Bio - 30 in My Bio

Most of the DOs were either cool or indifferent, but there were some who reveled in their power. Most of the DOs were women, but there was one male DO named Bergman whom I absolutely couldn’t stand. They introduced a new rule stating that inmates had to tuck their shirts in when in the hallways. One day I forgot to tuck mine in on my way to visit with Tom, and Bergman threatened to cancel my visit over it. The rage it sparked in me was intense, though I managed to control it. Just being told what to do at 35 was bad enough, but the threat of missing my visit with Tom over a stupid shirt infuriated me. It wouldn’t have just been cruel to me—it would’ve been cruel to Tom, too, after he took the time to come see me. Fortunately, Bergman didn’t cancel the visit, but if he had, I really believe I would have lost it.

Christoffers creeped me out from the start, though I rarely saw her. For reasons I couldn’t understand, she looked at me with such intense hatred. Maybe she’d heard about me in the news and believed the media’s lies, or maybe I reminded her of someone she hated. Who knows?

Woodruff was a DO high on power. She left me sitting forever after a visit in the cramped, stuffy booth while she goofed off with other DOs. When I tried to get her to do her job and escort me back to my dorm, she told me to sit there longer. Yet, less than a minute later, she came to get me. If she had waited a moment longer, I might have told her off, not caring if she wrote me up. She made me feel like a child all over again, ordered to sit in the corner.

I don’t remember the real name of “The Donut Man,” but he was one of the male DOs who not only liked me but could have been a romantic interest if guys were my thing. He let me sneak in extra snacks after a visit one day. I returned just as dinner was being served, and the trays were still on the cart in the hallway. Palma was working that night as The Donut Man escorted me back.

“Oh, cool! Donuts for dessert tonight,” I said. “I love donuts. Especially since dinner’s usually less than edible.”

“Yeah, I hear you on that one,” The Donut Man replied. He checked to see where Palma was and then said, “Grab a few extras if you want.”

“I’d love to, but how would I get them past Palma?” I asked.

“Just tuck them under your shirt,” he suggested.

I smiled a “thanks” as Palma unlocked the pod door. If she noticed how “pregnant” I suddenly looked, she didn’t say a word.

Mena wasn’t the worst, but she really overreacted when she went off on me for coming out of my cell after she accidentally popped the door lock. Couldn’t she have just admitted her mistake and let it go?

Smith, a.k.a. Barbie, was a whiny, moody bitch. She earned the nickname Barbie for the way she plastered her face with makeup. To a lot of people, she was beautiful, but to me, she looked as fake as one of my ten-dollar musical dolls. My nickname for her was Pancake Face Smith.

Kahn started off nice but turned into one of the rudest DOs there. She even made some moves to keep me from having to go into a big cell, but after a few months away, she came back completely changed. I wondered if something had happened to her while she was gone.

One day I waited and waited for an escort to bring me to visitation. When I went to the tower where Kahn was reading the paper, she told me to go back and wait, which I did—for what felt like an eternity. When I returned to the tower to check again, she screamed at me to wait, and I wished I could slap the bitch! Why did the rudest people always have some kind of power over me?

Chaikowski, nicknamed “Misery,” was the least favorite of all. She was strict, but I personally preferred her over Pancake Face Smith. At least Misery smiled occasionally and took time to chat with people. I was even shocked one day when she smiled at me, something I never thought she could do after I had flipped her off a month earlier for waking me up to make me take down pictures of Tom I had glued to the wall with toothpaste.

Then there were the special task force people, often called “The Men in Black” or “The Shadow Men.” There was also Jackson, queen of the Gang & Jail Intelligence Unit, though, in my opinion, it should have been called the Jail Stupidity Unit.

Teresa had only been in jail for two days when we were both rudely jarred out of a dead sleep at 9:30 one morning. Vasquez was on duty that day. She was a really nice lady and one of the more popular DOs. She’d give me extra lunches and often chat with me, and on the day the Shadow Men arrived, she saved me from getting written up and losing my visitation.

One of my funniest memories with Vasquez (before I get into the Shadow Men story) involved the ever-crazy Melinda. Melinda would go back and forth between being sweet and friendly to a raving lunatic. One night I decided to stir things up and yelled through the vents that connected our cells, “Hey, everyone, guess what?”

“What?” came a chorus of voices.

“I can make psycho Melinda go off on me. Just watch this. Hey, schizo, can you hear me?”

Sure enough, Melinda started cussing me out, causing the entire pod to erupt in laughter.

The next day, during my hour out, I flipped Melinda off behind Vasquez’s back, knowing she’d lose it.

“Fuck you!” Melinda shouted.

“See?” I said to Vasquez. “She’s so mean!”

“Yeah, it doesn’t sound like there’s a lot of love in the house today,” Vasquez replied with a smile.

Oh, how Melinda and I used to get under each other’s skin—childish as it was, I admit!

Anyway, the Shadow Men came to “toss” M Dorm, which meant they were doing a search. I had never seen people more high on power trips! After they handcuffed us and made us sit out in the dayroom, they tore through the cells like hurricanes. Even if you didn’t have contraband, they would take random stuff, just because they could, it seemed. They swiped some of my pencils, my little toothbrushes, and even a few paragraphs I had written in my journal. Luckily, I had just sent several pages of journaling home. What also struck me as suspicious was that they took letters I had begun writing that mentioned the corrupt cop in my case. It made me wonder if they knew something or had something to hide. Why else would they take those?

When one of the Shadow Men led Teresa and me—still cuffed together—back to the cell to be uncuffed, I noticed the mess they left behind.

“Fucking assholes trashed the cell,” I muttered.

As one of them unlocked our cuffs, he threatened to write me up and take away my visitation rights. Then, he went on to brag about what a hotshot he was, telling me to watch who I was talking to.

Wouldn’t it burst his bubble to know I thought he was no more important or impressive than a cockroach? I pretty much told him this, saying I didn’t care who he was. I asked him how he’d feel if he got woken up out of a sound sleep, only to have some of his stuff taken and the rest thrown around.

He never did write me up. Vasquez later told me that as they were leaving, after writing up a few others, one of them asked, “Are we forgetting anyone?” That’s when she stepped in and insisted she had a lot of work to do, and they left.

Shortly after the Shadow Men stormed through M Dorm, Jackson called me into the computer room the juvies used. She was questioning everyone, though I wasn’t sure why. She had a few questions specifically for me. She wanted to know why her name was mentioned in the paragraphs that had been taken from me. I had written about being pissed at her and Jill, the classification lady, for shuffling us around like we were nothing but game pieces.

After I explained that to her, she asked me a few trivial questions, and I never heard from her or the Shadow Men again.

Bangert was probably the oldest one working there. She was somewhere in her fifties, I think. She was really nice, too. I’d often be her sounding board when the “fucking bitches” in the Alpha program left the place looking like a pigsty. The Alpha program was for alcoholics.

Means was a funny one. Her nametag read “B. E. Means,” and she’d joke that she was going to drop the “s” and just “be mean.” She made a game out of cell searches, coming in saying she was looking for a million dollars or something equally silly.

She noticed the wads of dried toilet paper I used to block most of the vent and said, “You’re not really supposed to do that.”

“Yeah, I know, but you didn’t see it,” I said.

“Nope, I didn’t see it,” she agreed, leaving the cell with a metallic clang as the door closed behind her.

I had mixed feelings about Chambers, but for the most part, the 18-year-old was cool. We often swapped jokes.

Barajas, another younger one, loved to tease me. During my hour out, I’d hide the TV remote or make sure she’d catch me doing something I shouldn’t, like passing items between cells. She’d scold me, enjoying every minute of it, while I’d laugh and play Miss Innocent.

She was shocked on the days when I wasn’t mad at anyone. “You mean you don’t want to kill anyone today?” she once asked. “No bullying your bunkie either?”

Mossman was the wimpy type that I couldn’t resist teasing. During my first few weeks there, she escorted me to Medical when I needed new inhalers. That night, I was dealing with three different kinds of attacks—asthma, allergies, and panic. I was so high-strung that they cuffed me with my hands in front, and as we walked, I kept sneezing all over her handcuffs.

About a month later, I saw her in the hallway. “Hey, Mossman!” I called out.

She turned to look at me, and I mimicked being cuffed, raising my hands to my nose and faking a sneeze.

Shaking her head, she continued on her way, while I laughed to myself.

Officers Tate and Temple, both third-shift DOs, reminded me that not all Black officers were bad.

Tate and I had a little game we’d play. Toward the end of my sentence, whenever I saw her, I’d tell her how many days I had left. She started asking for the number of hours instead and promised to ask every time she saw me. So, whenever I knew she was on duty, I’d quickly calculate the hours and give her the numbers during headcount. She loved it.

Temple was supposed to be the one to walk me out of M Dorm on the night of my release (they usually pull you from your cell in the early morning hours, then release you at sunrise), but for some reason, she didn’t make it. I’m sure she tried. Beaudoin ended up getting the honors instead.

Espi was my favorite first-shift DO, and probably the most attractive 50-year-old I’d ever seen—not that I was attracted to her beyond her friendly personality.

She loved hearing my jokes and cracked me up one day when she said she wished she could hit Baldilocks over the head with her own cane for bugging her so much.

With the exception of Teddy Bear, no DOs stand out in my mind quite like officers Pérez and Palma. I’ll admit the only reason Palma stood out at first was that I was attracted to her—at least to her appearance. The second shift DO, around 30, was very by-the-book. She was half Hispanic, half Black, about five-foot-four, and around 140 pounds, with jet-black hair and very dark eyes. She had a mean-looking expression and a serious demeanor, but she made for good eye candy for a while.

Palma was notorious for being a strict, cell-bouncing, cell-tossing tyrant. But Palma had a soft spot, and I seemed to be it. I can’t say for sure that she liked me, but each time I saw her, it felt more likely. Other inmates thought so too. There were so many times I was shocked she didn’t yell at me or write me up, especially when I cussed her out. It seemed like I could get away with a lot more with her than others could. Once, after I apologized for swearing at her for moving me around so much, she said, “You’re okay, babe,” surprising me with the use of the word “babe.”

During my first two months in A Tower, Palma was always there. About 80% of my interactions with DOs were with her. She was the only one who actually spoke to me beyond the usual hello or “how are you?”