My Jailhouse Confessions

I have to admit it. I'm not really such a good religious worker in the jail. My first visit got me into trouble with the lady CO who tried kicking me out at the end of my allotted time. Used to the casual environment at death row (ironically enough), I didn't really take the officer seriously when she told me "Time's up!" She was not amused.
The second time I went to visit, I wore sandals. I knew I shouldn't wear them, but I didn't have time to change. This CO was much nicer, but still, it was a bad impression to make.

Next, I made so many mistakes it's hard to know where to start. First, I looked too much like the prisoner I was visiting, and we were much too familiar at greeting. She's a young white girl who could be my sister; and she was excited to see me. Immediately, this sent off a warning bell to the CO who escourted her to the visitation cell. The CO leapt at me: "Where's your Bible!?"
I'd never heard such a funny question in all my life. Here this intimidating officer was livid about my lack of the Scriptures. Usually in this secular world people are freaked out when you HAVE the Good Book. At a loss for words, I don't think I said anything at all. "Your Bible!" the CO growled again. She didn't believe I was a religious worker. But it wasn't, like she said, because I lacked the Bible. After all, I'd been coming in without one for days now, and I'd witnesses various religious workers coming in and out without Bibles as well. She was looking for an excuse to kick me out. I was young and resembled this prisoner. Something was fishy, but she couldn't put her finger on it.
After continuing to make a federal case out of the thing, grilling and quizzing me and seeming unsatisfied with my replies, she reluctantly allowed me to visit. Now, on her side I will admit that guards have to be vigilant. If in fact I weren't a religious worker, and this prisoner's real sister, I could be taking advantage of the jail's visitation hours. (Religious workers have extended hours and contact visits, unlike regular visitors.) I'm sure in the past people have tried to break into the system.
So the visit begins and the prisoner happens to be bubbly, hilarious, and loud. Various COs warn us to simmer down, but it's hard for me not to laugh at this girl's jokes. And she doesn't seem at all concerned about upsetting the guards. I'm stuck. I don't want to create a case with the girl by annoying her, but I certainly don't want to become a sworn enemy of the COs. Things go from bad to worse, and eventually that skeptic CO opens the door and stands, immensely, in the doorway. The worst part is, she doesn't say anything. She just stands there and nods for us to keep talking. So we do. I happened to be explaining to the girl that if she broke the law again, the system wouldn't be so soft on her. I told her horror stories about prison: the big house.
Eventually, without a word, the imposing CO leaves us again. I breathed a sigh of relief.
But this isn't the worst part. I didn't own a wristwatch, so of course I didn't wear one. It was never an issue because the COs are very prompt about kicking you out after your time is up. Well, that night, for some reason, no one was paying attention. I poked my head out once, twice, maybe three times, asking about the time, and each time a different CO told me to go back in to visit. So I did. Eventually, two COs with frowns etched into their faces came to get me. This was not going to be a happy farewell. They cornered me like wolves do a deer and began questioning:
"What are visitation hours?" the man snarled quietly (it was more ominous that way. I didn't know if they were going to throw me out or lock me in.) I told him: 7-9pm.
"What time is it now?"
"I don't know, I don't have a watch."
WHOA, was THAT the wrong answer! The guards began lecturing and grilling me alternately about hours and watches. Apparently I was an hour and a half overdue. Then came the real point of it all:
"Did you get a copy of the rules?" the male CO asked darkly. But he wasn't asking that at all. He was insinuating, again, that I was criminally sneaking into the jail. I wasn't a worker at all; I was fit to be tried.
I explained when I'd been oriented, etc., apologized, etc., then somehow firmly yet respectfully held my ground. After all, I'd asked about the time more than once and was told to go back in the cell. I really didn't own a watch. I must have seemed sincere because eventually I hit a soft point in the female guard. She nodded, understood, and let me off.
"Next time, before you come, bring a watch," the man felt compelled to add before I left. It was a warning. I got the feeling that I wouldn't be let in without the thing.

So, the lesson I learned was: COs don't mess around, and Timex watches are only 20$ at Wal-Mart. I also bring my Bible these days. I've had no more trouble.