I put a white strip of towel i use as a rag soaked in my "Jamaican Fruit" Muslim prayer oil over the air vent in my cell to get it smelling good and try to relax,
My Turkish feet, due to them doing little to no work in their lives, were baby soft before coming to JAIL but now, years of wear/tear/abuse later, they are a patchwork of bruises and dead skin and as i added insult to injury by playing football for hours on end which although has granted me access to the 'All Star Game' happening later this week i am in need of some rest otherwise i have to retire..
A white pillowcase sported a smudged T that i scrawled with a prison biro is sitting on my chair.
Inside it sits some neatly folded khaki trousers, shirts, t-shirts, socks, underwear, sweatpants and other assorted items you can wear in JAIL.
An I was convinced that after hearing this man had taken over laundry duty that i was going to get carried,
Up until this point it was a two week contract renewed each time we go to the store to insure i pay in advance and there is no problems, i drop off sweat clothes/cum ra..i mean socks and he puts them in the washer then dryer then drops them off in a folded manner but the issue at hand is that i paid for a new contract yesterday and am now greeted with a new laundry guy!!
How to handle the situation..
-Do i just assume i have to make a new contract?
-Do i try my luck and see if this dude will honor the former contact?
-Do i kick off if he tries any funny bollocks?
I do not like him.
Anyways i have to do SOMEthing which is either going to be manning up and trying my hand or walking away with my tail between my legs like a chump..
"I have a contact with A* and i just renewed it yesterday and if you're the new laundry guy are you taking on the old contracts that have been paid?"
with this look of unwarranted disgust on his face spat out,
"YEAH but you's RAISED your prices RIGHT scrap?"
New laundry guy actually DID honor the original contract and hasn't asked me for no more bread..
Which is surprising..
Right about now i am laying on my green patterned prayer rug on top of my bed with the door firmly closed and as it's still mid day there's plenty of light coming in through the window so no light on either,
I'm simply laying here drinking some coffee and listening to the radio trying to relax,
What am i listening to?
Up until coming here the only way i could hear such music was if someone was kind enough to play it through the telephone so it's been really cool to listen to this shit again, they play all kinds of crap, including a lot of requests that you can call in and ask them to play,
An guess what i did earlier today?
I made the international hand gesture for "I'm after you" which is basically twirling your fingers in a circular motion at the person who is last on the phone/computer,
Added the station's number to my "phone list" and waited the fifteen minute validation period before duck walking up to the "jack" stabbing numbers into the silver keys with my shaky arthritic fingers, said my name, then waited neverously as the phone began to beep away..
Why so nervous?
You (hopefully) answer the phone and we start kickin' it,
If you have the pleasure of speaking to me and you're in America or have done the RIGHT thing and got a Skype number you will hear a little formal introduction by a female robot letting you know that
this is indeed a "pre-paid" call from a Federal Prison and you have the option of pressing five to accept the call or pressing seven to send my ass into oblivion so i can never holler at you again,
BEFORE this all happens though you're actually in for a treat,
A recording of "Timothy Guvercin" made by some super pranged out Londoner fresh into prison with the HENCHEST turtle head hanging out his asshole BLATANTLY thinking he's about to get poked or bum raped,
If you don't believe me get a Skype number..
It's SO fucking bate..
I'm well aware of this and got extremely well acquainted with this idea during the beginning of my bid from calling people i had hoped wanted to speak to me but in fact did NOT want to speak to me but being the naive person it took me a few months (years) to clock on,
Maybe they had LOST their phone?
Who wouldn't want to speak to me while I'm banged up abroad in Federal Prison?
After a couple of bleeps i hear a brief silence (SOMEONE HAS ANSWERED THE PHONE)
and the automated voice on the other end starts blowing up the spot, running it's jibs about me being in Federal Prison.
I feel light headed as the sound of a quivering Englishman blurts out my name in a manner SO bate that the testosteronein my balls suddenly turns to estrogen.
They press nothing..
No accept OR decline..
It plays again..
I'm staring to get the overwhelming feeling that calling up a college radio show from Federal Prison might not have been the best idea I've had today.
I have several questionable ideas each day.
I'm limited in what i can do and boredom takes you to strange places.
I was looking through a beat up old copy of GQ magazine earlier today and saw an advert for Gap with all these dudes wearing colorful khaki pants.
"Double You Ess Ohh You?"
A very good friend of mine from Ghana taught me this, he gave me the example of how you wouldn't ever speak to your five year old child in the same way you'd speak to your fifteen year old, the five year old would get confused and the fifteen year old would think you're a dick.
Makes sense right?
So baring this in mind I decided NOT to bust out the South London/New York accent that is peppered with a crude mix of pattwa and jailhouse terms like "motherfucker" and "this that an the third" an opt for something a bit more palatable.
I am put on hold..
Classical music begins to blare down the phone..
I actually listen to some classical music every now and then in the mornings after a workout while i flick through an assorted of magazines and literary titles..
I am kindly informed that the station does not have any Billy Club Sandwich and after a little choking on the mic i glance down at my crumbled piece of paper and see what's next on the list..
Classical music returns as the dirty man crawls from under the gate, dropping packs of tar-tar sauce from his trousers that were left over from Fishy Friday and are also free..
I am kindly informed that the station does not have any Bulldoze.
I'm getting a little flustered.
Perhaps something a bit more mainstream is needed.
I am kindly informed that the station does not play Dying Fetus as they are a Catholic University.
To add insult to injury the female on the other line, despite her patience with the inmate and his retarded requests, seems to be growing amused with the accent, circumstance and complete inability by me to find a song that they can play and i think she may just give up on me.
She asks me where i am calling from.
For the past few years i have been down people seem to refer to me by the last place i was in New York.
Telling this young lady "LONDON" seemed stupid and "PRISON" although answering my call seemed like an even more stupid reply.
A thank you is exchanged..
A coffee is made..
Turkish feet trample up the stairs and once again rest on a pile of clothes at the end of a heavily soiled prison mattress.
A short while later..
ONLY then do i realize just how corny it was of me to request "urban discipline" from a Federal Prison in Brooklyn.