No Clue (Part One)

Almost 8am, feeling bored, a bit lazy, I decided to drift towards work. Pulling open the cell door, I padded down the stairs.

 My past four plus decades, I’d spent eighteen years on San Quentin’s death row, and then maximum-security prison, where cell unlocks had been tightly controlled. Now, housed in medium security the past three years, the cell doors unlock just after 6am and remain unsecured until 8:30pm.

Crossing the day room, a prisoner sweeping the floor asked, “Who’s shopping today?”

“Three building. Our housing unit goes to store Friday.”

A guard barked at me, “What are you doing in the day room?”

“Going to work.”

“Go!” He disappeared into the office.

I get why guards carefully monitor the day room before it opens at 8:30. Cell doors open hours earlier for breakfast, medication line, education and work release. The guards need to keep watch, or we’ll run amok.

My impulse was just to go, but thought I’d better clue the guard.                   

I tapped lightly on the office door. “What?” He answered icily.

“I understand what you told me, but just so you know I work in Canteen.”

“How does that allow you to hang in the day room before it’s open?”

“It doesn’t, but almost every day at least one of your workers asks me about the store. They want to know the schedule, are we out of anything, do we offer anything new. If you don’t want me to stop and answer their questions, I’ll tell them you ordered me to keep walking.”

Silence descended, lengthened, as he considered my words. His workers sweep, mop, clean showers, all kinds of dirty, filthy but essential tasks for very little money. Useless money if they can’t turn the cash into groceries at the store. I wasn’t going to disrespect my fellow felons by just blowing by them, ignoring their concerns. But if ordered to keep moving, I’d do it, blame the guard, and they would be mad at him not me.

“Answer questions,” he answered at last, “but don’t linger.”

I went outside.

Prisoners enrolled in classes streamed toward Education. I used to be the computer class clerk and fist bumped my former students assuring them there was life after computer class.

Venturing onto the basketball court, I tossed breadcrumbs, enjoying birds flocking around me.

“You supposed to be in school?”

I spied a guard glaring.

“No. Canteen.”

“Go there!”

I slid away. My assignment ducat is for 8am, so I’m authorized on the yard before it opens. My boss shows around 8:30.

Hanging, soaking up the sun with my three coworkers near the Canteen door, yet another guard approached.

 “Why are you here?”

“Canteen workers.”

“We’re diverting staff to another facility to search. No yard or day room. Go home!”

Since Education had released on our facility we were not on lockdown. No yard might mean no prisoners could shop at the Canteen window, but we could bag up orders and send them to the housing unit.

“We’re supposed to report.”

“Yard’s closed. Go home!”

Just then, our boss walked through the gate. The guard informed him there would be no Canteen. Our supervisor nodded placidly, opened the drop box for the day’s order forms and let us in the Canteen door. My boss phoned his supervisor for instructions while we organized the orders and restocked the shelves from the storeroom.

All preparations to shop prisoners complete, I sat still while we waited for my boss’s supervisor to phone back. Multiple guards, two sergeants, and a lieutenant came through the door over the next hour to give my boss differing, conflicting instructions. He nodded patiently, and we continued to await the return phone call. Feeling hungry, I bought a bagel and cream cheese and brunched.

Finally, the phone rang. Housing unit three staff had been instructed by the captain to send five prisoners at a time to the Canteen window to shop.

Shuffling through the orders, we made a list and sent it to housing unit three. While we awaited shoppers to arrive, we started pulling orders. Either through defiance or ignorance, the guards sent prisoners randomly, out of order, so we had to return groceries to the shelves and start over.

Hour after hour, I brought up cardboard boxes from the storeroom, restocked shelves and broke down the cardboard for recycling. Finally, the last prisoner received his order, and I carried the cardboard out of the Canteen in several trips to the recycling bins.

On my last trip, a guard stopped me. “What are you doing?”

“Recycling Canteen cardboard.”

“That’s a lie. There was no Canteen today. What are you really doing?” 

-The End-