Ya Gotta Laff

The life of an incarcerated person is not all grim, even though I'm sure that's what some on the outside are hoping. In my son's case, there are 2,400 human personalities to make life interesting and sometimes funny.

Last week David told me about "the commissary panhandler." Now since I don't know all that much about the actual commissary setup I may not be able to describe the situation well, but what I understood I thought was very amusing. Most people do understand that "commissary" is very important to prisoners. It's where they can purchase those things that ease life, like Little Debbie cakes and other food and sundry items. There is some kind of accounting process where the minuscule pay that prisoners earn is held on deposit, minus whatever is deducted for restitution or other judgments, and the actual shopping takes place about every two weeks or so on specified days. So planning and budgeting skills are learned, although we know that's not necessarily the intent of the system.

As I understand it, the inmates scheduled to shop line up and go past a window where their orders are filled in buckets, behind the glass of course. So one particularly creative and probably impoverished individual showed up at the line with a note. I'm picturing this man saying something like, "Pssst, read this." The note asked that the reader buy extra popcorn for "ONLY 35 cents" and give it to the panhandler. As the line moved and no one was of that charitable a mind, the panhandler just kept on trying every third or so person in line, to the amusement of all who admired his creativity. This is not at all the picture that most people have of prison life, where shanks and gangs and violence and force are the stereotypical norm. But it's human and, in my mind, funny.

The other thing I found amusing that day was the scene of the visitor who apparently wasn't all that welcome by the visitee. This woman sat steaming with her mother-in-law for probably an hour while their loved one could not be located. This is a prison! I'd be agitated too if I were told that David couldn't be located. But what probably happened is that the prisoner who had likely been given a visitor pass and therefore knew he would be paged, thought he could evade an angry and scary spouse by hiding out in some corner of the yard where he could legitimately claim not to hear the page. At the very least he knew he could shorten the visit. As this woman became more noticeably agitated, and as I admired her shoes but hoped they wouldn't double as weapons, the prisoner finally appeared. After suitable recriminations and not more than fifteen minutes later they were all smiles as the obligatory visiting picture was taken. A good time was had by all?