That brings me to this story. I remember shortly after starting at the prison...a newby...greener than lettuce, but anxious to show my stuff. I'd blame youth for that, but I wasn't really that young.
Back to the voices...I passed a cell...we're talking around two in the morning. The place is quiet, most of the inmates asleep, except this one cell.The guy stood there talking away. I peered in. The cell doors in this prison weren't lined with bars. They were solid steel, with two slots that ran perpendicular down the top half. Sort of like a fancy front door, without the fancy and without the glass.
This guy was jabbering away and like I said, I carefully peered in to see the other person. You know. The one he was talking to. I'm bettin' you've already figured out there was no one else in the cell.
Nevertheless I continued to listen and he continued his diatribe. His back was to the door and his voice lowered and he backed toward the door as if afraid. I, wanting to hear what he was saying, edged closer to the door.
Arrrrrrggggg! He turned and plastered himself to the door, his roar pitching to an awful cackling laugh which I heard clearly as I propelled myself backwards to the railing.
Did I mention I was on the top run? I also forgot to mentioned I had been trained NOT to get my face that close to the door.
I felt lucky though. I had managed to control myself and it wasn't necessary to change my shorts.
Aw, those were the days.
No comments:
Post a Comment