O.K. COMPUTER

Today is Friday the 13th and I can only hope that my workday goes well. I have a simple prison motto, it speaks volumes to my number one goal—making it out alive. "I’ll do my eight and hit the gate," I say. Unfortunately, there are times in the joint where my back is against the wall, where I have to, simply have to, come out swinging, afterall, people’s careers are on the line. Usually it’s my policy to speak to my coworkers about any infractions they’ve committed, infractions that might not jeopardize the lives of others right away, but if you let the incident go, it’ll fester and become more problematic down the line. Call it my complimentary freebie if you will. "Look," I’ll say, "what you did is wrong. Don’t let it happen again, or I’ll be forced to report you."

On this occasion, I explained my predicament. I told the two female coworkers that they were angering several inmates in my classroom as well as two dozen more in the other classes. I wanted to tell them, "You are swatting at a beehive, agitating the worker bees, causing them to swarm my desk demanding answers. I know what you’re doing seems innocent enough, and I’m not exactly against it, but it compromises my work area." I had thought they understood. I had thought I made myself clear as to my next step of action. They shrugged their shoulders, as if to say, too bad.

The next time it happened, I contacted the deputy warden for programs (the person I allegedly threw a hat at in a staff meeting). I requested that he do something about it. He tried to give them the benefit of the doubt. "You don’t know for certain that this is the cause of your problems. Start documenting when it occurs. Keep a log."

"You don’t understand," I wanted to tell him. "Most of the inmates that gravitate towards the computers are antisocial. They hate authority figures. They want absolutely nothing to do with us. They become very very angry when something affects their routine." Instead, I told him this, "Let me get this straight, you want me to document what happens every time I smell popcorn?" He shrugged his shoulders, as if to say, too bad.

Here’s the scoop: Whenever these two female coworkers popped popcorn our classroom computers would shut down. Although I never actually saw them in the act of popping popcorn (I only salivated from the buttery smell) I quickly deduced the problem—an overloaded circuit. Shortly thereafter, maintenance sent an electrician to our school building and the problem was fixed. I made it out alive.