Wow, I have to move out of this dorm. I just had a drunken phone call, you know, when someone gets drunk, then dials an ex to make pathetic slurred apologies. Okay, so I didn't get an actual phone call and the caller wasn't an ex, but... well, you'll see what I mean.In my attempts to minimize contact with Ereman, I've been going to as much recreation as possible and reading in my cell when I am in the dorm. Tonight Ereman came to my cell and knocked on the door. I put a bookmark in its place and hopped down from my bunk.
"What's up?" I asked.
"Is your cellie asleep?"
"Yeah." Though that might not have been true since Ereman had knocked on the door. I could see his eyes were a little bloodshot and his speech didn't sound right.
"Would you come to my cell, then?" he asked, "Don't worry. I'm not going to do anything. I just want to talk to you."
"Alright."
On the way up the stairs to his cell, Ereman stumbled and I realized that he was drunk. Oh, great...
"Okay. First, I didn't write the stuff about your boss."
Yes, you did.
"And I didn't know that book was yours."
Yes, you did.
"And I really don't have a problem with you."
Then why slander my name to everyone you meet? Oh, never mind. Continue, please.
"I just have a favor to ask."
Ah-ha! There it is. He probably had to get drunk to work up the will to approach me at all. The favor he wants is a copy made of a picture of Boba Fett (form Star Wars) and, yeah, I'll probably get it for him. Maybe I'm too nice, but I figure if I show him some kindness he will see - as well as others - that I'm not here to judge, but show compassion, even for drunken phone callers.
Yesterday I moved out of my old cell in to a situation that is an improvement but not by much. My cellmate isn't bad: he just talks nonstop, keeping me up to all odd hours of the night when I have to get for work fairly early. The main problem is that I share the dorm with the guy who stole a book of none then tried to fight me last year. Yeah, non other than Ereman is in my new dorm.
Because of his toxic attitude I have avoided Ereman as much as possible and will continue doing so until I move out of this dorm. Yes, I'm trying to move again. It was stupid of the administration to put us in the same dorm and I don't mind telling them as much. I'm going to try to have a say in it this time. I only have a few months left before I leave on parole and just want a place to do the rest of my time in peace. Sounds silly, I know. This is prison; get over it.
Really, you would be surprised at how different each dorm is. Some are deathly quiet, while others are as raucous as a NASCAR race. I have the benefit of knowing which dorms are which due to my many book cart runs. Hopefully, my pleas for a move will fall on compassionate ears.
My cellmate, Chris, went home last week and has been replaced by a nut. The new guy, Rico, just got out of administrative segregation (locked in a single-man cell for 23 hours each day) for having a tattoo gun. Unfortunately, that seems to be the least of his vices. For the first few days Rico was incredibly chatty, which is understandable considering is previous solitude, but I discovered that h e talks even more when his is craving a cigarette.
I know it sounds crazy that someone removed from society for so long in a "tobacco-free" environment could have cigarette cravings. The truth is worse: so much tobacco flows into this unit that one side of my dorm always smells like a bar. And that's just one out of 22 dorms on this unit.
Honestly, I wouldn't mind Rico's cravings as long as he satisfied them somewhere other than my cell. Ever since he moved in I've had a sore throat form the smoke and bleach that he uses to cover up the smoke odor. I've asked him several times to either smoke elsewhere or not at all. He says he wants to change and stay out of trouble but goes on smoking anyway.
Now I'm resorting to desperate measures - I'm moving out. I've been in the same ell for almost a year and a half, but this too much to stay around for. I told my friends OJ and Omar about wanting to move. They had been the only thing keeping me put as the rest of the dorm got worse and worse. Although disappointed, they understand. I'm going to talk to the warden about getting moved pronto to a no-smoking cell.
The unit volleyball tournament is now underway and somehow I was wrangled into being the referee for the entire thing. The guy coordinating the tourney asked me if I would help out by being a line judge. I said sure. Calling on and out was going to be my only responsibility. Then the coordinator found out I had a little bit of volleyball experience and figured I should be referee.
"Uh..." came my hesitant answer.
"What? Your schedule is free, right?" he asked.
"Yeah, but...that's not what I'm worried about."
In my head I'm remembering chairs thrown at a TV for a bad call in a football game. While there aren't any chairs at rec, I'm much closer at hand than the zebras on TV.
"Oh, don't worry about that," the coordinator said, "You've been here long enough. People trust you."
"Alright. If you say so."
I'm in good health as I write this, but it's only the second day. We probably have a week or so left. Most of the complaining comes from the sideline but it really has not been too bad. I've missed some calls but I try to make consistent calls. Because this is a prison tournament, not professional, I don't call every little thing. It's tough to draw the line.
Life as a referee isn't much fun but I see it as a service, as a sacrifice so that no one has to go through the jeers. One more week...
* Yogi Berra
