A Beginner’s Guide

If you’re anything like me I encourage you to keep reading. Although I doubt it because I actually am a special little snowflake. That’s why I have all those awards from Elementary school that say ‘participation’ on them. I’m obviously the best at participating.

But if you are like me, you may one day find yourself in jail and/or federal prison. First, don’t be so hard on yourself because this could happen to anyone. America has basically become a police state. We even have such things as ‘hate crimes’, which are essentially thought crimes, not seen since Stalin was in power. (Could I be charged with a hate crime? Attorneys, please answer in the comments section, someone forgot to renew my LexisNexis Law account) .

This is why I voted for Trump. Make America Great Again! We all know what he means. It’s like he’s winking when he says it. My only question at this point is why it’s taking so long to get to the ‘final solution’ regarding the social justice warriors? Call me Trump, I have some solid ideas.

So let’s say that they have finally charged you with something they can prove, like tax evasion or transporting narcotics across state lines. For once being white and having access to cash can’t save you. You are going to be thrust into a brand new environment, and no one’s going to give you a manual. Until now.

First, forget what you’ve seen in movies – jail isn’t scary and no one’s going to rape you. As someone who’s been chasing adrenaline highs for over a decade, I must say this was probably the most disappointing aspect of being locked up.

One night I thought I heard murmurs of a ‘race war’ on the pod. I emerged from my cell for the first time in weeks, fully dressed, and giddy with anticipation. You can imagine how I felt when I found a group of grown men huddled around the one microwave making ‘face s’mores’ with graham crackers, Hershey bars, and chocolate syrup. I’m talking s’mores with smiley faces drawn on them. Disgusted, I returned to my isolation. The only real way to die in jail is by your own hands when you kill yourself out of sheer boredom.

Next, sleep is your friend. I’ve always said that my dreams are more interesting than reality. This is never more accurate than when you are incarcerated. This can be accomplished one of two ways – sleeping pills or depression comas. Both are easy to come by in jail (more on this later).

The other thing you should know is that you should NOT make friends. If you enjoy my writing, chances are you’ll probably be the smartest person you meet in jail. Oh I’m sure there are exceptions, but why risk getting trapped in a conversation with someone who doesn’t know the definition of the word ‘inane’ or ‘pedantic’?

I achieved this by keeping my eyes down and my mouth shut but also by making some simple adjustments to the drab red pajamas we were reduced to wearing all day. First, I tore a thin strip of wool cloth off my bedding and tied it around my head like a samurai. I also stopped washing my hair and wore nylon socks as mittens. Kitten mittens!

These things, combined with the ‘help me’ and schizophrenic pen designs all over my pants, screamed ‘do not engage’. The head wrap and ‘gloves’ had the added benefit of keeping me warm in a freezing concrete cell.

Let’s talk about drugs. If you are in jail for something drug related, I encourage you to abstain because drug abuse is sad and might push you to start a blog about your life. But if you are locked up for something silly like racketeering or arson, I encourage you to actively seek out ways to alter your conscious.

Again, unlike what you see on TV, drugs are not everywhere in jail. The markup is worse then Nordstrom’s, and they inevitably smell like someone’s rectum. But this is no time to get particular.

The trick is to get yourself put into one of two pods. The first of these is the Psych floor which I DO NOT recommend. The second pod, and my recommendation, especially for first timers is to demand protective custody. I accomplished this by telling the intake officer that I was beautiful and that my Dad was a U.S. Senator. You can also get P.C. by telling them that you have HIV, you are a pedophile, or that you have beef with rival gang members.

While waiting for a cell on the P.C. pod, you will be kept in the detox unit. Sometimes for weeks. But don’t fret, for it is also a hotbed of uppers, downers, and in-between-ers. Sure, the street junkies don’t shower and may have the oopsie-poopsies from bath-salt withdrawal, but you can block this out with copious amounts of Valium and Seroquel.

Once they move you to the PC pod, you will be conveniently housed with all of the inmates in Administrative Custody (A.C.). What exactly is A.C.? It’s all of the murderers and potentially dangerous criminals, along with the mentally ill inmates that no one wants to be around. This setup obviously makes no fucking sense, but I encourage you to use it to your advantage. The only people bold enough to bring large quantities of drugs into jail so they can be sold at reasonable rates are the people who know they aren’t leaving anytime soon (i.e. the murderers). And remember, all they want is your money, not your life or your butt virginity.

Another valuable tip is that guards are not your friends. Anyone who voluntarily decides to be around human misery for 40 hours a week is immediately suspect. They either had parents who didn’t love them or parents that loved them a little too much, if you know what I mean.

I found that the easiest way to drive them away is to constantly ask them for things. “Can I have some more paper for the manifesto I’m writing?”. “What time is it?” (do this one every ten minutes for maximum effect). “Do you think my dog misses me?”. Throw on a British accent a few times, and you can almost guarantee that the guards will avoid your cell like skittish cats. This will give you the space you need to smoke cigarettes , decoupage the walls with toilet paper, or any other of the time occupying activities that guards frown upon.

Finally, try to relax. Try to look at this like a vacation from the harsh ugly realities of your imperfect life. Read a book, write a poem, because they can’t keep a detainer on you forever, and you can always go to another rehab.