| Dream Scarlett Joe Hanson Prison |
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| Written by OG | |
| Saturday, 19 May 2007 | |
| Dream. Was at a bookstore with some dream friends. I was flirting with Scarlett Joe Hanson, or the like. Apparently there was some big drama going on her life, that I decided to rescue her about. Another friend was there and something occurred that involved a stolen car, reckless driving, stolen books and property damage. No one was killed, but the severity of my actions made me a criminal. The manager of the store wanted to arrest me, Scarlet for book theft and our friend for being an accomplice. The police, graciously, allowed us to go home for the weekend. Monday, we decided to take the books back like it was just a return of purchased merchandise. We forgot all about the criminal activity of the Friday before. While waiting in line to return the books, a small bug started flying around us, viciously zooming into our faces, behind the counter, over the cash register, I caught it. Upon examination, the insect was actually a remote controlled flying camera. The technology amazed me. I wanted to speak to the owner of the machine and find out how they made such a small little wizardry. I spoke into the bugs face. ‘Hey, who owns this? Come out from wherever you are. This thing is cool.” From the employee’s only door a squad of cops burst out. They arrested the manager for embezzlement, and reminded us it was time to go to jail. We had forgot about our obligation to the law over the weekend. We stared at one another woefully as the handcuffs were put on and we were escorted away in shame. I tried to rationalize that my actions had been honorable and worth it. I received an eleven year sentence. The worth of my actions quickly disappeared, but I hung on to the brief memory of reckless nobility as it was the only hope I had. The jailers took me to prison. Off the bus and in the cafeteria, thugs, my new brethren abounded. Women were there as well, but were criminals. At least it was a unisex prison. The guards showed me my tray of slop and said, “Enjoy” as they took off the handcuffs. One large fellow with a pock marked face stood to offer me a chair and the food. It looked gross. Hunger had not over taken my memory of fine dinning yet. “Thanks, but I’m not hungery.” A tension of violence and disrespect grew. I didn’t know if I was supposed to take the food, or not take the food. Was he just testing my spine? Was I man enough to stake my claim and position with in the prison world? In prison, who eats and who doesn’t is a game of position, status and strength. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.” The burly man said and sat across the table, leaving my plate of slop alone. He was actually being gracious. His friend, another large man with broken teeth and face that had beaten many times, watched my indecision. I made my first mistake in two minutes. Damn. I said, “Fella’s it looks delicious, but…” “Easy on the vocabulary, Pierce.” The broken face man said. Yes, I thought. I always wanted to be Hawkeye Pierce from Mash. That should become my prison nickname. Pierce. The dream ended and I was left with the feeling that ten minutes of stupid chivalry for a beautiful woman were not enough to go to jail for eleven years. |
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