6-04-09 (4:30 p.m.) No Smile for Joo!
Today was orientation for the new guys. We got to meet and be lectured by the warden, who reminds me of Boss Hogg with hair (no one else sees this but me), but only in a vague and superficial way. In all other respects, he seems like a pretty decent guy. Additional lectures on sexual assault awareness, religious services, phone usage, chain of command, etc., ensued. Once we were all lectured out, they took us to get our IDs, because for some reason our old ones couldn’t be used. I found out that you can’t smile during the ID photos by the simple method of giving the camera a big shit-eating grin and being told “You can’t smile in here! Stop smiling!” by the otherwise terminally bored state employee. I guess it’s because a smile isn’t your normal expression, and by smiling on your ID, you’re attempting to alter your appearance in preparation for something devious.
After the smile ban, we were herded to the quartermaster’s office to be issued clothing by surly inmates who apparently delight in taking random measurements that have absolutely nothing to do with the clothing issued; those, again, coming in standard state sizes of extra small and Orca fat, with each inmate receiving a mixed bag of both sizes.
I personally was issued three light blue button-up shirts in size Orca, one pair of blue pants (with pockets!!!) designed for a ridiculously fat midget, one pair of blue pants suitable for a clown on stilts, and one pair of blue pants that almost, sorta, fit. I was among the lucky few that were able to actually change into their non-returnable clothing – state clothing being issued once a year or by special dispensation from the Pope – many were unable to button shirts or zip up pants.
One thing we were not issued, due to budget cuts, were whites, those being the property of the inmate once issued and therefore a constant drain on your tax dollars. Thus far, that’s the only thing that’s bothered me in any way (aside from the smell – I’ll get to that later), as my whites and the majority of my property mysteriously disappeared somewhere between Madison and Lebanon, leaving me with one pair o’ state issue tighty-whities, T-shirt, and socks.
Once all clothing had been issued, it was off to the chow hall to be issued our monthly meal cards, without which you cannot eat, and where I subsequently got my first view of the kitchen. The first thing you notice in the chow hall (halls actually, there being 3 – one big room split into thirds and served by the same kitchen) is the slight smell of rancid grease with a hint of rotten meat and stale cigarette smoke. Once you get past that and into the kitchen proper, you are assaulted by a mélange of smells so nauseating that it actually caused me to stop as if I’d hit a wall. The previously listed smells are joined by a rotting vegetable smell, stale sweat, spices, soap, and mildew so thick you can taste it. It took every gram of willpower to keep myself from running screaming from the kitchen; as it was, I had to force myself to keep walking, each step literally being more difficult than the last, kicking in my fight-or-flight instinct and spiking my heart rate to the point where I was convinced that I was going to die. Honestly, at that point, it would have been welcome.
Against my will, I took in more details about where my food was to be prepared for the foreseeable future. The floor was covered with a scummy film of grease and puddles of water. Bits of food in unidentifiable clumps littered the floor, and every stainless steel surface seemed to be dripping, giving the whole place a sort of futuristic cave-like vibe that was anything but calming to a germaphobe. (What is the technical term for that?) (Janet’s Note: Mysophobia. Cue “The More You Know” music.)
The inmates, a surlier bunch you’ll not find anywhere, shuffled around doing incomprehensible things while covered in filth and grime. I honestly don’t think I can convey just how freakishly disgusting the whole thing is to me, so we’ll move on. I received my meal card and exited stage left as quickly as possible.
Once everyone was finished with the Chamber of Filth, we were done with our basic newbie stuff and it was off to “The Store” to do a little shopping. Those of us who mistakenly believed that buying all of your personal hygiene supplies ahead of time and bringing them with you would save a lot of hassle, only to find that this clever planning resulted in someone else being personally hygienic as all hell instead, headed back to our cells to stew in our own juices. Without, I might add, even the possibility of a cleansing shower. (I eventually borrowed some soap and such from my cellie, so I’m not all funky.)
The rest of my day was spent in my cell, alternately napping and stewing in my juices. And that, gentle readers, ends Day Two in Lebanon. Tomorrow I’ma go walk the yard and see what I can see.
Peace.