March 26th, 2007
Bad Lunches & Dumb Luck
And now for my latest complaint lodged about our laughable lunches:
To whom it may concern,
As previously, I write regarding Crew #2’s lunches. Personally I am surprised that you even have complaint forms given this is jail. Until now I was of the impression that forms submitted of such nature would immediately get filed in the garbage. To see that our lunches have indeed altered since my last complaint confirms otherwise. The problem is that they didn’t improve, they got worse. I think I’m beginning to see how things work around here now. So allow me to try a new tack.
I asked for a ‘Commendation Form,’ but apparently you find little reason to make available such forms. Anyways, I just wanted to say that the slice of meat and processed cheese, nestled between two dry slices of bread was delicious! With no butter to cook them with it’s a good thing such savoury fare gets my salivary glands pumping. Were it not for the anticipation of such delectable morsels, I might be at risk of choking to death on such dryness. Thank you and keep up the good work!
CS# 05943451
Our crew lunch woes aside, I must now pause for a genuine moment of recognition for how fortunate I feel to be me. It’s nothing much really. Not meant to be self-congratulatory or anything. It’s just that I’m all too often hearing guys in here talk of how little they weighed prior to landing in the clink. The result of crack addictions. Skin and bones. Over the course of their imprisonment, despite the bland and calibrated diet, they have near magically ballooned to their more normal weight. Certainly a good many of them utilize the weight room up in the gym to aid in their physical rehabilitation. I suspect that the obsessive compulsion to lift weights is a convenient substitute for their past obsessive compulsion for drugs. Either way, I’m just feeling blessed that I never wandered down such a path. My usual 145 pound mass I suspect is much the same given my ever steady metabolism. I don’t know who or what is reason for my station. God, fate, genes, choices, dumb luck? But this mustn’t pass my notice. I’m glad to be me! Especially when these very same guys proclaim how they ‘can’t wait to get back on the pipe’ as their release draws near.
 offers a glimpse of what it’s like on the other side of the razor-wire fence.){kind=link}