This happens at least once per year and sometimes more…
Today my prison is on “lockdown.” Everything is shutdown, and all the inmates are confined to our cells.
At 6:30 this morning the wake-up bell sounded throughout the facility, as it does seven days per week. 6:30 is the first official body count. Every Corrections Officer assigned to a cellblock must go from cell to cell, to count each man to make sure that no one has escaped or died during the night. Each inmate must be awake and standing by his bunk as the officer goes past.
6:30 is the start of every prisoner's day, although I am usually up earlier than this. And our kitchen workers are up at 5 a.m.
Anyhow, at 7:30 our cells usually open for the breakfast meal. It is the same routine for all seven days. So when the cells did not open, and the time began to reach 8 o'clock, we all knew that a facility lockdown was here.
A lockdown is both a blessing and a curse. It's good for me because now I have the whole day to myself. I don't have to go to my work assignment. I can rest, read and catch up on letters. I also need to sew a shirt, which I've been wanting to sew for weeks but never seemed to have the time.
The curse, however, is that later on teams of guards will have to search each cell. They will search mine. Every single piece of property I have, and every square inch of my cell will be examined. Nothing is missed.
I'm used to this, and I really don't mind. It is a change from the norm, and every inmate gets the same treatment. But the hassle comes when I have to put everything back in its place. It's like putting one's house together again after being hit by a hurricane.
D.B.
At 6:30 this morning the wake-up bell sounded throughout the facility, as it does seven days per week. 6:30 is the first official body count. Every Corrections Officer assigned to a cellblock must go from cell to cell, to count each man to make sure that no one has escaped or died during the night. Each inmate must be awake and standing by his bunk as the officer goes past.
6:30 is the start of every prisoner's day, although I am usually up earlier than this. And our kitchen workers are up at 5 a.m.
Anyhow, at 7:30 our cells usually open for the breakfast meal. It is the same routine for all seven days. So when the cells did not open, and the time began to reach 8 o'clock, we all knew that a facility lockdown was here.
A lockdown is both a blessing and a curse. It's good for me because now I have the whole day to myself. I don't have to go to my work assignment. I can rest, read and catch up on letters. I also need to sew a shirt, which I've been wanting to sew for weeks but never seemed to have the time.
The curse, however, is that later on teams of guards will have to search each cell. They will search mine. Every single piece of property I have, and every square inch of my cell will be examined. Nothing is missed.
I'm used to this, and I really don't mind. It is a change from the norm, and every inmate gets the same treatment. But the hassle comes when I have to put everything back in its place. It's like putting one's house together again after being hit by a hurricane.
D.B.