8 Sept 2007

The Double Murderer (Part 3)

The only way to diffuse the situation was to go back to my cell. As I left, I said to the guard, “I’ve got to go home, my mental-health problems are kicking in and I don’t want to snap and end up with more prison time.”
“Mental-health problems?”
“Yes. I have a few personality disorders. I was issued a waiver from an ADOC doctor exempting me from kitchen duty, but CO3 Wilcox rode roughshod over it because you guys are so desperate for kitchen workers.”
“Show me the waiver.”
I showed him the waiver, and he said, “Well, this doesn’t mean much to me. If you go home I’m gonna hafta write you up for refusing to work.”
“That’s fine. It’s the least of two evils right now. I have no choice but to do what will cause the least harm.”
“You’re on report then, Jon.”

Later that night, Magpie stormed into Weird Al's cell, and said, “I got your friend mad today.”
“I’m mad at you,” Weird Al said, “ 'cause he got a ticket.”
“I never did anything.”
“You fucking liar.”
“Well, all he did was write shit down.”
“It’s ain’t none of your business what he does. You got my friend a ticket.”
“Well, I’ll go over his cell, and kick his ass right now.”
“You ain’t gonna do a thing.”
“Why, what are you gonna do?” Magpie yelled. “Are you gonna kill me?” Are you gonna kill me? Are you gonna kill me?”
“I’m gonna kick your ass.”
“I’m gonna go kick England’s ass right now,” he marched out, hysterical.

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