Meet Bed #37 Chapter One
Oct 4
3 min read
Updated: Oct 5
October 3rd, 2026
Here's a convict's week with changes, disruptions, and minor victories like the cheesecake at the end of the rainbow.
Last morning I checked Lantern, our academic program app seeing if Elementary Statistics, a class I 96% hate the actual shit out of for an updated grade. Me with my massive valedictorian weenus I sling got struck with a sickening C I'm trying to crawl out from under stuck in an institutional trap house.
Our building, B-Side, emblematic for "bad" in this programs/education facility, specifically Dorm 5 where I recently commandeered sanitation from the chemical supply closet are Northpoint's bastard Garbage Pail Kids. Taking cleanliness control arose from unearthed maggots, the word I get ill TYPING, in our bathroom.
Any time one of these parental-failure assholes tosses a punch we get locked down like zoo critters in our wings til further notice. Last week violence escalated from Vice Lords, a real gang whose fake leftovers here are babies belonging elsewhere everyone besides them wants to pistol- whip shutting us and our sister dorm 6 down for days. They lie, cheat, and steal for dope night and day. Primarily Suboxone from the MAT (Medicine Assistance Treatment) Program, and sometimes "Spig" or "Spice". That's a trash drug says this onetime casual abuser.
My friend Cadillac and I call it "Yard Crack" as many become monsters fucking and fighting folks they care nothing about on it. This lamely unproductive buzz within a half hour puts most imbibers in bed. You would think it's the best blow Colombia makes dropped accidentally from a plane to our thirsty bullpen. When I hear it's around with clenched ass and face cheeks I lock up my ownings.
Resulting from this lockdown was a familiar howl at 8:13 AM (a digital clock on the back of a Nazi sporting a walker's bunk said so) - "GET ON THE FLOOR NOW!!"* It was the SERT Team, an in-house SWAT force lining us back-to-back in the aisle between the twin rows of racks. Tearing through every locker, all our belongings were tossed on our bunks. About an hour in, I was called into the 10-man room I sleep in for questioning.
Inside my locker the inspecting official found a small piece of paper with a miniscule trace of something orange, Suboxone's color. Cuffed to the hole I was sent to everybody's shock. Dorm 5's indisputably most productive inmate, and an ecosystem lodestone jerked out mainly over other's horseshit.
Recently I went off about the death penalty** and punitive vs cumulative punishment. This is the weakest way to smash an issue. Throw a punch, board a bus. Simple, elegant, and unmistakable. "C.J.", a youthful sex offender with an overinflated sense of self importance asked what to do if someone starts 'wailing on him' because of his case under such a policy. Telling him in a nutshell there MIGHT be an eventual downside to pedophile sex seemed to enlighten him in multiple unpleasant fashions judging from his lifted brow. Plus, anyone not wanting to be in our programs/education/reentry joint with quiet intent can slug some jerk, and snatch a boarding pass. We lose some loser swapped for a wizened inmate all done with "the life".
Six hours lost in Solitary. This was my store day - the only one we get for the week. Add iCare, prepped food I'd ordered 60 nonrefundable bucks worth of being handed out, and my FINALS DAY for Simmons College with that Elementary Statistics needing those 40 points without I fail, derailing the degree plan I've worked 3 years.
Released at 6 PM I'd abandoned hope at 3 o'clock shift change. Coming back to my wing, I was informed they'd packed my belongings like a regular Hole stay. Nope, they left my books, TV, clothes, and food unlocked and wide open. That Nazi timekeeper guarded my stuff like a hawk. Inmates of multiple stripes fall under family umbrellas in this culture, where today I have hung with dark skinned followers of Allah, Transgender Honkies, and some KY Good Ol' Boys too. Apparently YAPs (Young Ass Punks) circled like carrion and fights nearly broke over my gear. Those who had my back reminded some misspent youth I was neither cho-mo nor rat, and known for being real. Our canteen manager allowed my stuff to be regrouped, knowing I didn't deserve my predicament. Same happened with the hard ass kitchen boss who gave me all that iCare this week without question. My community did me right.
That final was a beast. I submitted it about 11:30, due at midnight. Finally I relaxed, and the next day a sergeant I kvetched at during my involuntary mini-vacay summoned me to see how the test situation climaxed. All in all, the nightmare ended with me resolved about my station, oblivious to that shoe's shadow heading down upon my shiny clueless head.
END OF CHAPTER ONE
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