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eek! > > > Back to the Big House!
After seven years of bad behavior, my parole was repealed and I, and two others, got shipped back into the snake pit. Things have changed in my absence. When I left I could breeze through the push button code and enter the first floor on the lee side of the building. Sort of sneaking into the abyss. They've closed down that crack in the fortress now. Only one way in on a wrong way street. Tick tock .. Tick tock ... doing time.
As you enter, there is a sign on the door .. Push This Door .. it makes me want to shove it off it's hinges and I wonder why they haven't installed automatic doors. Up the first escalator to the guard house .. it's changed too. There is now one way glass installed but they've left an open panel so the guards can glare at you searching for ID. Riding up that first short moving staircase reminds me of The Time Machine only gong upward instead of into the bowels. The obedient masses shuffling off their identity to be swallowed up by beige. They should hang a sign: Conform or be damned. Instead, they post monthly photos of notable mug shots. Tick tock .. Tick tock ... doing time.
Just past the guardhouse, there are now plexiglass doors with stainless steel turnstyles that you have to slide your ID card into. Mine doesn't work, it's seven years old and I was never issued a new one when I was at large in the transient element. The Croation told me his will let him in but won't let him leave until eight hours later. This scares me a little. Tick tock .. Tick tock ... doing time.
I'd heard the upper echelons, of the administration, was moving in at the end of the month. They've renovated half of the third floor into an inner sanctum. It's restricted to level seven security access. Rumour has it you have to be finger printed to get through those doors. Maybe it's worse and they scan your eyeball. I'm on the same floor but among the baser elements. Tick tock .. Tick tock ... doing time.
When I checked in Sunday night, the Croation was unhappy his turf had been violated by the addition of bulky wooden cases. He immediately phoned to complain as I perched on my stool and faced the multiple slots. A deep sense of dispair clouded my sanity as I listened to him air his vexations. The roaming coordinator tried to soothe him with reassurances of his grievances being addressed while he grumbled. Through the night the Croation assailed one and all with a litany of woes. My production levels went kaput. Tick tock .. Tick tock ... doing time.
I dutifully struggled through my work detail and dreamed of the fresh air on the loading dock of my recent past. Breaks are now en masse now instead of independant forays. The only access to the night air is on the fifth floor and there's a high railing to prevent accidental or intentional suicide, escape hatch, leaps. I begin to feel regimented and under the mass hypnosis fascination with the clock. Tick tock .. Tick tock ... doing time.
Tuesday night, a dust up ensued when the Croation engaged another roaming authority type and told him, within my earshot, I should be shifted nightly. I joined the debate, exercising my dismay at respectable decible levels. Other inmates came to bear witness of possible victor and vanquished. Two more authority types came to quell the possible riot. We returned to our respective stations muttering further recriminations at each other until I told him to stifle. Even less production happened that shift. Tick tock .. Tick tock ... doing time.
By Wednesday night, the furniture levels had been adjusted and the Croation was whistling again. He ambled over to gracefully apologize for his lack of decorum. I hugged him and my work ethic is redeemed by the end of my work detail. Tick tock .. Tick tock ... doing time.
Next week, my parole officer is back from holidays. I'm gonna phone her first thing Monday morning about my transfer.
Tick tock .. Tick tock ... doing time.
[an:5385fdefad]Anyone kind enough to mail me a file? The address is .....[/an:5385fdefad]
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