The Beatings Will Continue Until Morale Improves

Five years...well, over that now. I've been working this shit job for over five years and, I swear, the abuse never stops.

This new warden isn't getting on my nerves, he's standing on it with both cleted feet. Let's go up against the laundry list of offenses thus far.

1. He comes in, telling us his life story...that's not the offense, really. What he'd done was he'd verbally established himself by telling us he'd back us up 100% and that he'd help us out. We were thinkin maybe there'd be some morale booster...even a show of confidence. Strike One.

2. This guy has done everything to take control of the place out of our hands. No lie. Can we still have some really rogue inmate locked down for stepping in our shit with both feet intentionally? No. Now, it had to become "The Kinder, Gentler D.O.C." Ok, I can make concessions for some things but when the guy you've given a direct order to literally tells you there's "No Chance In Hell" he's doing it and gives you the finger when you repeat that order? I think that's a show of defiance. Not according to this guy. It's not serious enough. Let's face it, in the orderly running of dorms or even the one cellblock we do have, I tend to overlook things that won't make a shit in the overall security of things but where it first really pissed me off was when I had to watch as my supervisors did nothing but "talk" to this guy and send him back, smirking at me. Goddamn Strike Two.

3. The Kinder, Gentler D.O.C.? My ass... This dude has come down on us like a month of Sundays. Before him, if you were late one time, you got a talking to. Sort of a "don't let that happen again" kinda thing. The second time...Letter Of Counselling that went in your jacket and stayed and you best believe you weren't late a third time or it was the (Employee Rule Violation Report) VR-1. I've had a few of those. Three to be exact. One I rightly deserved, one due to an "Act Of God" and the last one from stupidity on my part. Now, being late just the first time constitutes the harshest case scenario. Strike Three...but not out!

No, it gets better...stick around for so much more.

4. I'd been carrying the same lunchbox for months. Has band stickers all over it. It's adspace, it's part of the promo work I do and many of my fellow staff have been carrying shit with Dale Earnhardt and NASCAR and every backwoods pastime on it. His ruling after just seeing it? It had to go. I only wish I were kidding. His concern was that the stickers may offend someone. He didn't actually look at the damned thing...he just saw it...from across a rather large room. Strike Four.

5. Oh yeah, there's way more of the fun! If...just if...he chooses to brave going down the tiers in the only cellblock on the compound, he stays against the wall across from the cells. The inmates have to speak to him from there. Ok, so let me see if I'm straight on this. He's essentially handing the place to the inmates, taking the control of it from us, he's cracking down on us and he won't even go just outside of arm's reach of these inmates? He's scared? This guy has the captains, majors, lieutenant colonels and even a colonel piss-frightened of him and he's scared of the inmates? I have to take this guy seriously?

Remember that Eastwood flick called Heartbreak Ridge? Well, as far as I'm concerned there's gonna be a heart broken, possibly many, if this net radio/band management thing takes off.

In my last post I talked about working The Control Center...PseudoSolo Mission. Well the night after that proved to be Complete Solo Mission. That day the shift I was relieving had to spray one down after he got supremely unruly. We're talking violent, here, folks...this is what it comes to before we can do anything. The place is a powderkeg and all the aforementioned is what we're having to suffer. I swear, this is one guy that won't last.

Well, I went about my day, did the inventory on the restraints and all that other jazz after taking the count and totalling up the census (which took some checking and re-checking just to ensure I did it right.) After the inventory on that stuff was done, I'd opened up the locker containing our chemical agents and had just started on that inventory when I had to take yet another count. Time flies when you're actually hauling ass through a planet of paperwork.

I took it, checked it, cleared it, began paperwork for the night and blasted through a veritable Odin-sized amount of it, getting advice from Mikey about where to email it, which ones to print, how many copies of what to make, where did it go, etc. Spent hours doing this and spent hours sorting through it all. Finally, it was time to file it to whoever got the hard copy distribution.

Ok, my first night solo...didn't do too bad. Time to start the weekend.

Friday came and went. By Saturday Morning, I was beat. I went to bed, shutting the blinds to prevent the daylight from killing me and fell asleep. Thirty minutes later, the phone rings...it's work.

"Not again," I thought, "If they've had an escape, they can go fuck themselves and find him."

I didn't pick up until it stopped and then I checked the messages. They're always so damn ambiguous about what the hell the problem is.

I caved and called. They let me know that a small 2oz can of the spray was gone. Great.

I'd told them that the shift I'd relieved had used some to "calm" the unruly inmate in the block the Thursday before. They asked me if I'd checked the chemical locker.

We have just lost cabin pressure.

I hadn't finished. I'd completely forgotten.

After a brief exchange, we hung up. I tried to get some more sleep. Two hours later...phone rings again and this time I pick up. It's them again, telling me that now I need to come in. So I get dressed and go there.

Now, it's a bloody mess over this thing. They're unable to get in touch with people who may potentially have this thing and they're wanting a statement. Fine, great. So I write one thinkin, "here comes the L.O.C." That's the Letter Of Counselling I was telling ya about.

I could have only been so lucky.

VR-1 time.

Now, it's personal.

This is the warden's new game. The only thing he seems to have forgotten is, first, I can outwrite him and, second, I have a PR tool that can be used for good or evil.

I Am Damien's Path To The Dark Side.

After hours of this bullshit, what comes of it? The major recommends that it just go into my file, back to performance appraisal due to lack of experience. That's it. I think he likes me.

But that's the thing, isn't it? It's only a recommendation. It's not set in stone. It still has to go up the chain a little before it is and guess how I'm notified?

If your guess was by mail, you'd be right.

Last night, the one place I didn't want to be was in a spot where I could contemplate this crap. I'd just had a killer interview with 6Bit the night before, a gnarly show the Saturday Night before that and a few good movies in the in-between to take my mind off of it. In my boredom, I knew I'd go back to it and sit there, in the dark, really thinking on it.

I did just that and, as far as this newbie desk jockey is concerned, the kid gloves are off.

Henceforth, I'll be flying under the radar at work until I'm free and clear of that damned job and well into another one.

Once I'm done...Hell will seem like a vacation in the Bahamas by the time I'm through.

Whoever said "You Can't Fight City Hall" ain't met me. I might go down...that's a possibility. I guarantee only one thing, I'll be taking a piece of this as a souvenir.

"The Beatings Will Continue...Until Morale Improves!"

-KMFDM "Free Your Hate"