This last week was fairly nice, save for my Friday when I didn’t sleep at all, otherwise it was good.

An interesting thing happened though.

At some forgotten point in the night, officers were called to the F-unit (the lockdown unit) where an inmate had taken a portable bed (aka: a boat) and slid down the stairs in it. It happens. Inmates get bored.

The interesting bit was that after we locked him in his cell, we found a shiv on the ground under the stairs.

Now, for those not in the know, a shiv is a crude instrument made out of jail materials to stick or slash a fellow human. The shiv we found was no different. It was made of a stray piece of welding wire left behind by the workers who recently upgraded our screens. It was wrapped in papers to form a handle, and was actually very scary looking.

The tip of the wire was filed to a point; no doubt done by rubbing in against the concrete floor. The wire used wasn’t like normal wire. It was welding wire, so it was fairly solid, and didn’t bend easily, so sticking it through a roll of paper towels was done easily. I can’t imagine how easily it couldgo through someone’s throat, or eye, or spleen.

We brought the inmates out of the area, and strip searched the inmates who were on their out-time when we found the shiv. After the area was clear of inmates, we searched the cells for about an hour, and found absolutely nothing incriminating.

I’m not surprised we came away with naught, but it was a bit scary, the odds we were playing against; which was the possibility of an officer or inmate getting stabbed. I mean, I know in my brain that my job is potentially dangerous, but seeing a weapon of this sort actually turn up in my jail, hits home the reality of my situation.

And see, that’s not even the really scary thing. I mean, all of that is scary, don’t get me wrong, but the even scarier thing is when you find a second shiv in the same area the very next day… which we did.::”:

I always forget. I always remember swing-shift as being more about my sleep habits, than about work. I always forget that inmates seem to rise to a different level of annoyance on swing-shift. I can’t believe I keep forgetting about that.

I switched over to swings last week, and it all came back in a flash. The yelling, the fighting, the badgering, the throwing of the feces. It’s like a bad dream that you only wake up from after 3 months. (In 3 months I’ll switch to graveyard.)

I could complain about swings, but I must admit that there are some good things also.

Like the fact that I have an excellent crew to work with. Most of the time, we all get along great. We are able to commiserate on our luck, or lack thereof, and we are able to laugh at the sickest of situations.

For instance, this last week, we have been dealing with a seriously mentally disurbed man. He’s not ok. He’s not even really in reality. He screams all day, unless he’s sleeping, and sleep doesn’t come often. He crapped on his wall. YES, he actually put his butt cheeks up the the wall and took a hefty dump. Most of it fell to the ground, but a good portion stuck like glue; like a horribly smelling brown glue.

He also doesn’t like to be told what to do. (Huh, really Joel, a crazy man won’t follow orders???) When he was told to go back to his cell after his out-time was finished, he hurled a chair across the room in defiance.

Interestingly, he has a fantastic memory. When he was picked up by the police, he was threatening to stab the officer with a pen, so the officer pulled out his taser and gave him a 50,000 volt jolt to get him to drop the pen. Subsequently, any time he is offered the taser as an option to not celling in, he opts to cell in. Pain memory must be VERY effective, even if you think you are invincible.

Two days ago, a woman was brought into jail that had heroin stuffed into her hoo-hoo. (Hoo-hoo is slang for VAGINA, for those NOT in the know). She also had needles hidden in her panties. I’m so glad I don’t have to strip search women. Looking at dirty men is bad enough, that I can’t, and don’t want to, imagine what the women must be like. Most nights, we only have one female officer working, so if there are 10 ladies that come in needing a strip search, that ONE FEMALE OFFICER gets to do them all. At least the male officers can evenly distribute the male strip searches.

There’s another man who swears he was told by the judge he could leave jail. He’s also schizophrenic, and very well could have been told he could leave by Judge Judy, but he swears it up and down that he’s being held unlawfully.

Jail is always interesting, and sometimes exciting. There are streches of boredom puncutated by moments of pure adrenaline. The job isn’t for everyone, and sometimes feels like it really isn’t for me.

I remember seeing my first (and only) suicide.

I had spoken to the man the night prior, and he seemed hopeful for the future. He talked about seeing his kids and wife. It was all future-oriented talk. Not something you typically hear from a suicidal indivudual, at least not from what I was aware of.

The next night, at around 11pm, he tied a sheet around his neck and hung himself off his bunk. He was roomed alone for no other reason than it had just worked out that way.

When he was found, we all responded. He was gone. No amount of CPR was bringing him back. It was sad. I still feel sad about that.

I took a good look at myself that night and wondered if I could even DO this job. Was I cut out to deal with this kind of stress; with these kinds of situations? I suppose nobody is “Cut Out” do deal with this stuff, but we all make do.

The way we cope is to laugh about the stupid stuff, to sluff off the crap of the day and band together as friends, and officers. We make do by propping each other up, and by knowing that we are all experiencing the same thing, singularly and as a group.

It’s not a GREAT job, but it’s my job for now, and I’m good at it.

Swing-shift always gives me the opportunity to work on my skills. I get the chance to deal with all kinds of people in all walks of life. From the 1 day commitment for a DUI, to the unknown outcome of a murder charge, the approach is always different.

I suppose I have a love/hate relationship with swing-shift. It’s probably more hate than love, but there’s some love in there for sure. I’ll let you know just how much in about 3 months.

So, I was up early for a meeting today, and afterwards I decided to go and get a haircut. I usually do this every couple of months, or until I have to start pulling my hair behind my ears. I don’t know why I don’t get it cut more often, but I suspect it may have something to do with the Marine Corps requiring me to have my hair cut after every weekend. Ahhh the baggage I carry.

Anyway, I went to the GreatClips closest to where my meeting was, like I usually do, and sat down in a chair with a nice lady who seemed to be on her game, hairwise.

The woman was nice enough. She small talked me, and we got along fine. Things were going well… until she started cutting my hair.

Now, I’m not vain about my hair. I can’t be since it’s just hair after all, and even if it all gets chopped off, it will eventually grow back. However, since I can chop my hair off all by myself, I think that when I pay someone to cut it, the job should be done the way I want; the way I expect. I have never had any problems with GreatClips, and for that matter, I didn’t have any problems with this lady, but suffice to say that it didn’t go as planned.

The first thing I noticed was that she was going REALLY high with the clippers. I mentioned it, and an older (dare I say wiser) gentleman who worked there came and gav

e the woman some pointers. He seemed to help a little.

I was surprised when she said she was “finished”.  Staring at me in the mirror, was the dreaded “bowl cut of doom”. Not something I have really been fond, or at least not since 1987. I showed her what I wanted fixed, and she agreed that it was indeed not quite right.

I was most accommodating. I didn’t get frustrated. I was nice. I laughed with the lady about the mess-ups, and tried not to make her feel like she had ruined my day, since she, in fact, hadn’t. Still, I got the nagging feeling that perhaps this woman had never cut hair before, or at least hadn’t been cutting hair for very long.

After about 10 minutes of “fixing” my hair, she again told me she was finished. I again showed her what was wrong with it, and she told me that could “try and fix it”. At this point, in the most Yoda-esque way, I told her that she either COULD do it, or she COULDN’T do it, but that I really wasn’t up for another TRY at my hair.

Overhearing our conversation, another employee came over and showed her what to do, fixing my extremely short hair, so that it still looked somewhat like I had intended. It was a nice experience overall, and I will most likely go back.

After my neck was shaved, and the hair was swept off the floor, the nice lady told me that it was her first day out of beauty school. AHA!!! I laughed with her, trying to make her feel less bad about the whole ordeal, and she seemed greatful. I even gave her a tip. I’m such a sap.

Anyway, everything turned out ok. My hair is about as short as it was the day I left the Marine Corps, and honestly, I don’t really mind. It’s just hair afterall, right?

If you need a haircut, go to the GreatClips across from Sizzler. Even if it’s not a good haircut, it’ll be a good way to excercise your patience and kindness.