Typical Bootcamp Day

Every morning at 5:00am, the military horn blew its top off. God it took me forever to get used to waking up that way. We'd all jump out of bed to stand at attention at the foot of our bunkbeds, cold tiles on bare feet waking us up even faster. Some did the peepee dance as discreetly as possible (I know I did more than a few times), while waiting for the officer on duty to count us. Every federal prison and facility was subject to the same count times across the country. And under NO circumstances should you miss a count. None.

These couple of minutes were crucial to determining how the rest of the day went. Each CO (Corrections Officer) had vastly different personalities. There was the playful but aggressive, steroid-taking officer with the mentality of a 12 year old (his bark was definitely worse than his bite), the unpredicatable but highly intelligent (but crazy!) Mr. Loy (however many think, and I agree, that he put on an act), the good-natured, but very tempermental Mr. Steese, who could have been smart had he not grown up in the middle of the woods, and the short and sadistic Shark, who had a serious Napoleon complex.

There were others, but these were the most colorful officers. If the Shark woke us up, we were fucked. Everyone, and I mean EVERYONE, dreaded when he was on duty. He once crawled underneath an empty bunk before 5:00am to spy on us, and see who got out of bed before the horn sounded. Apparently that wasn't allowed, and the guy got hell for it.

After we're counted, we have a few minutes to wash up, make our beds (which had to be made hospital style... ugh...) and get ready for our morning PT (Physical Training) and this varied from officer to officer, or from day to day. Ranging from calisthenics, aerobics, endurance training, and running, working out on an empty stomach when your last meal was about 22 hours prior wasn't easy. Quite a few people threw up while running on an empty stomach, especially if they overdressed in the winter time.

That lasted about a half hour. We changed, lined up, marched to the cafeteria (food was served to us from the Camp, the lowest possible security federal prison besides boot camp), and once there, one team after the other goes in to eat, while the others stand outside waiting. The only time we waited indoors was when it was pouring, otherwise, we learned how to doze off standing and to talk without moving your lips. No yawning, no looking/moving around, no scratching yourself, no talking, no sleeping. But I've managed to hold conversations that way and play mental chess just to kill time.

Meals lasted around 40ish minutes, meanwhile we only had 5 minutes to eat. And we had to finish everything on our tray unless you're slick enough to throw it away in the trash without any COs seeing.

Bootleg Fruit Loops (I was told these would make me shit different colors, and I obviously thought they were joking... unfortunately they were not), Lucky Charms and Cheerio's made up most of our breakfasts, we also had french toast or waffles once in awhile. The milk was real at least, but we were restricted to one cup a person.

Now remember how there's nothing you can do while waiting to eat or waiting for others to finish? This is even worse when beans were on the menu, because people had no shame in farting randomly. And trust me, a bunch of guys from all over the country put together, there were some really foul smelling stomachs out there.

Then we marched back, and our day officially begins. Between mandatory classes (drug education, resume building, etc.), voluntary classes (smoking cessation, food safety, etc.) which people took to get out of work, and work, all of us go to our designated stations.

Most of the work there sucked. Mainly all labor work, from working the farm, mopping the units, laundry. I was designated to Topside, one of the best jobs. It was basically clothing issue, and the CO in charge of it was Mr. Steese, and from the day I first joined, he had requested to have me work there. Later, he told me it was because he could see I wasn't a bad kid, and wanted to save me from all the bullshit the others had to go through. And that's how he recruited everyone in Topside.

We basically didn't do shit all day lol. Once in a awhile inmates came to swap out their clothes or canteens for one reason or another. And when a new team comes in, we're in charge of distributing all of the stuff they need for their 6 months of torture. The rest of the time? We built a ghetto chessboard made from cardboard, buttons, pieces of paper and tape.

But the most important part was our ability to get brand new clothes whenever we wanted. Everyone of us working there had our stash hidden somewhere of the newest things we want in our sizes. Hey, even in jail people wanna look good! Also a cleanliness thing though. On top of that, since we were free for most of the day, we ironed our clothes and shined our boots, leaving us more of our personal time at the end of the day.

Then it was lunch time. Same routine. After lunch we had about a couple hours before we had PT again, work/class, then dinner around 6:00pm. Work/class once again, then 8:00pm is the start of our personal time. During this time we shower, write letters, and take care of our affairs for the next day.

Lights out at 9:00pm, then rinse and repeat. Six and a half months of this crap. We were all designated time slots to make our one 15 minute phone call a week. This is different from regular jail, where you have a max of 300 minutes a month, 15 minutes each, but you can call again an hour later. One 15 minute call a week was rough. Real rough.

The entire bootcamp was split into four teams: Alpha, Bravo, Charlie, Delta. I was in Delta. And what sucks is, especially during the beginning months (they did this less as we got closer to leaving), when one person fucked up, the entire team paid for it. I've done countless pushups and other ab exercises without even knowing why, not to mention a ridiculous amount of extra miles that I normally wouldn't have had to run.

"DELTA TEAM, DROP!" was something we heard quite often. I was on a team of fucking idiots by the way.

Other random rules? You couldn't step on any black tile. When not in our sleeping areas, you can't walk past a CO without stopping and sounding off, "Sir, Inmate [NAME] request permission to carry on, sir, I can make it, I can take it, nothing can stop me sir!"

And if the CO just stood there and ignored you, you just keep standing there until either he tells you to carry on, or he walks past you.

If a CO drops you for pushups or something, before you get back up even though you're done with whatever number he said, we had to say, "Sir, Inmate [NAME] request permission to recover sir. Thank you for conditioning my mind and body, please feel free to do so at anytime, sir!" Now sometimes if they were assholes they'd say, "Anytime? Okay, do another fifty."

No looking into the CO's eyes. No hands in pockets. Boots are to be shined, shirts with three creases in the back, no snacks, no gum, no drawings or anything personal outside of a particular personal envelope.

Typical day in boot camp. Thank god it's way behind me =)

Introduction to the Intensive Confinement Center

The day had finally come. After 18 months of pretrial supervision (which consisted of weekly drug tests and telephone check-ins, and being restricted to the five boroughs of NYC), after 18 months being with Lisa, after 18 months of fear wondering how much time I would actually do (and more importantly, where), the day had come for me to report to the Intensive Confinement Center, aka boot camp.

The name Intensive Confinement Center (ICC) sounds a lot worse though, doesn't it? Sounds like some 24/7 isolation lol but it's basically boot camp.

Lisa and I were to take a train down to Harrisburg, PA and there would be a car service waiting to drive us to Lewisburg, PA, an hour away.

I would be gone for six months, longest stretch that Lisa and I would be separated for. Ever since we met, we saw each other every day, and we both knew this was going to be a difficult adjustment.

Our last night together, Lisa was in tears. I'm not one to cry much, and I tried to stay strong enough for the both of us, to be her rock that she could lean on.

From the moment I met Lisa, I told her I was going to jail. I also told her I didn't expect her to wait for me. At the time I was facing up to five years, and she adamantly refused to break up, even when facing five years. I understood that she didn't realize how long five years were, so I let it go.

So looking at six months, given her conviction that she would have even waited five years (she claimed she had no doubt in her mind lol), she reiterated she would wait these six months as well.

We kissed and cuddled, wiping away her tears, soothing her with comforting words, it was both the happiest and saddest moment possible. We didn't sleep much. I also didn't have anything to pack. Weirdly, even the last night of freedom, it didn't quite hit home that I was going to be locked up. Probably because I had no way of relating to what I was about to experience. It was probably plain ol' denial.

We agreed to write to each other every single day, and when mail doesn't go out on weekends or holidays, we would keep writing and just combine them into one. If I were to list all the mushy stuff we did and agreed to continue doing despite our separation, you'd probably gag on your monitor just to stop reading, so I'll spare you a few Bounty sheets.

Dawn came, but unlike most fictions, dawn doesn't always bring comfort. This was the dawn I never wanted to see. Given that this was our last day together for six months, I would have thought we'd be more talkative, to make the most of it, but in retrospect it's obviously unrealistic.

Both the train and car ride were fairly silent. We spoke here and there but our hearts just weren't into it. Too preoccupied, we just hugged some more and Lisa cuddled into my arms.

We got to Lewisburg, a prison complex consisting of three facilities: ICC, the camp, and the penitentiary. The penitentiary is obviously a supermax, the camp is the lowest possible security level you can have (except for the ICC), and they don't even have a fence keeping the inmates in.

But any walk-off is considered armed escape with a five year sentence. Not many dared to.

Our car parked in front of the ICC, and Lisa burst into tears.

"Excuse me," I asked the driver. "Do you mind waiting a few minutes?"

"No problem. Take your time, I'm in no rush."

I thought I heard sympathy in his voice. "Thanks."

We got out to smoke a last cigarette together and say bye.

Three pulls in, I hear:

"Hey! HEY! Where do you think you are? Put that out and get in here!"

It was a Correctional Officer.

"I'm not scheduled to report before another 45 minutes," I replied politely.

"I don't care, you're here, you're in, there's no standing around here."

Goddammit. I had a problem with authority, and this was already a bad start. If I had known, I wouldn't have told the driver to park here so I'd have some more time with Lisa.

"But..."

"Get in here now!"

Flicking away my cigarette, I took one long last look at Lisa's tear-strewn face, hugged her, and my heart dropped to my stomach. This was it. This was really it. What the fuck.

With a sigh, I reluctantly let her go and finally shed a couple tears.

"I love you bebe."

"I love you too bebe."

And we both "tingled." Don't ask.

I turned around and walked into the Intensive Confinement Center.

First things first. They shaved my head. Wait, no. First things first, they yelled at me. Then they shaved my head. Then they yelled at me some more. And then other inmates whispered to me:

"Don't step on the black tiles."

"Why not?"

"Just don't."

Ugh, this was going to be a long six months...