I got whored-out to a post to cover for a sick-bay commando, and what made things worse, was the post. B-bay and C-bay were two posts within the confines of housing unit six, the Medium Security Unit (MSU). B-bay was not as bad as C-bay. Though you had a similar inmate, you did not have to put up with Devo, the tyrannical case manager in charge of supervising you.
While performing a locker search in housing unit 6B, I found what appeared to be a six-inch dried-up turd. For starters, I could not imagine why someone would save a turd in their locker. Well, that is not entirely true. I can imagine why a young Marine would. A young Marine would want to show it off to his biological brother, and in the mean time, he would show it off to his fellow Marine brother. That thought led me to believe that this inmate might have pranks in mind. I paged the offender back to his sleeping location to question him.
It turned out that it was not a turd at all, but a mixture of items made to look like one. The recipe included paper towels, old kitchen brownies, and instant coffee. He would not divulge the entire list of secret ingredients, because it would prove he stole items from work in the CSI shops. I am not sure I needed to know unless I ever wanted to design my own creation. All this discussion had passed a good portion of my morning, so I decided to reward the inmate by leaving him a real turd. When I got home, I took a dump in a zip-lock bag and carried it in my lunchbox everyday until I got back to B-bay. It was plenty dried out by then. Holding the bag and aiming without peeing was the tricky part.
In the Department of Corrections in Nebraska, CSI means Cornhusker State Industries. Nebraska correctional officers have called it CSI long before the Crime Scene Investigation television shows were popular. This CSI is a very simple manufacturing facility that provides products for use by Nebraska State Agencies such as office furniture, institutional furniture, brooms, filing cabinets, picnic tables, and road signs, just to name a few.
The nature of their business does not stop their personnel from thinking they are anything short of a crack investigative team. We also make remarks at their expense when our staff members go a little overboard in their duties. “You need to work for CSI.” One such relief control station officer, M. Leybold, was posted in our housing unit to work the B/D side of the house on Wednesday, and it so happened that this particular officer did not like to spend much time in the control station. It was slightly claustrophobic, and boring, and he liked to stretch his legs, often. Consequently, every time I stepped into his work area, he would leave, thinking I was relieving him to roam around the housing unit. That was definitely not the case, so I had to step on his toes frequently.
On one occasion when I allowed him out, I requested that he do a cell search. He had just finished the task and was on his way back to the control station when a new commit (fresh inmate) was entering the housing unit with a garbage sack full of his own property. The old salty officer properly halted him and asked for identification and a pat-down (search for contraband without undressing the inmate). What happened next was not terribly unlike what you would expect from a Wal-Mart greeter. During the pat-down, Leybold gave him the housing unit three welcome as he moved his gloved hands over his entire body.
“Welcome to housing unit three, I’m Officer Leybold. Your caseworkers are Batiste and Whalen. They are the best in the entire department. You are going to love it here. In just a few days, our unit will be first in line for chow. Our canteen day is tomorrow, so you’re just in time. I see you’ll be in cell A-7 with inmate Munoz. He has made the bottom bunk available, and we’ve placed a brand new mattress and pillow there just for you. Munoz even has a color television that you can watch.” The guy was visibly cheering up and did not give Leybold any static at all. I kept waiting for Leybold to say, “Can I get you a cart?”
“He’s got a smile and a boner, so you know he’s all right.”
While performing a locker search in housing unit 6B, I found what appeared to be a six-inch dried-up turd. For starters, I could not imagine why someone would save a turd in their locker. Well, that is not entirely true. I can imagine why a young Marine would. A young Marine would want to show it off to his biological brother, and in the mean time, he would show it off to his fellow Marine brother. That thought led me to believe that this inmate might have pranks in mind. I paged the offender back to his sleeping location to question him.
It turned out that it was not a turd at all, but a mixture of items made to look like one. The recipe included paper towels, old kitchen brownies, and instant coffee. He would not divulge the entire list of secret ingredients, because it would prove he stole items from work in the CSI shops. I am not sure I needed to know unless I ever wanted to design my own creation. All this discussion had passed a good portion of my morning, so I decided to reward the inmate by leaving him a real turd. When I got home, I took a dump in a zip-lock bag and carried it in my lunchbox everyday until I got back to B-bay. It was plenty dried out by then. Holding the bag and aiming without peeing was the tricky part.
In the Department of Corrections in Nebraska, CSI means Cornhusker State Industries. Nebraska correctional officers have called it CSI long before the Crime Scene Investigation television shows were popular. This CSI is a very simple manufacturing facility that provides products for use by Nebraska State Agencies such as office furniture, institutional furniture, brooms, filing cabinets, picnic tables, and road signs, just to name a few.
The nature of their business does not stop their personnel from thinking they are anything short of a crack investigative team. We also make remarks at their expense when our staff members go a little overboard in their duties. “You need to work for CSI.” One such relief control station officer, M. Leybold, was posted in our housing unit to work the B/D side of the house on Wednesday, and it so happened that this particular officer did not like to spend much time in the control station. It was slightly claustrophobic, and boring, and he liked to stretch his legs, often. Consequently, every time I stepped into his work area, he would leave, thinking I was relieving him to roam around the housing unit. That was definitely not the case, so I had to step on his toes frequently.
On one occasion when I allowed him out, I requested that he do a cell search. He had just finished the task and was on his way back to the control station when a new commit (fresh inmate) was entering the housing unit with a garbage sack full of his own property. The old salty officer properly halted him and asked for identification and a pat-down (search for contraband without undressing the inmate). What happened next was not terribly unlike what you would expect from a Wal-Mart greeter. During the pat-down, Leybold gave him the housing unit three welcome as he moved his gloved hands over his entire body.
“Welcome to housing unit three, I’m Officer Leybold. Your caseworkers are Batiste and Whalen. They are the best in the entire department. You are going to love it here. In just a few days, our unit will be first in line for chow. Our canteen day is tomorrow, so you’re just in time. I see you’ll be in cell A-7 with inmate Munoz. He has made the bottom bunk available, and we’ve placed a brand new mattress and pillow there just for you. Munoz even has a color television that you can watch.” The guy was visibly cheering up and did not give Leybold any static at all. I kept waiting for Leybold to say, “Can I get you a cart?”
“He’s got a smile and a boner, so you know he’s all right.”
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