Eating spaghetti with a spoon

Adventures of Inmate # 4855289 as composed by DebN

 It goes by many names: the slammer, lockup, the New Hanover Hilton. I just call it weekends in jail.

I admit it, I made some bad choices and got caught. I’m going to say something you don’t hear very often behind bars. I did what they said I did and I deserve my punishment.

This is my first and, hopefully, only trip to this particular Hilton. I prefer the one downtown. But it’s fascinating and educational. So I’m here to share what I learn.

Generally, I thought the punishment of jail mainly consisted of locking you away from friends and family and limiting your movements while inside. But there are a number of more subtle ways they have found to make life miserable while under the county’s care.

It starts with the check-in at 6 p.m. Fridays. Actually, the process can take up to three hours, for some reason. As weekenders, we’re allowed to bring books, playing cards, writing paper and white socks and t-shirts. Your clothes are replaced with, for women, pink and white striped shirts and tan pants with “New Hanover County” in black down the right leg. The lucky guys get matching shirts and pants. Plastic slippers complete the outfit.

Incoming inmates must submit to a pat down search and change clothes in front of a deputy. The worst part is having to remove your underwear, squat, turn your head and cough. I would think I’d be walking funny if I were hiding something there.

Because we’re fewer in number, women typically are put in with the general prison population, in a two-level pod of 24 cells, while the male weekenders enjoy the greater freedom of movement allowed in a dormitory setup. And the TV is almost always on there, too.

The women go to one of two cellblocks, Romeo or Quebec. They room with real time inmates, two to a cell, which are equipped with a toilet/sink combo, and two metal bunks with three-inch mattresses that look like heavy duty pool floats with a rounded end that is supposed to act as a pillow.

There are four single cells in what is known as “The Bubble” that usually house troublesome inmates. The name must come from a sunroom-looking glass and steel enclosure that can be closed off with doors at either end, reminiscent of watertight doors on a submarine. Locked doors upon locked doors.

Since, for medical reasons, I need a bottom bunk, I’ve been housed in The Bubble a few times. Since I’m not in there on lockdown as a troublemaker, I get to come out to the main area for each meal and for two hours in the day and two at night – our “rec” times when prisoners can play cards, try to follow a TV show, do laundry, take a shower or use the phone.

That’s caused some jealousy. “At least you can fart when you want,” one fellow inmate pointed out.

It’s when that cell door closes behind you that you notice the sound. It reverberates like you’re in a gym shower while wearing a metal bowl on your head. It overcomes normal sounds. A person speaking is hard to understand even when right next to you. Yelling is hard on the ears. There seems to be a constant clanging din from opening and locking doors. There’s a distinct shuffle/slap of people walking in the plastic slippers, trying to keep them on. The sound of chairs scraping across the cement floor is magnified and a flushing toilet sounds like someone fired torpedo one.

The clink of small plastic cups being set out by inmates assigned to housekeeping duties resounds through the block as a sign a meal is just about due.

Meals: whether “monkey meat” or “chicken toes,” the food in jail is proof government goes with the lowest bidder. It’s almost all carbohydrates ¬– rice, macaroni, potatoes and the ubiquitous square of cornbread they serve with almost every meal. And you’re issued only a plastic spatula-like spoon to eat it all.

Spaghetti is its own challenge. Most inmates use one of two methods, either the head-to-tray scoop or by chopping it into miniature lengths.

Given the menu, inmates either grumble it down and gain weight or refuse the stuff and stay in their cells. I know one prisoner serving a 60-day sentence who’s already lost 10 pounds. It’s not a recommended diet.

There are favorites: pancakes and sausage (I haven’t had that yet) or hot dogs and beans (they’re recognizable.) Most of the other stuff is a guessing game. Word is it’s all made from stylishly shaped soy protein. Word also has it they put saltpeter in the flavored water. No confirmation on that.

Lights out is at 11:30 p.m., even though a nightlight you can read by stays on all night. And reading and sleeping is about all there is to pass the time. So I’ve taken to telling time by the meal – breakfast at 6:30, lunch at 11:30 and dinner at 4:30.

Six meals later and I’m headed out right after dinner on Sunday. I’ll admit to feeling sad about leaving my new band of sisters behind, no matter what they won’t admit to that got them there.

But most of them are happy for my release. “At least you can go home and not have to sleep with your toilet.” Next time: The first weekend.