Better yet, it is 6 am and you are sound asleep in
your 6-foot wide, 10-foot deep, 8-foot high cell.
All of a sudden, the bright cell lights turn on
waking you up. Prepare for chow release. Prepare
for chow release. 5 minutes guys, the officer
shouts. You have less than five minutes for both
you and your roommate to get out of bed, get washed
up, get dressed, and ready for when that door opens.
This is your only chance to get breakfast and/or
your lunch. If they close the door because you are
not ready, oh well, it is your fault. There is
no lagging behind or waiting for when you are
actually hungry. It is now or never.

Like a herd of cattle you file through the cramped
sally port 30 feet long, 6 feet wide, no where to
go but forward. Out to the track you head.

Oh man! It is not only 40 degrees out and all you
have is a thin Levis jacket, and it is also raining.
Oh well. You have to walk the 500 feet in the
rain to the chow hall. OK! You made it with no
alarms keeping you outside. No one got into a fight,
got sick, passed out, etc. Now you are inside and
it is dry, cold but dry.

Down the line you proceed. Will the noise every
die down? Every one is shouting across the hall to
their friends. See you at yard. Where are my
cigarettes? Is there work today? Where is Joe?
Did Steve parole? What happened in 7 Building?
But you continue to grin and bear it down through
the 200-man chow hall. You get to the window and
out pops a plastic tray. Did you remember to bring
your silverware (a wonderful Zylon fork and spoon)?
If they do not issue them to you, are they on your tray?
You better hope so because you cannot leave the
hall without showing them.

Oh yummy. It is Monday so it must be pancakes.
Two wonderfully dry and cold pancakes, a bowl
of corn meal, 2 slices of dry toast, ½ pint of
milk, and a banana. What a breakfast. Not like
what mom makes that is for sure. You do not like it?
Too bad, it is that or nothing.

As you proceed to the next open seat at the next
available table, you realize that you are number
4 and your friend is going to have to be at
another table. Better see who else is at that
table.

Now that you have sat down, you begin to eat
and realize that someone is giving you a hard
stare. Oh, it is the C/O above you with his
assault rifle trying to make sure no trouble
starts up. Sure enough, the exit door opens
and now you are down to 5 minutes to eat.
If you are lucky, you might have about ten
minutes total to eat this meal.

Hurry up. We don’t have all day. We still
have another 600 mouths feed. Move it, shouts
the seating officer. You get up and proceed
to the exit door, slide your tray through the
scullery window, and file past the officers
pat searching the inmates as they come out.

It’s still raining, you say. Oh well. Grab
your lunch on the way and hope it does not
get soaked. You check your lunch out four
slices of bread, one slice of mystery meat,
one apple, two extremely stale cookies, and
one packet of kool-aid for an 8-ounce drink.

By The Commissioner