Prisoner 74319...

My sentence carried a somewhat minimal effect than what it could have had the judge went by the typical rules of a person convicted of DUI for the second time.

My lawyer negotiated a plea by reducing my jail time in half on the grounds that I enter into a court mandated program (which I am currently in as I write this blog) that was specifically for multiple offenders in attempts to redirect their thoughts about alcohol abuse and impart knowledge in regards to possible addiction to a mind or mood altering substance.

It’d be safe to say that the week I spent in jail was one of the most life-altering experiences I had ever encountered. TV and press scare you into thinking the worse, and while many of the horror stories are true, the most frightening thing I learned about being in jail was the trained mindset of other inmates who were in the same “dorm” as I was.

These guys weren’t hardened killers or drug lords. They were DUI cases, probation violators with minor drug offenses, and child support dodgers. Most of them seemed like decent guys, some who may have just run afoul of the law by chance and others who didn’t give a damn. Yet, it was the mindset, the mental capacity for some of them to think that their best lives were better off spent in jail, caged like some kind of deviant animal just because they were used to it.

After the first 24 hours (and a jailhouse moniker attached to me by a card-playing slick named Tony), my resolve had been confirmed:

This was not my best life.

Did I believe I was too good for jail??? 

Hell yes, I did.

• Class valedictorian:  Done
• Voted Most Likely to Succeed:  Did that, too
• Best in Service:  All me
• College Grad (Go Dawgs!!!):  BAM!  That was me again.
• Prisoner 74319...

The wristband that resembled a hospital ID bracelet posted only my first and last name, followed by the number 74319 as a means to identify me on a list of many...as well as a means to make calls to the outside world that was still going on without me just fine.

Think for a minute...

60+ grown men milling around a university-style commons area, bunk beds lined along the walls.  They are dressed in dark blues or khaki jumpsuits and facility-issued slippers.  15-16 hours of the day would be spent staring at 2 large plasma TVs, playing cards, reading, or swapping stories of the life we once lead outside of confinement.

Food served on trays that wouldn't have been used in even the poorest of school cafeterias were served three times a day.  It might not have been "Iron Chef" approved, but it was just enough to keep you alive.  As I stomached down the bologna sandwich with one side plastered with a slice of white bread and the other side with a multi-grain slice, I could see Paula Deen's face turn sour at the thought of hearing one of her biggest fans eating something she wouldn't have fed the catfish she catches in her backyard pond. 

Love and best dishes, my ass...

The shows on TV that depict life on the "inside" tend to lean toward the more violent aspects of life behind bars; and while "jail" and "prison" are two TOTALLY different terms in regards to confinement (prison is relegated to persons who get more than a 1 year sentence), the fight for manhood and sanity is more prevalent in the mind rather than it being a solely a physical battle.  Only focusing on barbaric thoughts and actions, society has trained our minds to revert to our animalistic instincts in order to survive what we think we might know lies ahead in the coming days.

Natural fear and anxiety forces me to my bunk as I kept a close eye on the other inmates around me.  While the names slip my mind, the faces an etched into my brain as the weathered effects of aging through life in and out of jail had offered distinct images of what society would label as "my peers." 

The biggest threat to me doing time unscathed was  running afoul of the officer on duty; however, the motives of others around me who had more experience in the life were just as unsettling.  Whatever advantages I was going to gain to make the best use of my time...or at least make the time fly by...were going to be by adapting as quickly as possible.  I did as much as I could not to give off any type of vibe that I was going to be easy to get over on, exhibiting the fear a type of penal system predator would flock to.  I was nobody's "bitch" or "boy" -- and I had no intentions of being such.

Killers or not...if you're in the "system" long enough, you'll pick up habits to prey on others.  It was all about coming out on top whatever way you could.