I'm exhausted.
I mean like the kind of bone deep weariness that sets in after hand quarrying stone all day, or, you know, deradicalizing a hive of Q-Anon drones.
As Dr. Vanderspiegel might say, "This is some bullshit."
"What's with all the weary?" you might ask. "You've made it back to your assigned cell. All of M-Unit has been reunited. You're back to work, that pint of Bunny Tracks you ordered back in November showed up. Hell, even your besty of 26 years managed to return after clawing through an additional month of isolation *and* you gained a snowman refrigerator magnet somewhere amongst your six moves in sixty days. What are you *complaining* about?"
Sighhhh...
All of that's true. My housing and friend is restored. My health is good, (though I am certainly fatter), and my comfort zone of old has been reconstructed.
Mostly.
For those who've never been incarcerated for an extended period of time, first, good for you. Keep up the good work. Second, prison isn't anything like the fantastical tales depicted in popular media.
Mostly.
Crazy *does* happen, but its the glitch in the matrix more often than it isn't. No, prison is sanity grinding monotony stitched together with the glue and staples of inflexible policy interpretation, blame shifting, and good old fashioned "because". Logic ever falls behind its timely application, if applied at all. I'm not saying DOC functionaries are Nazis, but they certainly use the same excuses.
Example: Before the outbreak within the confines of our facility, but during the near year of "preventative" protocols, there wasn't a single check point for vitals anywhere save the entrance all state employees had to pass through.
There was no serious attempt to cohort anyone aside from unit-sized groups, and if you worked for Correctional Industries (CI), the idea held the same consideration Lumbergh gave Milton when he protested moving his desk once more.
We're all missing our stapler these days.
Now, after the virus has rampaged through the institution, leaving the wreckage of its passing to slowly slump and tumble from its broken moorings like a scene from Godzilla's downtown stroll, DOC (and CI in particular) are *SO* eager to pursue proper(-ish) protocols.
Allow me to illustrate. There'll be a quiz, so pay attention. ^_^
CI employs incarcerated individuals from all six units here at Airway Heights. Each unit's population is approximately 256. Some units have a higher percentage of workers, but they all contribute to the labor pool. When any of us report to a CI job assignment, the following things *must* occur:
1. I must exit my unit, passing through three doorways. They're typically all opened for ease of use. This is a medium and minimum security facility, this isn't unusual if count is clear and no emergency is taking place.
2. I must walk to H-Foyer, which is the hub all CI workers must pass for tracking and security purposes. Each of us presents our identification which is scanned and logged electronically. Its interior area is roughly equivalent to a large walk-in closet.
3. I must pass another door into my workplace and be confirmed by another officer that I'm where I'm supposed to be. Its just a good old fashioned "Mornin' Harry," and a check on the equally dated, but efficient, clipboard.
Pop Quiz!
Where do you think DOC has placed their renewed commitment to scanning the incarcerated population for invading viruses? Where do you think an officer stands behind a plastic screen, belabored with Covid PSAs, and logs your temperature with an infrared thermometer?
If you said anything other than 3, you're mistaken and possessed of progressively more Pollyanna the closer to 1 you got. That's okay though. It just proves you're of a far greater mind than the brain-trust here in DOC. And if you said 3 then you've either had experience in the system or you're an educated realist.
None of you failed. Tomorrow the answer may very well be different.
No, the screening takes place *after* you've mingled in *two* places *outside* your little bubble of a unit with all the other little bubbles. It takes place in the exact wrong place to catch the symptomatic from passing on their contagion to everyone else caught up in the froth.
When this is pointed out to staff, the response is a rote: "I'm just doing what I'm told," or worse, "None of this shit matters anyway."
Well, that's certainly obvious. I mean, why would *anyone* set up a screening station *before* commingling a population of 1500+? Makes perfect sense if you don't think about it.
But wait! It gets worse. ^_^
Once we've arrived at our assigned duty stations we're told we must *now* separate into cohorts and work *only* with individuals from our own units... Except when we need you to do otherwise... Oh, and never mind that your workspace actually makes it impossible to social distance, let alone separate into functional cohorts, just do your best and try not to take our beratements personally.
Remember the Four Agreements! *Gleam!*
Sighhh...
I am exhausted.
Even the simplest of logical approaches to crisis management is lost on the plodding, dysfunctional clockworks of the establishment here. No oil can penetrate the rust endemic to this machine. Its impervious to common sense and embraces its unwavering, myopic view of "progress".
I'd like to think somewhere, someone with the stones to practice accountability is in a position to do something about this, apply a method of functionality that doesn't make me want to slam my head in a car door repeatedly, but after 26+ years of witnessing the same behaviors, I've come to expect nothing less.
Mostly. ^_^