I Hate Pepper Spray
“I hate pepper spray”… this is what I hear as I am being unshackled from my feet and wrists and being put in a shower with bars for a door and being forced to strip naked for a red-headed overweight guard with tattoos and piercings. In the background I swear I can see the male guard looking at me from around the corner…doesn’t matter. For the last 4 years I can’t count the number of people who have seen all my goodies. What’s left to hold sacred? I am back in prison, not that I have ever left…it’s been a long journey for me and I’m back on a minimum yard from lower security. Today it occurred to me just how absurd this underground world of the women’s penitentiary is and I decide to document it for all those who’ve never lit up a blunt and said FTP! Or maybe for the men locked up right beside us ladies living in a completely separate universe and experiencing 2 different incarcerations all together. This place is whack, welcome to my world!!
I continue to hear moaning from the shower cell next to me and some random words here and there “fuck”, “oooh”, “why” probably all the things I’d be saying if I ever get pepper sprayed but let’s hope I can stray out of the line of fire. I only have around 9 more months of hell. The only time I’ve ever been pepper sprayed was in a bar parking lot when my bf’s dad bombed me out his truck window when I tried to grab his mouthy little daughter out so she could eat concrete. What grown man carries pepper spray??? I spent 9 months in maximum security and never witnessed anyone bet bombed, I wonder what this chick has done to get pepper sprayed?? I hit the button on that makes the water spray out in a line that is as thin as a pencil in 20 second intervals. I pray that it is at least warm. Success, there is warmth. One thing has went my way today. I grab the tiny bar of soap and wash an arm, hit the button again, one tittie and hit the button again, other tittie and so on until my entire body has been washed. There’s a single blade razor the size of my thumb I pick up and attempt to shave an armpit with for about 5 minutes before I give up on that completely. Lastly, I open the cap on the tiny yellow shampoo that smells like crayons and I wash my hair. All the laundry in the penitentiary smells like heat. There is no other way to describe it. Like an iron has been left on clothes for too long. So I dry off with a towel that feels like cardboard and smells like heat and put on an orange jumpsuit over a sports bra, tinged brown from so many bodies running through it and panties stained brownish-black in the crotch. I probably would have opted out of the panties if I didn’t have a few select items shoved up in there I wasn’t too keen on losing just yet. I sit in the plastic garden chair in the shower cell and attempt to comb out my long hair with a small black flimsy comb…this takes about 10 minutes. Eventually I see a dark face peek through the bars across from me in the adjacent shower cell and I say “oh, are you waiting on me?” In true stuck-up-bitch fashion, I kick a leg upon the bars and kick back in my chair and just stare at this mother fucker. Damn it’s going to be a long ride….