10-54 for a 10-100

Before my first day of work at the Diagnostic and Evaluation Center, still during my pre-service time, we had a week of On-The-Job Training (OJT). I was taken on a tour of some of the other facilities in the Department with a small handful of other new-hires. We started at the flagship, The Nebraska State Penitentiary. The electric chair looked so fucking deadly it made me giggle and blush! I quickly learned that the word describing our department and what we supposedly do, Corrections, is a misnomer.

We do not correct anybody. Perhaps small factions of us make an attempt. Penitentiary is close, because inmates do penance, even if they are not penitent. That concept is close to showing respect without having any. It would not be right to call it a human storage facility, but that would be the most accurate terminology. Not that the department is looking to rename itself, but perhaps human life-delaying facility or some form of that could be the new term for Corrections.

When I finally arrived at my permanent facility, the Diagnostic and Evaluation Center, I was still nervous. The place was a fucking shit-hole. You could probably file for a Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) when you leave because everything here is an assault on your senses. I wanted to make a good impression, but I knew I would get fucked with. I imagined it would be a lot like being the new guy (FNG) in a Marine Corps unit. My trainer, Fred (nickname), was a veteran of Corrections, but a lovely young lady nonetheless. She was hot, and her father was a hero of the department, having survived a brutal attack from two inmates many years ago. She had a potty-mouth, but I enjoyed being around her anyway. Mostly because she was hot. She had plenty of knowledge to share, but did not share much. She had a real bad attitude. I still liked her. Did I mention that she was hot?

My training did not last long. There is not much to teach when it comes to running a control station. Most of it you get by experience. The post I was watching was a control station where I operated the doors electronically for two units via touch-screen. One of the units was out in their yard area, and the other was in the gymnasium. I was alone and I needed to take a piss. My post had a bathroom, but closing the door to it meant you took your eyes off of the post that you were supposed to keep in constant view. The radio code at our facility for a bathroom break was 10-100, but I had no radio. Most of you are thinking, “What could happen?” In hindsight, probably not much, but nevertheless my condition did not change, and I was not going to quit my post without proper relief (General Order #5, for you non-Marines.).

I began to consider my options. The radios were taken by the floor corporals that accompanied their units to their current locations. All I had was a phone. I called master control to page a utility, but they informed me that there were only two on duty, and it was not likely that they could come for me. I could break the rules, and just use the dang bathroom. Hell, it was four feet away. I could leave the door open and hear if anything happened. I could use my water bottle. I could line the trash can with paper towels and piss in there. I could piss my pants, but I had grown out of that thrill. I began to restock supplies and clean the control station to take my mind off of the pressure. What would the consequences be if I got caught in the bathroom? I called my trainer at another post and asked her what to do.

“Are you somehow impaired? Just go!” Word got around that I was acting way too paranoid and new for a veteran Marine. I received some other phone calls.
“Hey retard, did you forget your helmet today?” “Ya want me to 54 your back-door?”
“I bet the slick people in your family already own their trailers.”


“You pussy, you can’t pee anyway with your dick in your wife’s purse!”
“You’re no more daring than eating an apple in the dark!”
Officer Mike Jepsen called me and finally talked me into using the bathroom. It was not so much the “What’s the worst thing that could happen?” comment but probably the “I bet you gotta pee worse than a three-cunted caribou on a bamboo bridge.” That made me have to pee. I just could not hold it anymore. If I did not use the bathroom, I would have unwillingly used my pants.

The electric chair at the Nebraska State Penitentiary.

“If you keep fucking with me, the next time the deputy warden comes out here, I’m throwing everybody under the bus.”