St. Cloud Prison, as I’ve written before, is a terrible
place to live. Not too shocking, I’m sure, that a prison wouldn’t be the ideal
place to rest your head. Unfortunately for most people stuck there, there’s
very little time spent outside of the cold steel cells. I was very fortunate to
be one of the few selected to be a swamper in B house. I worked with three
other guys from 2-10pm cleaning the giant concrete room that housed nearly 200
men, most of whom didn’t care much about cleanliness. Thankfully, our work
rarely entailed going inside cells to clean, rather walking by with cleaning
caddies and offering the supplies to the offender to clean their own space. It
got me out of my cell for half of the day, and I think the best part was that I
got to shower by myself most days.
I got to know some of the Corrections Officers pretty well
while I was there. Nothing personal because asking questions would be taboo,
but some of them had a sense of humor or at least saw the humor in things
there, and we got to chat about that. It was nice for me because it seemed like
I was talking to normal people even if for only a little while. It was the only
place during my incarceration where a few of the C.O.’s seemed like normal
people.
That all changed when I was moved to Moose Lake in preparation
for Boot Camp. I would spend the next four months there as a seamster, sewing
the crotch flaps together on men’s briefs. According to this Word document,
seamster isn’t a word, but that’s the term we devised for ourselves as we
worked nonstop under watchful eyes for 50 cents per hour.
More than a few times, a C.O. walked over to me and a co-worker
to tell us we were talking too much while we were working. It wasn’t
disruptive, and we were working while we were talking, but they wanted us to
know that they were watching, and that they were in control. We had to fill out
a production sheet every day and I was told that I needed to do 200 sets per
day or I could lose my job. 200 required me to basically stare directly in
front of me at my machine and go, go, go. We were given breaks, but only for
standing head counts, and one for lunch. I was never eligible for a raise, but
I could have made up to $1 per hour if I had stayed on, never more. Of course
if I had applied to sew cases for MyPillow, I could have made minimum wage. Of
course, at 50 cents, or minimum wage, the prison took their share of what we
made. Thankfully, I was relocated out of that dreadful place to C.I.P. where I
started out as a laundry worker, but very quickly traded that job in for one
where I would have a little more quiet.
Quiet: Non-existent in every prison atmosphere. But for an
hour a day at the Challenge Incarceration Program, I walked the halls of the
chemical dependency treatment building where all was as still as night. There
were groups meeting, and employees meandering about, but I wasn’t allowed to
look at them or talk to them without permission, so I just kept my head down. I
wasn’t allowed to use a vacuum, so each day I would start by sweeping the
carpet on to the bare floor, then sweep all of that up, then mop. After that, I
would clean the bathrooms which were only used by staff and scrubbed twice per
day so they weren’t really ever that gross. And at the end of my shift, I would
gather up all of the recycling and trash and take a nice slow walk to the pole
barn where I would deposit it all in its place, and make the walk back to ask
permission to carry on for the day. I did that for five months, and I don’t
think I could have had a better job there.
That brings me to now, and I have already written about the
laminating job.
Looking back over the years, and over these nine posts I see
some patterns. When I’m sober, I am an honest, hard worker who tries to give
every day. When I’m not, well you better lock up the expensive dinnerware,
because I will absolutely take it.
And that’s it, folks.
Oh, I’ll be away from the blog for a few days while I write
out my fourth step. I need to be focused and dedicated to this thing or it
might not take. And for me, this is the most important thing in the world, this
recovery. If I don’t give it my all, I will likely relapse, and you’ll never
hear from me again. So, I’m not sure how long it’s going to be, but I think
under a week. You’ll know as soon as I post again.
