Thursday, January 19, 2012

Laser Dude

   Many people from all walks of life have worked at our jail. We had one correctional officer who I will call Sully. He had been a radio personality for many years before coming to work at the Sheriff's Department. He definitely had a gift for gab and was a positive influence for many CO's.
   He was also one of those who truly enjoyed making his fellow officers laugh. Often, though, it was because he pulled pranks on them. What goes around, comes around is befitting for this story.

   One day, Sully, officer Jack, and I crossed paths by the elevators on the jail's first floor. We formed a triangle to talk. Officer Jack was offering information on a recent situation that was circulating through the jail grapevine. These types of things always held Sully captive and he would participate with great concern and interest.

   If the subject were funny, he would respond with jovial repartee's . If it were a serious subject, Sully would purse his mouth with the intensity of a WWF wrestler and offer his two cents like it was worth millions. This particular day his lips were ALL wrinkled up in fervent participation.

   As Sully stood there with his coffee cup in hand, I directed the red dot of the laser pen I had attached to my key ring on my hip to the center of his hand holding the coffee. He wasn't paying too much attention to me because he was so involved in this part of the conversation with officer Jack.

   Officer Jack saw me wink and secretly nod in the direction of Sully's coffee cup. Just as Sully was bringing his intense verbal exchange to a crest, officer Jack said to him, "Hey Sully, your hand is on fire!" Sully looked down at the red hot dot of coal in the center of his hand, screamed like a girl, and promptly threw the coffee cup about four feet in the air.

   Officer Jack and I could not stop laughing. Sully's face turned almost the same shade of red as whatever hair he had left on top of his head. From around the corner came about five officers who had heard the scream and were ready to rumble. I can't count the times I heard the words, "Son of a bitch...son of a bitch". As always, he was a good sport about the whole thing.  

Let Me Smell Your Fingers

At the satellite facility we house inmates who have been sentenced to a year in jail or less. Offenses varied like snowflakes. These guys were on the work crews that cleaned the streets, parks, and buildings. We even let them work at our pistol range. That one always baffled me. The only men not eligible to work off their time under this honor system were those who were charged with domestic violence, or for sales of drugs. Since all they had to do was walk off the job or even out of the front gate at the satellite, it would make us look pretty bad if one of those two groups went back out and committed the same offense.

    Because they had the freedom to be unsupervised from time to time, they had plenty of opportunities to pick up stashes of contraband while they were working the various jobs. The biggest item smuggled back into the facility was tobacco. That was due to the fact that smoking was not allowed during their incarceration.

    It was one of the most violated rules of the satellite. They were getting caught all the time. Not necessarily in the act, but through circumstantial evidence. Like finding enough smoke in the bathroom to call out the Forestry Department to put out the fire. Inmates didn't want to get caught. A rule violation would add 5 days to their sentence and he would also be sent back downtown to the real jail to finish his time.

    If an officer walked into one of the bathrooms of the pods (living quarters) and smelled smoke, they would not let anyone exit who was in the room at the time. Questions were asked, accusations made, and rule violations were written. It was pretty much cut and dry most of the time if you knew what time it was. Smokers got away with their offense more easily with inexperienced officers.

    Many a rookie officer was tutored into the fold with the following shenanigan. If, let's say, 6 or 7 inmates were corralled in the bathroom before making a hasty escape, a rookie officer would line them up for the grill. The first thing the officer would do is tell them to show their hands as he progressed down the line in the same fashion as a military drill instructor would do to look for the telltale signs of yellow staining from the nicotine. It's the next step that leads to mistake mistake mistake.

    You see, nicotine leaves a very distinct odor on the fingers, especially when the hand-rolled cigarette is burned to the very nub. Nothing but ashes are left. What does the new officer do? As he confronts each inmate, he says, "Let me smell your fingers." My my my.

    As his attention is glued to the inmate in front of him, the one on the end is promptly sticking his finger up his own butt just waiting for his turn to produce the fingers as the officer instructs...      

Wednesday, January 18, 2012

Must Be Talking to You

     One of our seasoned officers was escorting the Sheriff through the booking areas while explaining some of the newly developed procedures that had been adopted.


     Officer Belker had always been adept at using words to his benefit. He was also a prankster. Another officer, who had very recently been a victim of one of his shenanigans was also working in the area.


     Just as she turned the corner to see officer Belker, she loudly proclaimed that he was an "asshole". She had not seen the Sheriff standing behind him when she said it.


     Without skipping a beat, officer Belker turned to the Sheriff and said, "She must be talking to you... I don't know who she is."