Certified genuine by me.
A new intake comes in for his physical. The usual questioning elicits the fact that the 20-something offender has back pain, present for about 9 months.
Me: Did you do anything that triggered the pain?
inmate: It started right after I lifted a snowmobile.
Me: (questioning the wisdom of even asking why) Why were you lifting a snowmobile?
inmate: I was stealing it! Why the fuck do you think I’m here??
Well, you definitely have the perfect job if you want to come up with bizarre stories for your grandchildren…
So far, my favorite piece of random prison wisdom is: when going to prison for the day, if at all possible, bring your own lunch.
Your job is much more interesting than mine.
Oh, I don’t know. It’s a good experience to eat prison chow at least once. I’ve been working there for 6 months. And I’ve eaten it once. That was enough.
Well, I’d never had tuna casserole with bones in it before. It made me nostalgic for some nice Soviet dorm food.
Priceless anecdote, Qadgop. Too bad it’s a little too gritty for Reader’s Digest or you coulda made a few hundred bucks.
You know, prison strikes me as being in a strange town. The main question on your mind is “Hey, when are these bars gonna open?”
The grittiest jail anecdote I ever heard is from a somewhat experienced deputy who came up with a way to keep the people in his section in line without violating ACLU rules. He does the cell assignments, and people who cause problems (things like smearing feces all over themselves on the day of their court appearance and then refusing to come out of the cell so the deputies have to physically drag him to the showers) get put in with the guy who killed and then repeatedly raped his last cell mate.
I can’t understand why anyone would want the job at all, but I am glad their are people who do it.
I swear to g that I heard this on the radio during a report concerning a prison riot:
“The prisoners are holed up in the snack bar and are demanding certain concessions.”