy Sausages arrive. Of course being the pigs that most of them are, they shovel everything into their mouths within the first few hours of receiving their goodie-bags and then remain on a sugar high for a good portion of the evening. Eventually they fall into a stupor and that is when the sounds begin.

Passing out commissary lasted all of a ½ hour so much of my night has been sitting in my office doing nothing. Oh, I handed out razors, collected razors…scanned incoming mail and passed it out, collected outgoing mail…provided security for the nurse during medication pass…handed out three rolls of toilet paper…answered a couple of questions regarding court dates and medical appointments…took four inmates to medical to have their blood sugar checked…and counted them to make sure no one escaped. About every 50-55 minutes I break suction from my chair and walk through the unit. Holding my breath I count: one, two, three, thirty they are all there. Outside I can breathe again and then it’s back in my office to get warm. For the next couple of hours that will be my routine. Hold breath, count, breathe, huddle by the heater, hold breath, count, breathe, an so on.

About 0400 hours I will wake up those who have to go to court and make them stand in the chilly morning air until they are all present. Then I will pat them down for “contraband,” which sounds more exciting than it is. I will pat them down to make sure they are not smuggling Jolly Ranchers or Fireballs to court in their underwear or bras. Nothing is allowed to be taken to court except for court paperwork. That process will take all of fifteen minutes. I will escort them to Court Holding where they will sit in a cell awaiting the Transportation Bus to pick them up and take them to the court house. In the meantime, I will return to my office and the process of hold breath, count, breathe will resume. By 0600 hours my day, or night, will end and I will head home for my eight hours of sleep.

And lucky me! Tomorrow I will return and it will be deja vu. No, wait! Tomorrow is pluck our eyebrows and cut our toenails day, which is an adventure like no other ever experienced in life. Actually, it’s an adventure I don’t wish to have because watching inmates try to cut their claws is disgusting, but hey, it’s all A Day in the Life of…me.

So Long Garth....

I don’t get angry that often. Irritated yes, but angry, not so much and I can’t remember when I last got that angry. That gut-wrenching, mouth-quivering kind of angry where my mind works faster than my mouth and all I can do is cry because I’m that angry and can’t quite articulate what I really want to say. Well, I got like that the other day, although this time I didn’t cry. I was able to articulate my points exactly, which made me feel good, but my euphoria was short lived. The lady on the other end of the telephone promptly hung up on me.

I am a HUGE Garth Brooks fan. I was crushed when he retired and have waited patiently for the last eight years hoping and praying he’d decide to play one last show. That day finally arrived. He was playing a selected number of concerts at the Wynn Resort in Las Vegas. I had a date with Garth at 10pm on Valentine’s Day 2010. I was beyond excited, but that too was short lived. Less than 24-hours after placing my on-line order for two tickets in Row K I received a phone call from “Netta,” who I assumed, based on her thick incomprehensible accent, was calling from somewhere deep within the bowels of the Calcutta Customer Service Offices. She informed me that I was to call immediately and inform some unknown person the names of those who I intended on taking to the concert. A concert that was still 3 ½ months away I might add.

What?! Seriously? I planned on taking my husband, but what if I didn’t know who I was taking? Netta babbled on about my order being “subject to cancellation” if I didn’t comply by 10p.m. PST, which was exactly 5-hours away. "Subject to cancellation" is what angered me the most. I called the phone number and as it turned out I called the Wynn Resort directly and not some thatched hut in India. A pleasant woman who spoke English answered and I told her I received a message to call about providing the names of those attending the Garth Brooks concert. She was nice right up to the point when I told her it was none of her business who I was taking to the concert and refused to provide her with the name of my guest.

She stated she was “just doing my job,” and the directive came “directly” from Garth Brooks and Mr. Wynn. The directive could have come from Barack Obama or even Jesus for all I cared. I was going to stand by my principles. I was not going to tell her who I was taking to the concert. It was none of her business and like I said, what if I didn't know who I was taking? The concert was still 3-MONTHS AWAY. If I truly did not know who I was taking to the concert, did that mean I would be denied tickets? Yep. I was told I either tell her who my guest is so our names could be pre-printed on the tickets, which would be compared to our IDs at the door, or I would be given a refund. Sadly, I chose the refund.

Sorry, Garth, but you just lost a long time fan. I understand your concerns about ticket scalping, but this is something I feel very strongly about. I’m not going to compromise my principles for anyone. Not even you.

Anyone know when George Strait’s coming to town?

Care: to have an inclination, liking, fondness, or affection for

The other day I came to the realization that I simply do not care about people.

I’ve always been aware of my dislike of others, mainly inmates and the homeless, but I contributed that to the nature of my job. However, I realized my lack of compassion goes well beyond those classifications of people. I don’t care about people that I should care about. I love my husband and my parents. There is no disputing that. However, relatives hanging on the outer fringes of what I consider my inner family circle, neighbors, and even some of my co-workers, well, if they were to disappear tomorrow I really wouldn’t give a shit. And that scares me.

I would be upset I suppose, because it’s never pleasant to have someone you know die, regardless of how ‘close’ you consider the other person to be. Death is a blunt reminder of how cruel life can be and just how vulnerable we are. I imagine I’d be more upset for those that have been left behind, such as the grieving child, spouse, parent, or even the best friend, than I would be for me. Even then, I would probably offer only the perfunctory “sorry for your loss.” I cry when other people cry, but my tears would merely be props for my act of sorrow. I would be sad, because that is what is expected in that type of situation, but really….

…the world is an overcrowded, dirty place full of breathing, heathing assholes. That’s why I don’t care about people, but what about those I should care about, but don't?

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Paper or Plastic? Cloth please....

Paper or plastic? A question I never gave much thought. Years ago I used paper. I was more confident I could make it from my car to the kitchen without my bag ripping and my cans of soup spilling into the street. Plastic seemed too flimsy, but then plastic started its world domination tour and, unless you specifically asked for paper, plastic became the preferred bag of teenage baggers around the country.

Now there’s cloth. I bought a few cloth bags when the whole cloth bag craze began and stashed them in my car, but always forgot to grab them when I went into the grocery store. And then I saw this website, One Bag at a Time. Talk about putting me and my flimsy plastic bags in check! Just a few facts from their website:

· The petroleum used to make 14 plastic bags could drive a car 1-mile
· An estimated 100,000 marine animals are killed annually by plastic bags
· Cities spend up to 17-cents per bag in disposal costs wasting millions of tax dollars
· Americans use 380-billion plastic bags every year
· Paper bags do not biodegrade in landfills

So the next time I’m confronted with the age old question "paper or plastic?", I’ll choose neither and use my cloth bags instead. I'll feel better knowing I’m doing something smart for the environment.

http://www.onebagatatime.com/

Karma's a Bitch, Bitch

Karma is the law of moral causation. I’m not really sure what that means, but I believe in it. Karma, to me, is what goes around comes around and it often bites you in the ass. That’s a definition I’m able to understand and the other day at work karma came around and bit her hard. I work in a jail. I’ve been doing the same job for almost 18 years. For the last several years I’ve been dealing with a self-medicated, self-centered, egotistical bitch. She calls herself “doctor,” but is basically a quack that clearly believes in entitlement. More like she’s entitled and we are nothing more than little minions put on Earth to serve her. Her primary goal is to play psychiatrist to the inmates and as you can tell I’m not a fan in the least.

The other day at work she put herself and several other staff members in danger when she bypassed facility security procedures. Her disregard for others, along with her belittling nature, is why I dislike her. She was having one of her quack sessions with a violent inmate and got too close. Inmates are classified as “assaultive to staff” for a reason. Apparently, Dr. Ego didn’t consider herself as staff and put everyone around her at risk. When we were told the assaultive inmate punched her in the face, I almost shouted with delight. The story gets better, however. After getting punched in the face, Dr. Entitlement fell to the floor and curled up in a fetal position while those she considers beneath her, jumped in to control the inmate and save her sorry ass.

I suppose my glee at her misfortune must say something about my own karma, but in this case I don’t care. I believe people get what they deserve. Whether it’s called karma, misfortune, luck, or what-have-you, I strongly believe in what you give is exactly what you’ll get in return. Dr. Bitch got exactly what she deserved and I’m glad. I only wish I could have been there to see it.

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View of downtown San Diego, CA

Balboa Park Botanical Gardens