Old Stock American Observer

by the Editor, OSA Observer (9.13.2024)

After sitting in the parking lot of gas station, for what seemed like more than an hour, enjoying my last moments of freedom with my father watching people go about their business in the countryside and occasionally breaking silence with remarks about how screwed the country is, I decided it was time to hit the road again driving the last stretch towards federal prison.

I must have lucked out and picked a good lawyer; he managed to arrange a self-surrender not only to the FBI & U.S. Marshalls but also to the Federal Prison System for me. I was much more fortunate than other J6’ers in this respect.

As I pulled into the prison parking lot, I remembered that veterans, government officials, tradesman, retired educators, mechanics and others had my back. Many of these people expressed that they wished they had gone to the rally, despite how it turned out. I had good morale support going in, and this would serve me well.

After stopping my vehicle outside the walkway that led to the prison entrance, I shook my father’s hand, gave him my keys, and walked into the prison not knowing what was ahead. This was my first time going to prison and after a few words were exchanged by myself and the officers at the check-in, I said, alright let’s get this started and started stripping down. They laughed and said, “not here” and pointed me to a stall to strip down (and also squat down while directing me to pull my reproductive organs back and cough as a way for the officers to visually check to make sure I wasn’t smuggling contraband in) and get into the prison uniform.

From there, I was escorted to another processing room where I was moved between a holding cell and a room for taking my photo, prints and issuing me a prisoner’s badge. The officer doing the processing at this station remarked, “I can’t believe they did that to you guys”, indicating he was a Trump supporter.

After my initial processing, I was put with a group of new arrivals, and we were escorted to a concrete block building that I would later find out is where all the newcomers first land to get sorted. As soon as I stepped inside this concrete cell block housing unit, it turned into a racial draft of sorts. I was asked if I was a “homie” or if I was “white”. Surprised by this question, and wondering if I had got too much sun on the Southern Border, I replied that “I’m white”.

What I would soon learn is that everything was divided between the Whites, Blacks, Mexicans, Natives and there were further divisions between groups like Tango Blast, Sureños, Paisas, etc. This prison I was at, the vast majority of the population was of Hispanic descent, and it looked more like a refugee camp than a prison on the yard outside.

After I said that I was white, I was immediately ignored by the person asking me this question and minutes later a white guy told me to follow him. Before I knew it, I was getting processed by the white prisoner leadership in the building. I was asked a few vetting questions, then given a welcome package which was basically all the basics I needed that the prison did not issue to me. I thanked those giving me these basics and they just said, every new white guy gets this stuff I just had to pay it back when I got commissary.

Within minutes of receiving my welcome package, I was directed to my cell which was a three bunk cell. After getting my stuff set up in a locker, I quickly learned that my two cell mates were quite fond of what they called toochie/spice or what is more properly called K-2. I had no idea what this drug was having led a relatively square life prior to arriving in prison, but that was about to change within a few hours.

Before I knew it, the first day in prison had flown by. I spent most my time trying not be the annoying new guy but asking questions to help myself get a lay of the land. Thirty minutes before we were getting locked into our cells, my two cellmates said that I might “see some crazy shit” that night but to not worry. They were letting me know they were about to get high and that one of them sometimes saw visions of the devil, and he previously tried to strangle his cell mate. I immediately took a mental note of the items in the cell that could be used as weapons and made plans to take that fool out if he tried to move on me. I figured slamming his head through the sink or wrapping my belt around his neck would probably work if the worst case scenario happened.

Within minutes of the cell lock-ins, my cell mates were dropping batteries, connecting wires and lighting paper smoking toochie. What followed was some of the dumbest shit I have ever witnessed in my life, and I soon realized these guys posed no threat to me. When the toochie hit their systems, they were virtually paralyzed. I later found out the drug attacks the central nervous system which is why these guys had to hold on to something when they smoked. They would shake for 10-30 minutes and murmur to themselves. I could have beat the shit out of both of them at once, and I don’t even think they would have been able to fight back or that they would even know they were getting beat up while they were high.

After witnessing this stupidity, I quickly fell asleep and woke up hours later to the sound of the cells getting unlocked. I got up and put my shoes on and headed out. I found out the breakfast call was soon up and so I queued near the front of the unit to get in line for when the door opened to the building to let us out for breakfast. It was around 7 am that we were let out to traverse the yard to get our breakfast. We were served breakfast in Styrofoam trays and not the cafeteria, because the word was the cafeteria was shut down due to a rat infestation and asbestos and mold. I would only see the inside of the cafeteria on my last day in prison.

To my dismay, I found out breakfast was skim milk, a cup of children’s breakfast cereal called Cocoa Puffs and a past due apple. The prison would continue to serve this style breakfast for months even when prisoners had submitted official BP complaint forms that made it up to the board of regents alleging the prison was deviating from the National Bureau of Prisons menu guidelines. I never once ate the Cocoa Puffs but traded them for ramen noodles to the toochie heads. For some reason, they liked the Cocoa Puffs.

My second day in prison was much like the first. I spent as much time as I could learning what I needed to know to fit in. My cell mates continued to get high and act stupid. One of the goals I set for myself during night two was to get a new cell or cell mates. Something that I was able to do within a few weeks.