Life in the Big House

Several years ago, when we had cable, I came across a series of pseudo-documentaries (in that they were documentary in nature, but produced by Newsfrontline or Breakingnewsdate or whoever, so they came complete with ominous voiceovers and dramatic music) about life in US prisons. I have never been to prison, don't plan on going, but I was intrigued and watched a few back-to-back hours about our fine penal system.

(Heh. "Penal.")

One of the segments focused on women's prisons and the issues particular to them. As an early childhood/infant mental health person, I was very interested in the programs that allowed inmates to stay with their infants, sometimes for a few months, sometimes until toddlerhood (a report about these prison nurseries is here, if you're interested. It's a fascinating idea). And this was my explanation for MOTH when he came home and found me glued to the TV, randomly calling out prison factoids and questions: "Hey! Did you know that a tattoo of a clock face without hands signifies doing time? Get it?" MOTH: "Um, I'm just putting away groceries, lady." What started as an idle curiosity became professional curiosity, which would have been fine, except that I stayed on the couch until it became idle again, which lead me to call to MOTH, "I think I'd do well in prison."

MOTH disagreed. With snorting, as I recall. He refused to buy my logic, but he wasn't watching the show with me. I was learning about how, while men in prison tended to join gangs for protection, women often formed more intimate relationships for protection, yes, but also for companionship. My thinking was thus: I'm funny. People like me at parties. As soon as I dropped some of my patented wise-ass remarks around the yard, I'd be golden. (This is the same thinking, by the way, that leads me to believe that if I'm ever cornered by a bear or other wild beastie in the woods, singing in dulcet tones will turn the growling predator into my bosom friend.)

Despite what was obviously flawless logic, MOTH continued to disagree with me. I believe his exact words were something like, "You'd be shanked by dinner."

Over the years, we continued to have this discussion, by which I mean I would, apropos of nothing, blurt out, "I still can't believe you don't think I'd do well in prison," and MOTH would sigh and say, "Fine. I'm wrong. You'd be the queen of prison," but I'd know he didn't mean it.

I was recently talking to my BFF, and I can't remember how it came up (but it did, and without me forcing the issue, I swear!), but I said, "That reminds me...don't you think I'd do well in prison?"

After a beat, he replied cautiously, "I think...you would survive. But you would be verrry unhappy."

"No, no, you don't get it. I mean I think I'd do pretty well for myself. MOTH doesn't get it either. Listen, I'm funny, right?"

"Yeeeessss..."

"So, I think I'd be OK." I gave him a quick rundown of what I'd learned from that one TV show six years ago, the extent of my knowledge even to this day (but really, how much can have changed?) about how female prisoners tend to bond together. "I make friends pretty easily, so I just have to make friends with someone who can protect me. Why are you laughing?"

"No, no...look, I see what you're saying. I maintain you would be verrrry unhappy. You'd survive, though. I'm not saying you wouldn't."

As if this sop to my ego was supposed to be reassuring. "Just hear me out. Here's my thinking: I figure out who's the alpha, right? The queen bee. Then, I make her laugh and she takes care of me. I have it all figured out. Like, I know that I'd likely get roughed up at first, because, you know...but I'd make a couple quick, sassy remarks, and the alpha, she'd call off the goons and say, 'I like you, kid. You got moxie.'" (Because, apparently, I'm going to prison in the '40s.)

"You do know, right, that there isn't, like, one big room? With one woman in charge, sitting over in the corner in a throne or something? Snapping her fingers to wave away her henchwomen?"

Which is a little sobering, because obviously I know that. But that is kinda what I've been picturing...

Anyway, I don't remember the rest of what he said because of all the laughing, but I hung up feeling...less than vindicated.


Nobody gets me.


Come on, you guys think I'd do alright, don't you? I got moxie.