Inmates that were dipping (eavesdropping) into my request for an extra-duty inmate started volunteering immediately. Pushing the hand-truck was easy work, and they anticipated that I would award them with plenty of credit. The number of volunteers provoked me to promise that I would try to spread the wealth some. The hand-truck would only carry four to fi ve boxes safely at a time, and only two or three orders would fi t into a box. A typical store order day might have half the inmates ordering half a sack of supplies, so I estimated 20 boxes, or fi ve trips to complete the task.
During the second trip to the canteen, I informed my
fi rst volunteer, Marcos Kane, of my public math. Marcos
had a better idea. "Let's push a laundry cart next time.
We'll fi t three times as much stuff in the laundry cart, and
it will take fewer trips." The laundry cart was a plastic,
four-wheeled, box-looking apparatus designed for hauling
laundry, but it was as wide as the doorway, fi ve feet long,
and six feet tall. It would defi nitely burden more than the
hand-truck.
Our arrival at the canteen met with four ready boxes,
and a supervisor who was ready to soak up more verbal
kudos from me. "I just can't tell you how grateful we are
for your help today. You and your staff have really stepped
up. I'm going to see if your efforts can be made public by
having it posted on the bulletin board, or announced in
guard roll-call."
"That would be neat. I agree. We have really been
busting our tails down here." I almost drew blood biting
my tongue. Back at the housing unit, I informed Lou of my
evil-doing.
"Why are you pumping them like that?"
"I just wanted to see how much they would soak up."
Lou was getting physically upset that the canteen staff
thought they deserved some formal recognition. They were
not doing anything extra at all. In fact, their routine was
hardly impacted.
My promise of sharing the extra-duty wealth was not
exactly broken. I was not going to hunt down inmates who
wanted to help. If they wanted some extra duty, they should
have hung around the unit, waiting for me. It is not as if they
have a crazy schedule with a tremendous number of irons in
the fi re. I think they disappeared, just so they would have
something to complain to me about later.
Marcos got out a laundry cart, and I escorted him back
to the canteen. It was my third trip, and his second. The
inmates that had previously complained about not getting
their orders taken had gotten their way. I had another few
dozen orders in hand. Our arrival at the canteen was met
by approximately 15 boxes, and a very proud staff. I could
not resist. While Marcos loaded the orders, I pumped
Freedom. "I am going to see if I can submit your entire
staff for employee of the month."
My return to the unit found a very upset unit manager.
Not only was he still infuriated that the canteen supervisor
still wanted some bonuses, he was not pleased that I was
continuing to make a joke out of it by pumping them up. He
also bitched that they had still not provided staff to assist with
the delivery of the orders. I thought he was pissed. Then it
donned on him that our house seemed to have a rather large
store order accumulating. I had previously estimated that
our collective order would take about 20 boxes. We were
through a third of the orders and had already exceeded that
number. My estimates were not wrong. In fact, they were
based on a good deal of normality. A few possibilities may
have contributed to the swelling.
Here are a few potential inmate thought patterns: "Hey,
that stupid idea will never work. I'm going to put in an
order, just so I can have something to bitch about when I
don't get it."
"Hey, staff is delivering, and I don't have to carry that
shit across the yard."
"If I don't have to carry my order, I won't get beat up for
it. I'd better stock up."
Whatever the reason, I had severely underestimated the
amount of canteen our house would order, which impacted
the number of trips our staff would have to make, and the man
hours it would require for our staff to inventory supplies, the
number of kudos the canteen staff would think they rated,
and the amount of steam pouring out of Vogel's ears.
I wound up taking Marcos on about three more trips,
pumping the canteen staff every time. After about three
hours of overtime, just before my last trip, I called down
to the canteen to ensure they were prepared for my arrival.
Lou was sitting behind the desk where I placed the call. I
could not resist.
"Hi, Freedom? It's me, Caseworker Batiste. I just
wanted to confi rm that I could make the last trip."
"We're packing the last box now. It will be ready before
you get here."
"Thanks. I just wanted to tell you one more time how
much we appreciate your staff stepping up today. I know I
speak for all of my co-workers when I say that you and your
folks are top-notch. You must take tremendous pride in your
work, helping us out of a jam like this." Vogel's eyes are
about to pop out of his head.
The last trip to the canteen came none too soon. Many
an inmate expressed their gratitude, and I stopped dead in
my tracks. I did care, but I did not want inmates thinking
I was their mule, and would continue like behavior in the
future.
"Don't give me too much credit guys. I have ulterior
motives. I'm getting time-and-a-half, and making my job
easier."
"What do you mean?"
"Imagine if I hadn't done this. In comparison, my job
tomorrow will be much easier with all of you, "fat, dumb,
and happy" instead of pissed off."
The following Saturday, Vogel was off for the weekend,
and I was at work. It was a slow, boring morning, and an idea
hatched. I wanted Lou to think that I really had submitted
the canteen for employee of the month. I began to compose
a very sugar-coated nomination. My co-worker read it and
claimed it almost made her vomit. My nomination was
the biggest bunch of trumped-up bullshit ever. I made a
photocopy, and placed it in Lou's mailbox. He would come
in on Monday at 0800 hours, and upon fi nding the photocopy,
he would think that I had actually submitted the nomination.
All the while, the original still sat in my lunchbox.
When I fi nally spoke to Lou about it on Wednesday, my
next work day, I was almost dying with anxiety. I spoke up
immediately, displaying the original copy of the nomination.
Lou's face went serious.
"No hoaxes Heck. To cover your ass, I signed the
photocopy, "I concur" and forwarded it on to my boss. And
on top of that, the canteen supervisor called. She claims that
she gave you Trimble's tokens when you returned the broken
stapler. Canteen gets employee of the month, and you get
investigated for stealing tokens."
"What are they gonna do, check the surveillance cameras
at Chuck E. Cheese?"
Lou in turn got me back, so the prank was paid back
instantly. My glory was short-lived.