I'm often amazed at certain everyday things. While I view the collective of humanity with a general disgust and complete apathy, on an individual level, I can find them enjoyable or even completely revolting.
Thursday proved to be very interesting indeed. I'd expected another night at work where my stress levels would go up and wouldn't come down until I'd end the night but it wasn't to be so. Earlier in the day, one of the inmates (one that has never been much in the way of trouble) was suckerpunched by another, renowned for his irrational fits of uncontrollable temperament. This meant the three hour trip to Shreveport, to the charity hospital, which would prove to be an exercise in lengthy stays. If it's one thing I love about work, it's taking trips. The overtime, being off the compound, the feeling that anything can, and ususally does, happen...it's all great. There's also a sense of irony in it. To know that someone as certainly as insane as I has been entrusted out in the public with a deadly weapon and a huge responsibility like the one with which they present me.
The holding/lockup area becomes a menagerie of sorts. First, there is only one cell there and that's where all the inmates from all the different institutions are kept. Some from Forcht Wade, David Wade, the city jail, other state institutions nearby, hell, they're all in there. Then, there's the area just outside of it, where we all sit. Naturally, the whole thing starts rather awkwardly, with no one talking to anyone. One conversation will inevitably lead to others and soon, the entire room is locked into discussion. While I'm known for being vocal, in this setting, my insanity comes to the fore. I become quiet and just watch them all as though they're monkeys and I'm sitting in my observatory, mentally recording...everything. I listen to them and I figure things out based on the small talk that they all nervously make. I offer very little to the conversation. I am by no means nervous, oh no, not by any means. I always stand at the ready to offer my opinions when asked. If those opinions are not welcome, then they are not the ones for which to be asked. I am thankful that some questions are never asked of me until one particular policeman fresh from Iraq and the army finally did it.
"What about you, man," he asked, "You don't talk much. I've been waiting to hear about your opinions on our president."
He'd already expressed his. I had to agree with his opinions though I think he missed a lot of things. He's absolutely right about how bad our current president it but I fear he doesn't know the worst of it and during the conversation, he seems to be largely alone. The majority is against him. I know now that if I let it out, not only will I anger this group but myself in the process. Still, I know there are times that my anger makes me even more calm and focused, even clear on some occasions. Now is one of those times when it has to happen.
"He and his family are a long line of traitorous slime that should have ended with Prescott The Nazi," I said, "I never agreed with the death penalty by any means but in their case, I'll happily make the exception. Lock them all into a room, expose them to ebola and watch them crash and bleed out."
There were looks of surprise all around. If anyone wasn't surprised it was me. Seems like some of them just weren't ready for that. It's a classic illustration of what could happen if I'm ever asked a question. Like a tyrant, I assume ultimate and absolute power and then, I begin to take the velvet glove from the iron fist and stomp my jackbooted feet all into the subject matter, especially if I know something about the subject.
"If you'll excuse me," I said, "on that note, I'm going to smoke."
I exit the room, they're still silent. No doubt the other six in that room, my partner included, were waiting until I left to make comment. Suits me just fine. The whole night passed in this way. Difference was, they never asked for my opinion on any subject at all, save for the movie
Shooter which I'd offered an opinion on the movie based on Stephen Hunter's book
Point of Impact, on which, the movie is based. One by one they were called until the crowd in the room thinned to my partner, myself and the two Shreveport police who were changing guard more times than the U.K.
The last time they did, the policeman who came in brought in a female inmate. He couldn't put her into the cell with the males, of course, so she sat amongst us, waiting for her turn to be seen. The conversation pressed on, I sat, listening as usual. Throughout the length of the conversation, I'd felt eyes on me. Like two lasers, centered on my temple, I'd noticed that the woman that the policeman had brought in was looking directly at me and would not stop. I looked out of the corner of my eyes to see it. It wasn't a stare of some murderous intent but almost curious examination. Finally, the two bottles of water had wanted to make their exit and I stood, excused myself and went to the bathroom in the adjacent room. Walls, I'd find, even in a hospital are paper thin.
"What's the story with him?" they'd asked my partner.
"He does that," my partner told them, "He likes to listen. That's it."
"A little pale, isn't he?" another one asked, "He always like that?"
"You should see him in the wintertime," Marv told them, "he gets much more pale than that. He's been working nights for so long that he sleeps during the day on his days off."
There was a mumble somewhere and then one of the policemen inquired further.
"Huh?" he asked.
"Nothin'" the female voice replied, "I just said he's a little spooky."
"Yeah," the policeman chimed in, "He got a little intense when Menefee asked him about the president earlier."
"He ain't supposed to be alive," the female voice said. I stopped to listen in further.
"The president?" Marv asked.
"No," she replied, "Your partner...he ain't supposed to be alive."
What the hell? I thought. Weird experiences happen to me during hospital trips, not all of them are pleasant.
"What are you talkin about?" one of the policemen asked her, "Do you know him?"
There wasn't a response. I finished and washed my hands and rejoined them. There was total silence in the room and I began to feel her eyes again. The tension was so thick you could have gone swimming in it.
"So at 19 years old," I said, finally shattering the silence, "I drank...for two weeks solid. Barely any sleep to speak of. I still don't remember if I ate anything. What I do remember is getting up to take a leak. I went outside, broke the seal on a new bottle of vodka, and it was as cold as shit outside and then...that was it."
"What was it?" one of the policemen asked.
"I was gone," I answered, "I was dead by the time they'd gotten me to the hospital. The doctors did everything they could to revive me and when I came to, I suppose they had given up."
"How do you figure?" he asked.
"Because there was a sheet over my face and no one in the room," I answered, "If you're about to ask why the hell I'm here even I couldn't tell you that. I don't know. I've been somewhat nocturnal ever since. I'm afraid she really is astute, I'm not supposed to be alive. Funny how this thing we don't quite understand works, isn't it? Life, I mean. We're born, we go to school, we work an endless string of jobs and then, blink, blink, we can't believe how time has passed us by while we've toiled away. We seem to think of death as an end but what did it really end in my case?"
"Maybe that's the question that you can answer," I said, turning my attention to her, "Then again, maybe not. In any case, what you see in front of you is what exists. I can understand if it's hard to accept. Reality is somewhat harsh in that respect. On that note, I'm going to have another smoke."
I left again. I sat alone in the smoking area this time around, wondering just what the hell I was really doing, or where I'm going if anywhere at all. Then again, maybe anywhere but here was the place to go.
By the time I'd returned, the hospital was ready for our man. Good thing too, it was already 4:00 a.m. I was beginning to wonder if they'd get to him at all. I could only imagine the pain that the man was in. As we waited in the emergency room, we began to consider all the possibilities. Perhaps the oncoming shift would completely forget about us and send someone up late as they did the last time. Perhaps they would send someone and we'd be relieved on time. Either way, we could look forward to a myriad of possibilites concerning starting our weekend.
I had a housecleaning project this weekend that I needed to jump on with the roomies. Being rocked out and hung up to dry wasn't going to help that. I would need rest in the most absurd way. The doctor came in and took a look at him, got the story and ordered a series of X-Rays. I took the phone and called the compound for an update. When I returned, we were still waiting. Finally, an hour later, we took him across the hall to have his X-Rays done.
Hanging out in the control room, I learned some things. First, this control room had more computer equipment than the bridge of the Nebuchadnezzar in The Matrix. Second, some of these computers were machines made to read and display X-Ray pictures, rather than develop film and post them to huge light boards. Third, the only X-Ray picture on the light board was from 2004 and showed me something that, upon closer inspection, I never thought I'd ever see in real life.
I was thinking, "If I never take a picture of this...no one will believe me." Now that I think about it, I should have taken video.
After our inmate's series of X-Rays were done, we rejoined him.
"Man," he said, "My jaw hurts like hell."
"I imagine it would," I told him, "It's broken in two places, but it could be worse."
"How?" he asked. I pointed toward the picture on the lightboard through the window and encouraged him to have a look.
"What the hell is that?" he asked, "Uh uh...is that what I think it is?"
"Afraid so," I told him, "It's crazy the things people do for kicks."
He shook his head and said, "I'd laugh but it hurts too much."
During the X-Rays, the technicians had to drop what they were doing and run to the trauma area. A man, it seems, brought himself to the E.R. with a gunshot wound to the chest. That put us even further behind. Amazingly, within the hour, the X-Rays were done and we were sent back to the room. I called for one last update. An appointment with oral surgery at the clinic across the street from the hospital at eight in the morning. Again, in the holding area of the clinic, after registration, we found ourselves in the same predicament. Many officers crammed into one tiny area, two female inmates in a cell looking at me, whispering to each other in hushed tones until, finally, the door to the small office was closed and one of them asked me.
"Everything ok over there?" she asked, "You don't talk much."
Suddenly, they all became quiet and the despotic tyrant in me came to the fore again.
"I'm...crazy," I said, "for want of a better term. There's paperwork on it. There are charts and graphs and the like. It's a real load off my mind because if I feel like crawling on the floor and barking like a dog, then so be it! I'm bonkers...that is to be expected."
The whole of the room erupted into laughter of the nearly-debilitating variety. These would prove to be my kind of people. They were comfortable around an insane person. When my partner began talking to me about calling in another update to the compound, I maddeningly whipped out my cellphone at him, aimed it at him and in an angered tone growled, "Do not make me vaporize you! I'll ringtone you to death, you swine!" His answer to this was to play some pathetic ringtone that comes standard with the phone at me from his phone.
"No..." I said in my best Christopher Walken impression, "You can't do that to me that way...you've got the wrong tone!" They began beating desks in laughter that time.
At 9:30 a.m., our relief showed up with someone to drive us back to the compound. Naturally, I slept most of the way. After arriving home, I paid a couple of bills and went to bed...at 2.00 in the afternoon.
I awoke at about 9:30 p.m. The dreams I had were terrible and weird even for me. The cleaning had been started. As Dude on The Couch and I drank beer and scrubbed the kitchen, listening to Twiztid, the lights suddenly went out and we found ourselves in total darkness. A small portion of the entire town had been blacked out. Other parts of town were alright. Someone must have hit a light pole. Two flashlights and an oil lamp kept lights up in the living room as we waited. Still, it irked me slightly...I had music downloading and lots of it. A couple of hours later, the lights were back on and we relaxed a bit.
I'm going back to cleaning now. There's still much work that needs to be done.
