
Andrew’s Story
8.
Then it’s time to put you in your cell. Once you’re inside, you understand why it was so important to make you small. When you stretch out on the bunk, your feet hit the toilet. When you stand up and stretch out your arms, they hit the walls on both sides. All steel, even the shitter. As soon as the bars bang shut, you realize that if the officers ever forget where you are, you’ll die in there–no way could you get yourself out. Not a problem, though—this is a cage! Like in the zoo. Same function–keeps you totally visible. You’re property now, and your owners won’t let you get lost.
I sat down on the bunk and started reading the Rules. A big improvement on the usual HR fare! Very clear about what’s forbidden (almost everything) and what’s allowed (almost nothing). Then I took another survey of what there was in the cell. Bunk, shitter, sink, net bag, me. After that I lay back and thought about all the things that weren’t in the cell. There wasn’t a wall full of diplomas and awards. There wasn’t a desk full of “financial papers.” There wasn’t a computer full of messages. There weren’t two walk-in wardrobe closets. There weren’t any decorative plants. There wasn’t any art. There wasn’t any widescreen TV. There wasn’t a couch or a coffee table. There wasn’t a $100,000 kitchen. There wasn’t a Turkish carpet. There wasn’t a cabinet for my scotch and brandy collection. There wasn’t a room full of exercise equipment—I’d already seen what you did for exercise at the Central State Pen. There wasn’t any security system—you don’t need that, once you’re in Prison. But my cell was what realtors call a “turn-key home”—a place that’s completely ready to occupy, containing everything the new resident really needs.