Taking a Break

So, I am gonna take a break… but a short one. I really do love writing this blog, as it is a cheap outlet for my rants and ramblings. I think, though, that I need to step back and take a look at my content. (what do you think?)
I guess you will just have to check back and see what happens in the next couple of weeks.
If you need any more clarification than that, you can e-mail me… if you already know my address. If not, you will have to wait and see. (I know that the anticipation is killing you.)

Semi-Published

I was in Nevada last week visiting my parents with my two kids. (there’s another story there) I was checking up on my entry into the Corrections Connection essay contest, and found that I didn’t make the top three. I did, however, make an honorable mention.

You can see it here. It’s the last entry on the page. Yay for me!

In other news, I had a great time with my parents, and my kids absolutely loved being with Gramma Neenee and Papa Paul.
While I was there, I installed a home theater system for them, and helped my dad spend some money on new components. Dad bought 6 in-wall speakers, 1 powered sub-woofer, a 6.1 Dolby Digital receiver, and the Pièce de résistance, a Harmony Remote Control (not to mention a bunch of cabling to connect it all together). I find that spending other people’s money is cheaper and less guilt ridden than spending my own. It was fun, and when it was all said and done, the system sounded and looked great.
My only real problem was when I went to leave. We got to the airport about an hour and a half before my flight, but when I went to check in, there was a line.
Now, when I say line, I must explain that this line wasn’t just the usual ticket line. This line went from the front desk of the airline into a snake in the immediate lobby area, then outside snaking in the immediate area outside the entrance, then all the way down the terminal to the very end of the terminal. This was one mutha of a line. When we were finally at the entrance to the terminal, the line was so long that I literally couldn’t see the end.
After waiting in line for about an hour and fifteen minutes, we sprinted (My mom, dad, myself, and my two kids) to the security checkpoint. We said some quick goodbyes, and left my parents. At the checkpoint, I was made to take my kids’ coats and shoes off (shoe bombs, ya know), and then I sprinted to the gate… just in time to see my plane taxi away from the gate. OMG! @#$%, @#$%, @#$%!!!
So, I went to the counter and asked the nice lady how I could get to Portland. The nice lady said that I needed to go to Reno, and wait for the connecting flight to Portland. I would be waiting for about, oh, SIX HOURS! I took the flight.
Seth, my two year old, didn’t like the plane ride to Reno, he was tired (no nap) and hungry (no lunch), which is not a good combo for anyone. The nice thing, is that when we got to the Reno airport, we had plenty of time for both. We ate lunch, and I let the kids blow off some steam by running around an empty terminal.
After a couple of hours, I was able to coax Seth to sleep, and he slept up until we got on the plane. Ryleigh, my 4yr old daughter, was great. She was bored, but coped well, and was a huge help keeping Seth occupied.
We got into Portland at about midnight, after a delay of an hour in Reno. I really didn’t care though, after about 3 hours, anything after that is pretty much the same. I was just happy to be home.
Of course, the fun didn’t stop when I got home, but that may be for another post. Suffice to say that I had a “shit storm” to deal with the next day.
Ahh, life. Ain’t it grand?

Corrections Expressions

I am entering this essay into the corrections.com newsletter contest. What do you think?

Do you remember your first job? Mine was busing tables at a local restaurant that served greasy food and had a “specialty” of seafood. I liked it – the job, not the seafood – but there were always the harder days. Sometimes things just went wrong. Sometimes I had to deal with that especially annoying customer who just had to have their coffee from a “fresh pot”, or I accidentally would spill a tray of water glasses on a table full of patrons. However, I look back now and think how trivial my problems were in contrast to the daily trials we face as officers.

Let me start by saying that I never thought I would ever end up “visually inspecting” body cavities for drugs. When I was in high school, I had no clue what I wanted to be. I remember my graduation party as approximately one-thousand explanations of my inability to decide what I wanted to do with my life. However, I distinctly remember NEVER saying that I might want to be a corrections officer, and I am quite sure that wrestling with drunks, disciplining grown men about hygiene, and cleaning the occasional fecal matter from walls was also not in the plans. I think that most people, at least those I have talked to, don’t actually make a conscious decision to become a corrections officer. Have you ever heard a child tell their parents “Mom, Dad, I wanna be a corrections officer when I grow up.”? I haven’t. Since it’s not exactly a glamorous job, it’s rarely in the top ten.

There aren’t many jobs that have the assaultive danger potential that a job in corrections does; there is nothing like the feeling of walking into an area that has just been locked down for unruly behavior, or walking by the same window of the inmate who just got locked down for disrespect. The ill will is like one of those days when the air conditioning quits working – hot and oppressive. However, I think there is pride to be taken from this job too, not just hate and discontent.

I try and take pride from the work I do; not the yelling, or disciplining, or even the “keeping the bad guys locked up” image that the general public sees, but more of a personal pride. Like they say, “It’s all in the little things.” For instance, when I am asked by an inmate if I am able to get something for them and I say that I will get it for them, I take pride that I will do my best to do what I say. If there is a situation that warrants an open ear, I will try and lend one. When someone needs to just “vent a little” about how crappy they feel, if I am able, I listen. I am not always able to do these things, but that is how I gauge my day. I gauge it by not how busy I was, how frustrating the inmates were, or how tired I am, but with the question “Did I do the best job I could today?”.

I know that every job has it’s ups and downs. I also know that this job has it’s pros and (pardon the pun) cons (hold the applause until the end of the show), but I don’t think that the type of job a person has really makes any difference . I think that it (meaning fulfillment, or job happiness, or whatever you seek in a job) comes from completing each day knowing that you did the best you could.

Recently, I was had to deal with a mouthy inmate. The set-up, is that we have to drive inmates to court on certain days of the week. We have a brand new court room in our jail, but it isn’t used yet, so until then, we take our felony docket inmates to court for certain court dates.

This inmate is a female who has been in a couple of times before, and she always swears that she won’t come back when she leaves. (Don’t they all?) Anyway, this particular female is sort of hardened now, and she likes to portray her self that way in front of other inmates. On this particular day, she was causing her usual ruckus, and I confronted her and told her that I would not put up with it. She said something back to me under her breath, abut I let it go since she was now being quiet. After about an hour or so into the court docket, I heard her again, and noticed that she was making a point of telling everyone how she didn’t care about the new charges she “caught” and that the judge could (well, you can imagine). When it came for her time to sit in the hall and await her turn in the court room, I asked her if she remembered what I had told her earlier. She said that she did, and that she was actually just really nervous about what the judge was going to do. She began to cry.

Ok, let me just say that tears don’t phase me anymore unless they come from my wife or kids, even then, it had better be serious. So when this girl began to cry, my first instinct was to just “roll my mind’s eye”, and move on, but I decided to listen instead. Basically she just needed to talk about how she felt and that she was scared of what was going to happen. When she was talking, I asked questions, and my interest seemed to calm her a little. After a couple of minutes, she seemed to calm down enough to be able to gather herself, and soon it was her turn in the court room.

She never said “thank you for listening” or that she was grateful, but I don’t expect that. If I only did things for inmates so they would thank me, I would be sorely disappointed. I don’t do things for gratitude and I don’t really even do them because it is my duty. I usually just do them, because if I didn’t I wouldn’t be doing a good job.

I think that there are people who just do the minimum. When I was in the service, we called them empty uniforms. I am sure we can all think of someone who might fit into this category. I only know that I don’t want to ever feel like I am one of these empty uniforms. The only way I can achieve this is to constantly try and have a better day than the one before. If I fail, and find that at the end of a day, I didn’t do the best I could, I always know that there is tomorrow.

Any Comments would be appreciated. CONSTRUCTIVE criticism only, please.