Friday, May 2, 2014
Friday Freebits with Ginger #FriFreebits #blogshare
Honestly, I'd never seen a swab that big. I guess having a mini-mop scrubbed beneath my eyes was my punishment for wimping out on the spray. The goal is to make you experience the feeling of discomfort, and believe me, I did. The instructor smeared the spray under both eyes, covered both my cheeks generously, and I was immediately plagued with tearing eyes, running nose, and feeling as if my face was afire. Each participant was required to stand in place for a full minutes before taking steps to 'decon' the situation. Secret? Yeah, a big one. There isn't really anything you can do to make the pain go away except wait until the gaseous substance dissipates--about forty-five minutes.
While standing there with tears flowing freely, the instructor pulled the ladies aside and shared "personal" instructions with us. He warned of hand to nether region without thoroughly washing your mitts first. I must admit, I was a tad embarrassed to have a strange guy talking to us about yeast infections and my genitals, but after giving some thought to his hints, I appreciated the hygiene lesson. God, my cheeks already flamed, the last thing I needed was to have my 'hoo hoo on fire.
The only method of "decon" was sitting in the squad car with the air conditioning aimed directly into your face. Imagine trying to cool the part of the body we'd just discussed...and in mixed company. I had to laugh.
So, I survived the pepper spray, or OCT, as it is commonly called, certified with my weapon and have been handcuffed several times in order to learn to use them. I was then shown the taser and explained its use, but when I discovered I had to be shot with the damn thing in order to certify using it, I kindly passed. That phrase, 'help I've fallen and can't get up,' kept flashing through my mind, and there was no way anyone was using stunning me into submission as a teaching aid. If the pepper spray didn't work on a belligerent inmate, then I'd just be out of luck. Imagine....giving your life for a whopping $7.55 per hour, but that's what the job called for.
I could write a whole book about my experiences in the jail because I learned so much. The experience was the impetus behind First Degree Innocence, a whodunnit kinda book about an innocent girl sentenced to ten years for something she didn't do...of course everyone in jail is innocent. Just ask them. Of course, at first, I believed some of them until you realize the games they play.
Still, most of the people locked up are unfortunate souls who made mistakes and are paying for them. Some are repeat offenders who never learn, and some as just destined to be mean. I didn't meet an inmate I couldn't handle, after all, who would mess with a gun-toting, pepper-spray, cuff-carrying granny? I donated several of my romance books to the inmate library, and I may never make the NY Times list, but I was certainly a hit at White County Jail.
This concludes this chapter, so next week, I'll start another. In the meantime, how about stopping by my friends and checking out their blogs? Just click on the links below...and remember, if you want to join in and blog on your own blog and connect here, just drop me an email...firstname.lastname@example.org
Rhobin Lee Courtright