Jail Tales

My 4th day in jail was a Friday. Rumour had it that B-pod had been getting a tray plus a Pacquiao for every dinner; while it was always only either tray or Pacquiao in my A-pod. Pacquiao is basically a paper bag with 1 peanut butter-jelly sandwich, 1 ham-cheese sandwich, and a bag of juice labelled The Good Stuff — Mr J. Though the label says 100% apple juice, I could never tell what flavour it was in my mouth; anyway, the taste was great. Why is it called Pacquiao instead of Mr J? Nobody knows; just like any myth, it has been passed down from so many generations of prisoners for so long that it has lost its own origin.

So, the inmates had decided to conspire a riot. The cooks intentionally cut down the amount of food on the tray, so our trays could look shittier than how shitty they usually looked. We were locked down in our cells every meal, so we all agreed together to just leave the trays at our doors and never touch them. Then, the trustees showed the guards the trays and explained the situation.

Once it was acknowledged, the guards made some calls. After 15 minutes without response, the inmates started kicking on the doors, yelling, and cursing. After a while, they started throwing their trays to the common area. They got tired, the yelling and door kicking took a turn from one cell to another.

The guards finally made a decision. 9 guards came to Bobby’s cell and dragged him out. As he was pushed and dragged out of our sight, he didn’t make any physical resistance, he just kept yelling “I didn’t do anything, there’s a camera, I got…