Why am I here?

You may be wondering by now, “What’s this guy doing in a Maximum Security prison? He doesn’t seem like a killer.” Let me tell you, you’re soooo right. In fact, I haven’t always been in a Max Security joint. I started out in a fairly calm Medium Security Institution, but an unfortunate incident involving a 300 pound Nazi and a burrito compromised that. I’m not sure whether I blame the 300 pound Nazi or the burrito more, but let me tell you what happened, and you can decide for yourselves.

As we’ve already discussed, you cannot always choose who your cellmate is going to be around here. So I happened to draw a big skinhead fella named “Country” (never a good thing) (Think Deliverance) who had the brains of a rhesus monkey and the brawn of an 800 pound Silverback. I’m a cordial enough guy, so I basically gave this guy his space, respected his right to his opinions, and tried like hell to get along with him. You find that even with someone you can’t stand, there are moments of a mutual laughter and understanding.

Anyways, every Friday night, the prison would rent a couple movies and show them on the TV in the cell block (through a VCR in an office somewhere). Since this was kind of a special occasion, and they were showing a movie we wanted to see, me and a few of the guys all pitched in with some commissary food out of our lockers to make burritos. This guy named Red had a recipe that was absolutely out of this world—oh man, there was pepperoni, chili, mozzarella cheese, spices, vegetables—they were GOOD. We ended up being able to buy some tortilla shells from a guy who smuggled them out of the kitchen for a decent price, and we were in business. When they were all cooked up and put together, we had enough for four a piece, with one or two left over that we donated to a guy we liked but didn’t have any money at the time to pitch in.

The burritos were nice and fat, and I like to share, so I took two of them upstairs to my cell and offered my celly some free dinner. He declined, said he wasn’t hungry. I reminded him that these were very tasty, and that he would miss a treat if he didn’t eat at least one, but he was adamant in his refusal. I shrugged, and went down, got a soda, and set up my chair for the movie. A couple hours later, with a full belly (I ate ALL 4!) and some good goosebumps behind me (the movie was The Ring, creepy...), I decided to go out to the recreation yard for the last half hour it was open, and then come back to the cell to get ready for a shower.

When I walked in the cell, the big Nazi was sitting there, and looked up and said, “Where’s my burrito?” No kidding.

My response was something like, “Huh?”
“I want my burrito. That’s really #@!!ed up that you’re not going to share with me,” he said.
“But I TRIED TO GIVE YOU ONE!” I replied.
“I don’t care about that, I want one now.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“No, I want my @#?!ing burrito!”
“But I offered, you said no, and then I went and ATE THEM! The only way you can get them now is on the way out!”

Perhaps he didn’t appreciate my pointing out the obvious. Or, this sudden burst of logic was more than he could handle. Maybe, just maybe, this was the first time he realized he actually wasn’t getting a burrito, and the disappointment overwhelmed him. I’ll never really know what made him reach out and punch me. A nice two-piece, once in the belly and once right on the chin. I was, needless to say, a little surprised.

I’m no small fry either, folks. And even though this guy was out there on the weight pile bench-pressing the equivalent of a VW Bug, he FAILED to knock me down. I actually stood there stunned for a second (both of us, really), before I looked up and said, “That really wasn’t cool. Why did you do that!?” (As lame as it sounds, it’s the truth.)

“Pack your @#?! and get out of MY cell!” was his response. I think he was really expecting a knock out.

In prison, there’s something we call “checking in.” It was going to the guards and asking them to put you in the “hole” for your own protection. That’s basically what this guy was telling me to do. It is seen as the ultimate sign of weakness, and you will never live it down. Unless it’s truly necessary, it’s simply not an option.

“That’s not an option,” I reminded him.
Apparently, that was the ONLY other option, because that’s when he jumped on me again. I was ready this time. It was on. I had no choice but to defend myself.

Most prison fights only last a few seconds. A lot of guys will carefully plan their attack so that there are cops close by then they take off on someone, that way they get their point across, but the cops come break it up before the other guy can get his feet underneath him and fight back. This time, however, there wasn't a cop in sight. We were going to have to do battle.

I held my own for a while, and we exchanged blows back and forth as we moved up and down the cell block. He was STRONG, and his punches hurt, but I got off enough of my own to keep him from overpowering me. Then he changed his strategy, and it was all over for the home team. He stopped punching, and actually started PICKING ME UP and throwing me at stuff. Not only did this begin a process of me getting a serious ass-whooping, but the stuff I was bouncing off of make a lot of noise, and that’s when the cops came running. By the time they got there, this guy was sitting on my chest punching me in the face, and I really wasn’t upset for the final bell to be rung. They took us both to the hole, and charged us with fighting.

The aftermath was this: The administration doesn’t buy any self-defense crap. They figure if you were fighting, you did something wrong, and get what you have coming. The don’t like violence in their “softer” prisons, and once they took a look at the video of the fight, decided that one of us had to go. We couldn’t co-exist in the same prison anymore. They chose me. They wrapped up my file, and shipped me out within a matter of weeks, and I landed in Leavenworth Federal Maximum Security Penitentiary. The big time, baby.

So here I am. I’m not in Leavenworth anymore. They closed it down and made it a lower security level. But I’m still in the Pen, and will be until I get out. I don’t fit in here, I don’t have the right attitude. I’m too reasonable. No matter though, this is where I'll stay. But I’ve seen a lot that’s worth remembering, and can tell you a few stories, so maybe it’s all worth while. I just roll with the punches.