YOUR NEW NAME IS NOW, YOU

Not many, but when discovering that I’ve been to jail, people ask me what it was like. As all mature adults should do, but unfortunately not many do, I always filter my reply and give an appropriate answer.

If only there were some type of forum where I didn’t have to do that, because --

Jail is being confined to a certain area that usually smells like the combo of piss, crap, feet, farts, sweaty balls, body odor, Lysol, and mildew for an indefinite amount of time. Key characteristics would include: a 200 sq ft room stuffed with 250 sqft of other men who are equally as stupid as I am, an impenetrable door that is only opened remotely, or with special keys securely fastened to the belt of uniformed guards, a stainless toilet that hasn't been cleaned since 1989, and a bunk-bed with a very reusable mattress that probably has been urinated on 1000s of times.

Jail is a place where gangsters are as happy as clams, but where future Landscaping Account Managers, church volunteers, or 2nd year UW-RF students are nervous and should never bend over… Well, at least a place where church volunteers should never bend over.

It’s the naughty room for naughty adults.

It’s a word that rhymes with hell hole.

When we were saying goodbye out by the car, you asked me one thing – to let the family come and visit on visiting days.

I asked you not to but did I ever tell you why I didn’t want you to? It was never about how I didn’t want to see you, or how I didn’t want you to see me even though I absolutely did not want you to see me. I really really really didn’t want to have to look at you through scratches on the freedom glass, or hear your voice through the germ-crusted, static-crackling prison issued phone. I didn’t want you to see me in prison clothes either, how low is that? I didn’t want this to resemble any type of movie I had seen about people being visited in jail and that’s exactly how I saw it unraveling in my head. I didn’t want to return to my cell with swollen eyes and lead on to the general pop that I spent the entire visiting time crying and wishing I was home with you. I didn’t want to watch you leave me there through the bullet-proof door.

More than all of those listed, my feeling was that I started this shitty journey, and I wanted to finish it. I wanted to own it. I wanted to feel like I never wanted to be in this position again and to do that, there was no more room for crying or emotional bail-outs.

With those thoughts, I picked my head off your shoulder, wiped my tears away, told you I love you, not to come visit me, and walked through the doors.

I thought of the Vangster with each step. As my anxiety grew, I hoped more and more that I’d see him.

Inside was not as comforting as your arms; let me be the first to say.

I had to check-in, but it was no Motel 6. You, is what my name was. Not Dennis, or Dennis Joseph, or DJ, or Junior, or Groess. I despise when people call me Denny, but I would rather answer to Denny than my new name.

You, let’s see your papers. You, stand over here. You, follow this wall. You, strip down and cough.

Turns out it wasn’t a personal jab, everyone was called, you. Like in A Family Man, when Black Don Cheadle tries to cash-in his winning lottery ticket but the clerk, who is convinced that Black Don Cheadle cheated, won’t cash it in, so, Black Don Cheadle pulls a gun to the face of the store clerk demanding that he cash it when White Nick Cage saves the clerk from his apparent death wish by buying the winning lottery ticket for cash from Black Don Cheadle. Afterwards Black Don Cheadle reveals to the clerk that it was a real winning ticket, then turns to white Nic Cage and says- C’mon Jack, let’s get outta here, and Jack asks- how’d you know my name is Jack, and Black Don Cheadle says - oh, I call all you guys Jack. (…love that movie). That’s how it was for us inmates. They call all us guys, you.

Inside, I recognized no one. I wouldn’t be able to recognize a single one of those faces today, if they were standing in front of me with Ralph Maccio. I knew nobody and I was in unfamiliar territory. To top it all off, I was in Wisconsin.

You, and he pointed at me.

Walk along the wall and follow me.

More, I looked around for The Vangster. My heart was pumping so hard that I wouldn’t be surprised if it propelled out of my chest and slid across the hallway floor. But I didn’t see him. I walked down the hall passed a few empty cells that seemed to be smiling at me. I started to cry again. The rooms looked, well, scary. They just had an aura about them that clearly said many men had been in there before me. Different men for different things were held in these rooms and there was no emotion, no care, and no sensitivity for why men came in. They just wanted me to take that one step inside so the door could slam shut behind me. The eeriest part was that the cell rooms would do to me what they did to all its visitors... ensure me that I was in a place that would do nothing to help me.

I didn’t recognize a single face. Nobody recognized me. I wasn’t following a friend, or a party host. I wasn’t following a tour guide. There was nobody there that I felt comfort from. That I felt even remotely connected to.

I followed the guard into another room.

He told me to wait here as if I should just ignore any impulse to wander the halls, which trust me, was HIGHLY UNLIKELY.

And again, I thought of The Vangster as we call him. Leng Vang. My friend. He was a short kid from Laos, who would make me laugh everyday and was as loyal of a friend as you will ever find. Sure he didn’t even stand Five feet tall, but the guy was a laugh whore. He laughed about everything. He laughed at his own jokes, his own comments, my jokes and it was infectious. Things that had no business being funny, were funny just from his laugh. He assured me that he’d try to stop by and see me at some point if he could. As my luck would have it, he was my room mate and was a prison guard at this jail. When I was sentenced, but before being admitted, he and I would talk about if he would be working my Ward. When I said goodbye to my friends, he was one of them. We went to RF together and I lived with him and 2 other guys.

I wished he’d hurry.

I waited in the small room that had lockers stacked on top of each other covering the entire wall from ceiling to floor, and corner to corner. The last time I had seen lockers like this was in high-school, but my hockey gear wasn’t crammed into one of these. Neither Ms. Stout, nor Mr. Juba’s class books were thrown in there. And to top it off, Grossman and Grill weren’t going to be my locker neighbors in this place. I wished any one of those things or people had appeared. All of them appearing would have been even better. I wished Tom or Dave or Brent would walk through the door, or even be stuffed in one of those lockers. I wished you could be there with me. Your crying eyes played over and over again in my head, forcing me to realize that I did this. I deserved to be standing where I was standing. But someone’s familiar face to calm my nerves and take away the fear would be assuring. I was scared. I was all by myself.

Another guard finally came. The door opened and I started crying - Vangster just walked into the room. I couldn’t believe it, I was so happy to see his face that I wept.

I wanted to hug him.

You can’t touch me. You can’t pal with me. You can’t talk to me. We can’t act like friends. In here, you have to treat me as if you don’t know me. I’m sorry Denny, I’ll do everything I can to help get you through this.

I wanted to say, dude, you know I hate when people call me Denny. What I said was:

I’m so happy to see you.
I know you are. Follow the rules and this will go faster than you think.
I will.
Now you have to drop trow.
And the search began.