Category Archives: Humor-As-Therapy

DIVERSITY CAN BE TOO DIVERSE: Or, Have your dog and eat it, too

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[In which it is postulated that cultural clashes in the Pokey are sometimes bad for business….]

This afternoon, copy clerk Rob Perkins tells us the tale of Mr. Lee and the NEADS terrier.

The NEADS acronym stands for the National Education for Assistance Dog Services. The NEADS program has been inside MCI-Norfolk for about two years. Before that, it began about six years ago, at the North Central Correctional Institute at Gardner, MA. The program quickly received State and critical acclaim, and this was for several reasons. The public get trained dogs to use. Inmate participants get a living creature to be responsible for and to use as a companion. The Department gets inmates who are easier to manage. The State gets good positive publicity in the public’s estimation. It’s what we in this word-hating culture call a “win-win situation.”

Mr. Lee is a Vietnamese man, about 65 years old and, like many of his fellow Vietnamese, has enjoyed eating dog.

Mr. Lee is in the hallway in his Housing Unit when one of the NEADS inmates comes through leading his terrier. As prisoners stand about, fussing over the dog, Mr. Lee comes over. “What kind of dog is this?” Mr. Lee asks the group. Mr. Lee is told. Mr. Lee says, “Never seen this breed.” Mr. Lee reaches down and feels around its belly. Mr. Lee announces “Good meat!” Mr. Lee then picks up the dog and tries taking it away.

Mr. Lee is prevented by the other inmates, who really don’t want Norfolk to be in another Jay Leno monologue.

pooch on a platter

Later that week, these same inmates spot him out in the hallway, leaning against the wall, eyeing the dog.

That’s all NEADS needs – an inmate to eat one of their life assistance dogs.

“We’re at the mercy of a madman!” Or: LOOK BEFORE YOU BLEAT

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This afternoon I’m in the Lending Library with two of my clerks, deliberating on whether to switch Biography with the books on the Fiction Wall. The idea is to consolidate the fiction, which at present is shelved in various sections. If we moved the Biography to the Fiction Wall, and moved those books to the shelves vacated by Biography, all would be well. That way, instead of Bio being nestled between World History and Westerns, it would become the starting point for the nonfiction Dewey books which, of course, makes perfect sense.

Bu Life being what it is, such a move wouldn’t happen that cleanly. Some other books in other sections would need to be moved to make it work properly. We have to do some measuring—without a tape measure, I must add– and we have to do some math involving square feet and foot-space.

Before the calculations commence, I’m still agonizing about what to do. At first I tell them that I think it won’t work; then I decide to do the calculations to see if it will.

Indecision2-449x413

After I change my mind for the third time, one of the clerks–who is a movie buff AND a dyed-in-the-wool curmudgeon–shouts out loudly enough for the officers down the hall to hear:

“WE’RE AT THE MERCY OF A MADMAN!”

Prick. The worst part of it is, I couldn’t stop laughing at that. For weeks afterward. In my car, in the shower, dressing for work, or going to sleep at night. There it was, resounding in my mind’s eye and ear.

The truth often hurts. But if your mind is open wide enough to accept some instructive self-deprecation, your ‘pain’ can be funny, too.

JUST GOOD, DUMB FUN: Or “The way to a sociopath’s heart is through his stomach”

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When it comes to jailhouse humor, you either get it, or you don’t.

I get it. The fact that I get it makes me a warped individual. But please consider the truth of this next statement of self-evaluation — I was warped before I ever set foot in any prison. I truly believe that there’s a certain personality type that is drawn to corrections. It’s folks like me. I yam what I yam an’ that’s all that I yam.

Today, two amusing things were said that were too funny to forget, so — as is my regular habit — I took time to write them down.

The first happened at the circulation counter in the lending library. We’ve been doing our annual inventory here all this past week, and one of my circulation clerks was assigned to the computer to check circulation records when a shelf list card is found but not the corresponding book.

My cataloger — one of the Library’s more enthusiastic ball-busters — comes over to me holding a Complete Idiot’s Guide text in his hand. Gesturing to it, he says: “Maybe you can ask them to write one on prison libraries so you can find out what you’re supposed to be doin’.'” Then he quickly backs away, tittering like a school-girl.

I appealed to my inmate clerk manning the circulation computer. When I think of this man, the phrase ‘tiny mountain’ comes quickest to mind. At 6’1″ and nearly 300 power-lifting pounds, he sports a ‘Mr. Clean’ bald head that looks like it’s been staved directly into the center of his massive torso because he has no neck. This clerk also suffers from PSTD as a result of extensive combat experience. He has been trained to kill, knows many ways to kill, has seen many people killed, and has killed many times. And we in the library all know this.

I say: “Do you like me?”

In response, the clerk purses his lips to me suggestively, and wiggles his eyebrows in a most inappropriate manner (well, he’s been in a long time).

I say “Good.” Gesturing toward Mr. Ball-Buster, I say “You think he needs to be slapped?”

The circulation looks at his fellow clerk, then at me, returns his attention to his computer monitor and, as he resumes typing, says: “A pound of linguiça and I’ll do him any way you want.”

If the response you just finished reading struck you half as funny as it did me, then right now you are piddling in your pantaloons. Because I swear on a stack of flapjacks that I laughed for a full 30 seconds. The reason? You’re not supposed to encourage violence in the prison. Prisoners aren’t supposed to solicit goods for services rendered. And — usually — prisoners aren’t as up-front about their feelings toward each other. All these taboos taken together makes the clerk’s response not just funny but hilarious.

*

A little while later, I’m standing in our book-binding work area. There are four inmate clerks with me, including the book binder. One of my clerks — a heart disease patient for decades and who’s suffered several heart attacks in the last three years — is telling me about his recent chest pain, which compelled the prison to send him to an outside hospital. He says:

“They tested me, they found nothing wrong, and said ‘Don’t worry about it.'”

Another clerk (a friend of his for the past 40 years) says with concern in his voice, “Well, then, you must have angina.”

The heart patient replies “No. I’ve never had angina.”

At this, another clerk — in his Puerto Ricaῆo accent — quietly says to the book binder, with a wink: “He says he never had vagina?”

*

Jailhouse humor. You either get it, or you don’t.

“Stop it, you’re killing me!” THE IMPORTANCE OF JAILHOUSE HUMOR

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One truism about humor in the jailhouse workplace: it’s not so much the funny situations as it is the funny comments; imagine a room of stand-up gunslingers trying to outdraw their opponents–forgive the trite analogy, but it’s that kind of thing.

It’s boring, being in prison. Things don’t change. The routine is horrifyingly routine. One of the few things that can change is how the sameness is perceived. That’s where prisoner’s humor is important. The incarcerated seek to combat the Mundane through their funny observations of the day and of the people in it. It’s a way of marking one day from the next, and it’s a way of getting through one day to the next.

One changing Constant that prisoners can rely upon to make the day bearable is the mistakes that people make. And when you make one–boy, do you hear about it. Mistakes are entertainment; they also give prisoners something new to think and talk about. Because the prison’s regimen requires them to behave perfectly, they take delight in pointing out the human frailties of others, especially those of their keepers, the very ones imposing the high standards of prisoner conduct.

Last year, I brought in eight boxes of books from a book buy that took me three separate trips to finalize at a local store called the Shire Bookshop. I had $2,500 to spend, which goes a very long way at this wonderful store.

__Shire

So, two of my clerks are receiving books and checking off titles from the packing list I generated on my laptop while working at the store. When they’re through, they report that 80 titles are missing. I check the titles against the packing list; sure enough, they ain’t lyin’. Now I know that I packed these books and put them aside, yet they’re not here. I only recall packing eight boxes of books, and eight boxes of books is what we’ve received. Now the clerks start ragging me:

“Someone managed to lose 80 books all by himself!”

“Would he lose his head if it wasn’t attached?”

“I may be a scumbag convict, but at least I can f**king COUNT…” And on and on and on and on and on and on and on.

I called the store. I tell my tale. They say “Hold, please.” They take a look. They find an additional four (4) boxes of books that I’d packed and set aside on some wooden pallets at the back of the store. In my defense, these boxes had been covered with a plastic tarpaulin and therefore were hidden from view.

I won’t live this down. Ever. Each time that I announce a future book buy, it’ll be:

“Do you remember how to get there?”

“After you box the books, remember you have to pay for them.”

“Maybe we should pin the prison address to his coat so he can find his way back?”

“Take me with you–I’ll make sure those books get here!” Helpful stuff like that.

schadenfreude1

In the free world, humor is seen as a delightful diversion; in jail, it’s a vital coping mechanism. By encouraging healthful, nondestructive humor, the Librarian can help the incarcerated in their unstructured socialization efforts. It’s certainly socially acceptable to share a laugh, particularly when the level of intimacy is high and the comments take on the form of good-natured teasing.

Some correctional employees object to allowing themselves to be the butt of inmate jokes; they believe it’s beneath their dignity as a member of staff to permit their inmate workers to make sport of them. Well, I don’t agree. Even if I did, it would matter not one jot, because I make lots of mistakes. Noticeable ones. Public ones. To pretend that I didn’t and then attempt to carry on a facade of false dignity and stature would be funnier and more entertaining than the brief comments made at my expense. I think, if you’re lucky, prison teaches you that most things aren’t as serious as they appear. Someone (probably a Greek Stoic) said, “Laugh at yourself: you’ll have a constant source of amusement.” That’s I’m talkin’ ’bout: humility — and mental health — through humor.

Studies the world over are discovering the physiological as well as emotional benefits to good, solid belly laughter. Take advantage of each chance you have of sharing humor with your inmate staff, the library users, your boss, and fellow employees. Why? It’s for your own good, as well as theirs.

“What we’ve got here is failure to…um….”

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Didja ever notice, in this swinging Information Age of ours, that each time you’re compelled to communicate in a slightly different form than that to which you’ve grown accustomed (e.g., iPhones, PDAs, Facebook) you have to learn how to cry/crawl/toddle/walk/run all over again? Kinda defeats the need and desire for immediate, concise communication, don’tcha think? Me too.

Take this blog. Please.

Because if I have to learn one more line of ASCII characters, HTML code, or  cPanel jargon, I will never actually communicate — talk/ write/ gesture — again. All we do is read manuals, watch tutorial videos, and email the computer gurus in our lives whose sad lot it is to hoist us out of whatever learning-curve quagmire we’ve fallen into face-first after misunderstanding what we’ve read /watched/ been told.

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Now I know why the Yellow Pages are crammed to overflowing with web site design businesses. It’s ’cause everyone wants a web site, but no one has the time to learn how to build one. These designers are the first to say, “All this code stuff is easy. Anyone can do it!” So you take their word and you look at the code and a half-hour later you’re still looking at the code and then you suddenly channel your kindergarten Reading class when first you cracked a Fun With Dick and Jane text and start weeping & shaking the same way you did all those happy, care-free years ago until your teacher got disgusted & sent your crying a$$ out in the hall.

Communication in corrections is a lot different. More stable. Traditional, if you will. The librarian’s communications arsenal consists of an impressive contemporary array of techno-wonders, including:

1     A corded land line

2     A battery-operated two-way radio secured to their person from a belt clip

3     A ‘panic button’ alarm, either mounted to the librarian’s desk or to the wall behind the office chair

4     A God-given ability to yell, scream, or holler

Recently, corrections has made communications advances that have launched all Departments into the latter half of the 20th century. These include:

1     An email system for staff to annoy each other with

2     Voicemail (in case email isn’t annoying enough); and

3     A severely-filtered internet portal, allowing librarians the whole of the commercial web at their fingertips, provided that the web they use is limited to certain government home pages, the Google search engine, and Wikipedia. This is because Security Comes First.

I’d tell you more about communications technology in the prison library, but I have to go watch a WordPress video on how to save this blog entry.

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