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My Prison Idol
If only I could be like him
If you think the old bitties down at the beauty parlor hold the gold medal for being the world’s biggest gossips, you could be wrong. The rumor mill in a prison concerning what guys are in for might possibly exceed that of the geriatric ladies’.
And when you’re a sixty-something white guy with no tattoos who just landed in a federal prison, the assumption is that you’re a “chomo” (a child molester).
If I hadn’t discovered this reality while endlessly Googling “prison life,” and “preparing for federal prison” before going in, I found out quickly from my counselor.
On my very first day at the facility that would become my home for 336 days, I asked him (the first person I met), “So you know what I’m in for, right?”
He gave me a look of derision that said, “If you think I study up on all you crimey mother fuckers, you got another thing coming, rook.”
Regardless, I continued. “I’m in for tax fraud,” I announced with some pride as if to say “I’m not really a criminal — and I made a lot of money at some point if I caught a prison sentence for the indiscretion.”
His response while looking over the top of his half-glasses was, “They’re gonna think you’re a chomo.”
