Mad grip

That job working for the substance abuse coordinator got me out of the ghetto for a bit.  As the prison adapted to the drug war more, more state money was being made available within the prison system.  They not only had the money to pay salaries, but they also came up with the idea of turning an entire housing unit into a drug therapy house.  I can’t remember the exact title, but that was brilliant right?  Shouldn't take a rocket scientist to figure out what happens when you fill an entire housing unit with nothing but drug users.  It's kind of laughable, and all of us got a good laugh too, but I had to do what I had to do.  I needed that program on my resume for the parole board, joke or not.

What made it an even bigger deal to me was that the house they decided to use was 7 House.  Upper hill baby!  No more ghetto.  It was glorious.  So many things were amazing about that move.  It was amazing.  It was like a vacation, but yet, still in prison.  Roger was there too.  The house was almost half white people. It was culture shock for a week or two.  I got a chance to relax some because I didn't have to be on complete edge all day every day.  7 House practically had its own yard too.  It was a two level housing unit with a bay on the bottom floor.  The guard’s desk was on the top floor, so that bottom bay was what’s up.  At that time it was the penthouse bay of Booneville.  I couldn't ever figure out what that houses original design had been for, but it wasn't for confining humans.  There was practically no security in that house whatsoever.  It was awesome.

The one set back to these substance abuse programs was that cats would get all up in their feelings and then be dramatic just like they did in that 120 day shock program.  Cats were always stressed out about whether or not they would get to go home.  Someone was always snitching to get in good with the guards and counselors.  Lot's of stupid drama.  I open hand smacked a cat once on the yard for asking me if I thought he would get out by Christmas.  I asked his info, then just smacked him right in front of everyone for asking me.  The cat had not even been locked up a year yet.   Didn't he know I had at least two more Christmas's to do.  Some cats had no respect. 

I didn't have to worry about getting jumped by a bunch of gangsters anymore , but had to worry about being snitched on instead.  I still had to pay attention to what everyone was doing all the time just for different reasons.  Getting snitched on was a ticket back to the ghetto.  That grip is maddening though.  The hyper-masculinity was just too strong in me still.  I couldn't be played for a chump.  I just couldn't let that happen. 

I was in that bay in the basement too, the penthouse, and with Roger at that.  Because of that the fear of being jumped was practically zero.  There was something like twenty guys in that bay.  Mostly passive white guys and non-gangster blacks.  The few gangsters that were in 7 House were kept upstairs nearer the guard’s desk.  When I first moved to 7 House it was a new program so they were gradually switching it all over.  Because of my job working for Stan, he got me moved there right from the get.  That job made me one of the more influential inmates in the whole prison.  I saw the most powerful civilians in the prison every day.  They talked to me, called me by first name, knew who I was.  It got me out of the ghetto.

The substance abuse house was full of drugs.  How the prison staff did not see that coming is beyond me.  Even more powerful than drugs though was that grip.  A joint the size of a toothpick is worth ten bucks.  Do you know how many toothpick sized joints can be rolled out of an ounce of reg?  A freaking quarter is potentially worth hundreds of dollars.  A quarter on the street is twenty five bucks, generally, if you don't know street culture.  It's lucrative if you remember having a hundred bucks is wealthy in prison.

I'm not kidding about getting beat up over a dollar.  You see, it's not really the dollar so much as it is the principle of the matter.  It's weakness to be owed money and not get it back.  It's an extreme sign of weakness.  If one person is allowed to slide on debt, next thing you know no one pays you back.  It's gangster mafia style.  It wasn't just cannabis that was lucrative.  All of it was. 

Let's say you went to another inmate because you were hungry and didn't have any ramen.  It's two for one.  That means if you get two packs of ramen from a guy, next commissary you own him four.  Now let's say something goes wrong, and the money your family sent you didn't make it to your books like you thought it would, and you can't get the four packs of ramen back to dude.  You now owe him eight.  If you don't pay him back next commissary, it's sixteen.  That doesn't stop until it’s paid.  The more one owes the more drastic the methods of obtaining the money.  I had seen more than a few get smashed over debt.  If gangsters could get a white guy in debt, he typically would stay in debt the remainder of his time in prison.  It was never ever wise to deal with grip and gangsters.

It was never a good thing to owe me either.  My bunky in 7 House owed me big.  He owed me over a hundred bucks.  It was close to two hundred actually.  I never doubled his debt either.  It was partly my fault for letting a guy get into my pocket that deep.  I was cutting him slack and not doubling it.  Doubling would have kept him in debt to me for his entire stay, and I just didn't want to deal with that.  I just wanted my grip back.  He kept telling me his family was sending him the grip.  Roger and I were getting impatient.  It was our stuff that this cat owed on.  Selling drugs in there is the same as it is on the street.  It's less stressful to sell a chunk to someone else and have them break it up.  Selling individual joints is much more risky and time consuming than just selling a quarter to a guy.  My bunky wasn't making good on his debt.  He was making us look bad.  We couldn’t afford to not be paid back.  Even worse, we could not afford to look bad. 

For over two weeks I was warning this guy.  I was giving him the opportunity to make good on it.  I was letting him know what's up.  He kept telling me that as soon as his family came for a visit he would have the grip.  Real cash is worth more than money on the books or commissary items.  This cat owed me mad grip, so I would gladly have taken cash.  I needed that grip.  He came back from that visit empty handed.  I quit talking to him.  He was my bunky though, so he had to deal with me or check himself in to the hole.  He was scared. 

The bay was the same as the rest.  Bunks down two walls with a wide walk way in the middle.  The same metal lockers, one between the bunks, one at the foot of the bunks.  Because of the transition to a substance abuse program there was some turn over.  There were a bunch of new cats in the bay.  Directly next to me, on the bottom bunk was a new guy.  He was fresh out of R&O.  It was literally his first day in general population.  I didn't even know his name.  Being in 7 House he couldn't have been a gangster or he would have been upstairs so I wasn't worried about him at all.

The guard comes downstairs at lights out to turn out the lights and make sure everyone is in their bunks, and then goes right back upstairs.  I waited about ten minutes, then jumped out of bed.  My bunky was lying flat on his stomach.  I grabbed the top of his head, using his hair to pull his head back.  I used my other hand to grab his neck, pulled him off the bunk and slammed him to the floor.  I was crouched over him letting him know he had one more week then it was going to be so sketchy he was going to have to check in. 

As I am doing this I looked over to my right and all I saw was two big white eyes.  It almost made me laugh even though I had this cat snatched up.  This black guy is lying there as wide eyed as could be.  Poor guy had no clue what was going on at all.  He had to of been scared shitless.  His first day in and this big white boy is slamming cats on the floor.  He never said anything.  Just laid there.  I really scared that dude bad, and didn't even mean to.  I wasn't thinking of him at all.  I needed that grip.  I laughed for a long time whenever I would think of those big white eyes, not even two feet from me staring at me.  He wasn't in danger; he just didn't know it.

Next day I'm back in the hole.  Seven days later I was back out.  That in and of itself was glorious.  Turns out the blacks in the house snitched on me to get the big white boy out of the house.  They hated me even more when they didn't have the majority numbers.  Cut throat.  It was just like I said.  I didn't have to worry about getting jumped by a bunch of gangsters on upper hill.  I had to worry about being snitched on.  Those cats were just using that white boy I slammed and that was probably why he couldn’t pay me back.  He was more scared of the blacks than he was of me.  He was in their pocket too. 

When I was in the hole I was informed that because no guard saw what happened they couldn't prove anything, but what they could do was keep me in the hole indefinitely on investigation.  If I would just admit to it I could get out the same day.  No brainer.  I told them I did it, and I was out of the hole a few hours later.  What they didn't tell me at that time was that I would not be going back to 7 House.  Punking out that white boy earned me a spot in 5 House.  I went from the most peaceful house to the most chaotic. 

5 House was fifty man bays.  Big long rooms with bunks all the way down the walls barracks style.  There were seven white boys in B bay when I got there.  Only two of them stood up for themselves, so basically there were three of us.  The blacks ruled that house, top to bottom.  Even the guards acted differently while in that house. 

First thing out of the hole I had to call Rachel.  From her perspective I just went missing for a week.  She had no idea what was going on.  Soon as I got my locker put in place I was in the rec room using the phone.  It was just a small room at the front of the bay where the steps leading out were.  Had some seats and a TV.  The wall where the steps were was all glass so the guards could kind of see what was going on.  As I was talking on the phone four gangsters came in, sat down, and just mugged me.  They just sat and stared at me while I talked.  Apparently new white boys had to ask permission to use the phone.  Those gangsters were yet to learn I wasn't that kind of white boy.

I knew as soon as they said 5 House I wasn't going to be sleeping much for at least a week.  The way those cats tried to intimidate me in the rec room I figured I was guaranteed to have to fight.  My new bunkies name was Cali Cal.  He worked in laundry.  He'd been down for a minute.  He had a lot of clout in gangland.  I didn't know any of these cats at all though.  I kind of knew one of the white guys they called Slick.  Trust me, he earned that nickname too.  They did not call him Slick for no reason.  He was a big ass white boy too.  He wasn’t going to help me though without my proving myself either.  Wasn't just the blacks that tested new cats.  First night in, I slept with my boots on. 

Soon as the lights went out and the guard climbed the short set of stairs leading out  the bay, Cali Cal started calling out to others.  He said, "You all ready?"  From across the bay, "Let's do this dog, let's roll."   I was trying to make sense of the gangster speak.  They were talking shit.  My heart was pounding.  I was geared up and ready to go.   

Dude turned on some music, then one of them started singing.  Turns out it had nothing to do with me.  They were talking about listening to music after lights out, but using such crazy slang to express it I thought I was about to get jumped.  The rec room thing was just to see if I would act scared.  Gangsters are always looking for scared white boys to prey upon.  I wasn't scared in that way.  I never showed fear.  It was just the social organism feeling out this new person, testing and prodding.  I'm sure the rumors of me got around via their social networks, so those cats already knew about me to a certain degree.  They would have talked to their people in 2 House.  In terms of gang activity 2 House didn't have shit on 5 House, but they still would have been asking their boys what was up with me.  There were more than a few gangsters who would vouch for my being legit for a white boy. 

Those cats were always fighting amongst themselves in 5 House.  The guards had no clue how to separate various gangs, or even which ones were fighting with each other.  They were clueless.  Crypts and Bloods, this street vs. that street, KC vs. St. Louis.  The only ones who really knew what was up were the gang members themselves.  Even I was never able to figure it all out and I was trying.  I was all the time talking to certain gangsters about the drama trying to figure it all out. 

In terms of my environment in 5 House; it sucked.  In terms of power; it was a huge move up.  It was pure notoriety.  It was a big move actually.  Not only did I become a rare white boy that gangsters didn't mess with, but they also respected me.  I was the guy who choked slammed someone for not paying up.  I got a lot of respect for not being racist.  I got all kinds of respect in gangland for that.  Everyone, who was someone, knew what was up after that. I even heard a parole officer say it.  If you don't get in fights in Booneville your somebody's punk, or you're a bitch.