By Robmacz

Four days later I was lying on my bunk in my jail cell chatting to a first time inmate serving two days for a DUI. The irony was not lost on me. Just three months before, I was in this guy’s shoes.  I wondered whether this was the start of his slippery slope and he would soon end up in mine. So this time it was me showing him the ropes, and he seemed to think I was some big-time villain, especially when i told him the sentence I had just received. This was a role reversal I had not really anticipated, but it felt good nonetheless.

I knew that I could be transported to the state penitentiary at any moment, but it still came as a shock when the guards turned up first thing in the morning and announced that I’d be shipping out in ten minutes and I just had time to take a shit and a piss. I did as I was told, knowing it could be a long day ahead. They returned soon after I had finished, with a full set of chains.

‘Hands out in front,’ one of the guards commanded.

I did as I was told and the cuffs went on shortly, followed by a black box to make them rigid. Next came the belly chain, which was fed through the black box and padlocked behind me. Then the guard ordered me to lift my left leg, and I felt the first legcuff snap around my ankle. The same with the right. All this time the DUI guy was lying on his bed looking aghast.

‘Maybe I’ll see you around,’ I said as I was escorted from the cell. He looked at me as if he never wished to see me again.

I was taken out of the cell block and down a long corridor, taking small steps since I was limited by the chain between my legs. Eventually we got to a room with some plastic chairs and three other guys sitting down, all chained up just like me. There was a guard carrying a pump action shot gun standing in the corner.

‘That’s it, this the last,’ said the guy that seemed to be in charge.

‘Okay, let’s move on out,’ said shotgun.

The other three guys got up and we moved into the open air. Outside there was a big bus with DEPARTMENT OF CORRECTIONS written along the side. The windows were darkened so you should not see in. The first of the guys was making his way up the step to the bus–not easy in chains, as I was soon to find out.  As I tried to step up I stumbled and was caught by a big handsome guard I hadn’t noticed before.

‘Watch your step, convict,’ he said as I climbed in. ‘Convict’! As soon as he said the word my dick sprang to attention.

When I got to the top of the steps I noticed there was another couple of guys on the bus. I guess it must have been doing a number of stops. The back three-quarters of the vehicle was a cage, and the seats looked hard and uncomfortable. I was made to sit about half way down, and my shackles were bolted to the floor. Once this was done the guard locked the cage door and left the bus. Shotgun got on and took up his position at the front, next to the officer driving.

‘You got many more stops today?’ came a voice from outside.

‘Another two,’ said shotgun. ‘See you next week.’

With that the door of the bus closed and the engine started up.

The bus stopped at two other jails en route, collecting five more prisoners in all. Some of the guys on the bus looked hard as nails–guys that had probably been in and out of prison most of their lives. Others looked more nervous, their first time in. One guy looked like he was about to burst into tears, absolutely terrified. The bus traveled on in silence. The only talking was done up front, between shotgun and the other officer. I couldn’t really make out what they were saying, and to be honest I wasn’t interested.

The drive seemed to go on for hours, but eventually we turned off the freeway and I saw a sign to Brentwood Correctional Facility. The bus slowed down as we joined the normal road. We traveled for several more miles, seeing nothing but open country. Then in the distance a large complex came into view. Initially I thought it must be a factory of some kind, but then we passed another sign: BRENTWOOD CORRECTIONAL FACILITY 1 MILE. I knew then that this was my new home.

The bus turned into the compound, passing several gates and security stops before coming to a stop next to a low concrete building. The bus door opened and shotgun and the other guard got off. They chatted for a few moments and took a look at some paper work. Then guards came back onto the bus and opened the cage door. One by one they unbolted our shackles from the floor and led us down the steps to line up by the bus. I was the sixth guy to stumble off the bus, and I lined up with the other guys.

A steel door opened in the side of the building, and another guard came out.  The rest all turned to look at him. He was clearly in charge. Bulging muscles, uniform immaculate.

‘Welcome to Brentwood Correctional Facility, gentlemen,’ he began in a calm but supremely authoritative voice. ‘This is your new address. Living here will require only a few simple adjustments. You aren’t used to obeying any rules, but now you will start. You will follow the rules of this facility at all times. You will do whatever a correctional officer tells you to do. You will do it immediately and without question, and you will say “Yes Sir” whenever you are spoken to by an officer. Obey the rules and you’ll do your time fairly easy. Break the rules and you will be punished.’  Now he raised his voice. ‘DO YOU UNDERSTAND?’

‘YES SIR’ we responded in unison, except for the guy who had been almost in tears. I think he mouthed the words, but nothing came out. The man in charge strode forward and put his face in the prisoner’s face.

‘I can’t hear you.’

‘Yes Sir,’ he managed to splutter out.

‘Get ‘em processed,’ the man said as he turned to walk back into the building.

We were marched inside. It was grey, that was the thing that struck you — all grey, outside and in, except for a bright yellow line along the floor.

‘Line up on the yellow line.’

To be continued …