Sure, sure - every season has a lot of people in prison (frequently only for a partial episode but - still) but this season is particularly incarceratory in nature. And this freaks the crap out of me. I'm afraid of just a handful of things in this life (many of which are factitious anyway - no one is TRULY afraid of choking to death on a bowling pin) but one of them - a MAJOR ONE of them - is going to prison.
Seriously. I am not a "good" person and I don't always act like an actual upstanding citizen but I absolutely, positively do not break any real laws (speed limits are for chumps) and I don't ever put myself in situations where I could ever get arrested and charged with a conviction-worthy offense that comes with "hard time". But that is only part of it . . . you have to watch out for the random thing where you look down at your phone and look up just as you are running over a dozen nuns innocently crossing the street or an email asks you to sit on a few million dollars for someone trying to immigrate to this country and wind out guilty of some serious wire fraud. Even worse? You remove tags from your pillows without reading the fine print or you don't return library books or that affordable, friendly pro you hire to do your taxes turns out to be up to shin. an. uh. guns.
Next thing you know . . . you're in prison. For a long, long time.
And there are all-sort of homophobic and violence-driven reasons most people fear a prison sentence. Sure, sure. Those things are fair concerns but here are the reasons I would not make it in "the joint" . . .
- Nudity. You have to shower in front of people. I can't do that. NOT because of other people's naked bodies or fear of being violated but - far more importantly - because I have a deep, deep loathing of my own body. NO crime justifies having to see me nude.
- Jumpsuits. I don't wear uniforms and I certainly don't wear one-piece outfits that zip or snap up the front. This body should never be seen naked NOR in onesies with coarse construction.
- Slippers. No. Just. Plain. No.
- Ink. So many tattoos. So many poorly conceived or executed. So many permanent reminders of how horrible life on the inside is. And - yet - I have to believe I would allow someone to break open a BIC(TM) pen and break open the sanctity of my ever-hidden, jumpsuit clad body.
- Boredom. The libraries probably suck. They will never allow me my Roku or to blog. The probably won't let me have any real fun. I have enough trouble living by the rules of life out here . . . in there. Fughedaboud.
- Religion. The Jews are not all that popular in any representation of locked-up life I've ever, ever seen. Ever. Cliche becomes such for a reason.
- Cellmates. I have enough trouble sharing a 3,000 square foot home with SLF and my daughter half the time. You're putting me back in bunk beds with an open-air toilet? Nuh-uh. No way. Not now. Not ever.
- Food. Wait, wait, wait . . . I can't just swing by the kitchen and grab something? There aren't crackers and jelly beans at ready avail.? I don't want to go to the Inmate Store. I want to hit the pantry.
- Music. Will they let me have "Hip-Hop Friday" in my cell? No. No they would not. But they'd let me wear friggin' house shoes.
- Voting. Poorly-kept secret. You lose your right to vote when you spend time in the clink. You can get the right back after your service but hardened criminals like me won't even skip the City Mayoral Primary. I'm not going to make it without my "voice".