Wednesday, August 03, 2005

There is not much new to report. I have been working like a dog. Sometimes I get so _______ (insert: bored, tired, apathetic, lonely) it seems there is little reason to show up every day. Yes, I do make a difference in people's lives, but at the end of the day, when you've got nothing left for you and all the good you're doing seems to be a game of tag, ending with a paycheck, the luster quickly fades away. I spent 16 hours on several units on Monday. Only to have to be right back in for 7AM on Tuesday (my friday, as I have wed and thurs off). Twelve of those hours were spent walking the yard with "rusty" the trusty twelve gauge. It was hot, humid, dusty and I had all the rubber bullets a guy could want, and still it was just bullshit.

There comes a time when even a job you enjoy elicits a response something akin to, "Jesus Hopscotch Christ, I need to stop looking at my watch!!!" I'll have to admit walking the yard makes me nervous. Granted, there is plenty of support, from the six towers of doom over looking the dusty knoll, but you never know who's napping behind those mirrored shades. While it wasn't record heat, it was hot enough for me to go through three litres of Pedialyte when ever I could get some poor slob to relieve me. No one wants to be the junk yard dog. My radio sqawked to life and before another sound was made there was a round in the chamber.

The L7 from D-Unit radio-ed in that one of theirs had sucessfully made a break for it. In many, many ways they would just be better off letting that one go. When my sentence in the yard was up, I hobbled back to J-Unit and due to lack of foresight and coverage and a bunch of other useless shit, assumed command. All I wanted to do was to sit in relative cool, listen to the transistor radio and bang out the shift paperwork. When 11 PM came around, I wanted to be gone like Jose Canseco's career. However, there is no rest for the wicked and the natives were restless. I got a bad feeling in the even worse foot and knew I would have to earn my $$$ for the rest of the shift.

Just before 8PM a "guest" strutted up to me and informed me they didn't like me. I apologized and said I liked them, but due to the nature of my job, I understood their animosity towards me. I was then told, "to watch my back cause I was gonna get fucked up." Great, not even two months pass since the last time, "I was fucked up" and here comes my turn again. Being in charge has one benefit, delegation. I assigned 2 other agents on the "guest" who felt I should be fucked and decided not to worry about it. This was my first mistake.

About ten minutes later as I was making my final sweep of the unit, I found the guest who was gonna fuck me up, alone in the rec area. It was eerily quiet and my spider sense was tingling. I wondered where my co-workers were and before I knew it, I received a sucker shot to the side of the head that had me reeling. I kept my feet under me and eyes open but other wise I felt about as strong as a cheap marionette. Another punch to the other side of the head. I was trying to figure out a way to use "agency approved" tactics on this mother fucker without getting stomped to death while the Crisis Intervention Team was deployed. I heard the doors pneumatically seal and knew I was alone. My coworkers decided to isolate me with a nasty, nasty guest rather than come and play.

Guesty threw another punch and I used my cat-like reflexes to duck out of the way and come up with a crippling upper cut. I took advantage of guests surprise and drove another punch to the forehead home. CIT was still 2 minutes out. Guesty was woozy and the trip I applied made for a quick take down. Not knowing what the hell else to do, I threw the motherfucker in the camel-clutch and waited...and waited...and waited.

What seemed like 2 days was about three minutes. Once I was in control, my team took the rec room off lock down and waited outside the door for CIT. I was struggling to stay conscious, the pain in my head like a hundred thousand jackhammers. The door opened and CIT bum-rushed both of us, me to the office, Guesty to the hole. It was a worse ending to a horrible day and in the end I have to worry about having my own back. Some days I swear there is no justice in getting out of bed, doing the right thing, or just being a good guy.

I hope you all are well.


1 comment:

Boogie Pants Donavan said...

That is INSANE. It makes me glad that Excel can't come to life because i would have had my ass handed to me a long time ago. Fucking spreadsheets. ARRRRGH.