Last year, in my role as a super helpful (naïve) social worker, I went to prison for the say so I could force wellness and self-care on the officers and national guards people.
Contrary to popular opinion, it is super hard to get into prison. They really keep that shit locked up. I thought it was just to keep people from getting out, but apparently if you’re a little flaky and nervous and don’t know the rules, you struggle to get in.
I’m not sure why they bother with so many gates on the outside. I know there’s a thriving drug trade but apparently that’s what drones are for. Does anyone actually (except for a do-gooding social worker with white lady guilt) want to be there?
There were a lot of signs on the outside about what I could and couldn’t bring in, but nothing so helpful on the prison gate like a sign that said “push,” or “pull.” I could hear it unlocking but couldn’t get in. I’m sure there’s a metaphor there somewhere. There were guards around, looking at me and laughing, but no one could be so helpful as to come down from their tower or like, get out of their TRUCK, to give a girl a clue.
I mean, it was my first time in prison and I was wearing a whimsical shirt with strawberries. I happen to know incarcerated individuals can’t wear fun prints. Also, yes, I am a feminist but why does not one have enough manners to open the goddamn door for a lady?
After I finally get in a guard is just standing there, you know, guarding. But rather than helpfully direct me where to go he asks me if I have a gun. I thought it was very clear by my outfit that there is no room in my clothes for anyone but me. Where exactly do you think I’m carrying? I have had a child. Anything that happens to get in there comes right back out, especially as I believed at the time that Kegels were a tool of the patriarchy.
But, the dude leads me to the gun disposal area and waits for me to remove the gun from my secret lady pocket. And then looks at me like I’m an idiot because I don’t actually have a gun. Like I told him. Before we got to the gun drop off area. Not all men are terrible listeners, but this guy is the epitome of all men.
He finally directs (not walks, because chivalry is dead and rotting here) up a long ramp where I am finally greeted by…no one.
After I twiddled my thumbs in a puddle of nervous sweat the folks who came to greet me were very personable. Even though they were not aware that they needed help. Which is common in mental health practice. I’m seasoned enough not to force mental health on anyone, so I left my helpful materials and skedaddled out.
It only takes one mortifying experience at the prison games to operate them right on the second try. I left prison much easier than I got in. Shouldn’t it work the other way?
In spite of my intentions and how hard I try, I never feel like I’m truly helpful. In true form, what I was able to offer the prison staff that day wasn’t active listening or my kind heart but delight in watching a grown women try to pull open the push gate with no success.
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