I took my place in line behind my cellmate for what he explained was mandatory breakfast. You were required to get up when the lights went on in the cell and go down into the chow hall and wait your turn in line while they dished up ”slop on paper plates.” The description in itself had me really excited about eating this morning!!

After having the runny tuna fish sandwich last night for supper, breakfast had to be better. As I looked down at the paper plate I took from the serving counter, I suddenly realized that the runny tuna fish sandwich probably wasn’t that bad after all.

“How the hell can anyone screw up scrambled eggs?” I muttered to my cell mate’s back.

“Hell, they can screw up hot water,” CJ muttered back.

Wordlessly, I followed CJ as we walked to the next available circular stainless steel table. It was conveniently bolted to the floor; the stools were bolted down as well.

Taking the plastic fork I stirred what was supposed to be scrambled eggs around on my plate. “What is the dark stuff mixed in with the eggs?”

CJ laughed. “They call it meat…you get used to it.”

I shoved the plate away. “I don’t plan on staying long enough to get used to any of this stuff.” The words that I had spoken in seriousness, evidently was taken as a joke as the rest of the guys that were at our table laughed at me. I could feel the heat flushing my face from embarrassment. I wanted to crawl under the table to escape their ridicule.

Quickly I became interested in the small carton of milk that came with breakfast. I had never been a big fan of milk or regular coffee for that matter but when that is all you get, you take what you get. Taking a big gulp I was quickly surprised when I was met with the nastiest sour-tasting milk I had ever tasted in my life! I immediately set the carton on top of the plate of my uneaten breakfast.

Today was already off to a great start!

“You should have gotten some toast,” CJ motioned to me with his piece of toast.

“I don’t like burnt toast.” For some reason anything I had said seemed to be the source of amusement for the rest of the men that sat at our table as they once again erupted in laughter.

Loud police whistles broke through the loud conversation from the inmates that had been eating breakfast. I noticed that the majority of the people that hadn’t finished eating were literally shoveling the remainder of their food into their mouths.

I followed CJ’s motions when he stood up and took his plate and plastic utensils with him and dumped it into the large garbage pail at the end of our new line. Once I had completed that task, my eyes caught sight of the clock mounted on the wall underneath heavy bars. It was only 5:00 a.m.

“Do they always wake us up at 5 am to eat breakfast?”

CJ smirked. “This ain’t the Hilton.”

“I guess so,” I mumbled as I looked around a larger area off from the chow hall. There were tables and seats just like those where we ate from, one of the tables had a computer that had obviously been bolted on top. “They let you surf the net?”

“Hell no, that is where you can go and put in your ID and order snacks, toothpaste, soap and stuff from the commissary. You pay from the money that family or your friends drop off at the front desk when they visit you or when you earn money from your job, they put it on your account.”

I narrowed my eyes. “A job?”

“Yeah. You know, they have you do shit around here like work in the library, janitorial stuff, work in the cafeteria and laundry,” CJ stated. “It’s stupid employment to earn roughly twenty-five cents an hour. If you’re lucky, you have rich friends that can keep your account full of money.”

As much as I wanted to repeat about not being in this place long enough to have to do a job, I kept my mouth shut. I had already been laughed at enough already.

Wordlessly, I followed CJ back to our cell, immediately laying down on my bed. Sleep would be the only escape from this hell! The shouting and loud laughter from the surrounding cells definitely would be making sleep difficult for anyone to get. It didn’t help that CJ was talking to someone standing outside of our cell .

**********

“Carter! Get up and come with me,” a massive guard bellowed as he stood next to my bed.

“Why?” I croaked as I looked up at the man. ‘Why can’t they let me try and get some sleep?’

“I didn’t ask you if you wanted to come, I’m telling you to come…get your ass up NOW.”

‘Pleasant guy,’ I thought to myself as I slowly sat up. These damn beds were so hard I swear I would never be able to sleep on a normal mattress when I leave this place. It would be too soft!

The guard was actually glaring at me while I slowly stood up.

”I don’t have all day!”

“Jesus, I’m moving as fast as I can,” I snapped. I finally had enough of this guy.

“You need to tone down that attitude Carter. We don’t treat inmates that like to be insubordinate very well. You will lose some privileges for this,” the guard said while he barked at me to hold my arms out.

“Insubordinate? What the fuck are you talking about?” I asked innocently. I had no idea what this guy was talking about.

The guard snapped the handcuffs onto my wrists harder than any of the other people had done previously. I don’t think this guy particularly liked me for some reason!

“Swearing Nick, you never swear at the guards, they don’t like you swearing at them,” CJ pointed out. “Right Dean?”

Dean?! CJ must know this guard by first name…..but I am not going to be in this place long enough to know anyone by their first names! That I was certain of!

”CARTER! Head on out the door!” Dean said as he jerked on my arm.

Damn…..I spaced out! I can’t keep pissing this guy off!

“Where are you taking me?” I asked quietly as I limped alongside the muscular guard.

“The Corrections Industry Director.”

Okay, this person has a long title but that still didn’t give me a clue where I was going and what this was for.

“For what?”

“You ask too many questions. Keep your mouth shut and just keep walking.”

Without any further words, the guy that CJ called Dean led me down probably 5 different halls which practically killed my leg and hip before we finally arrived outside a wooden door with a silver name plate with the name Preston G. Lindstrom, Phd, C.I.D. on it.

The guard knocked twice before someone on the other side told us to enter.

“Nickolas Carter,” the guard announced as he led me into the room. He then pushed my shoulder forcing me to sit on the chair in front of the large mahogany desk.

The older man behind the desk thumbed through a stack of folders while I sat there waiting, the only sounds in the room was the ticking of the large clock on the wall and the noise the metal links on the handcuffs made as I nervously moved my wrists trying to find a comfortable position.

Looking up at the clock I noted that it was now 6:45 a.m. Not that the time made that much difference in this place, there wasn’t too much else to do to hold my interest at the moment.

The man put a pair of reading glasses on when he pulled out what was more than likely my chart. “What skills do you have,” he asked as he looked up from the folder.

“What skills do I have?” I echoed. What the heck is he talking about?

“What did you do before you were incarcerated?”

This had my heart beating rapidly. INCARCERATED?

“I haven’t gone to court yet,” I squeaked. Quickly I cleared my throat and repeated my words.

“Yeah, but you’re in Hillsborough County Jail so therefore you are incarcerated. What did you do before you were incarcerated?” he asked again.

“I’m a singer,” I stated, not sure where this was going.

“I see,” the man replied with a smirk. He flipped through a few more pages and wrote hastily on one of the sheets and then quickly signed his name, handing it to the guard.

“Carter was insubordinate twice before he came to see you,” the guard announced as he took the sheet of paper from the man.

I narrowed my eyes and shook my head. What a fucking narc!

The man flipped the chart open again, thumbing to another section. “Three days suspension from telephone,” the director said while he scribbled a note on the paper.

“Three days?!” I loudly protested.

“Five,” the man said as he crossed out what he wrote and updated the punishment.

“B-but I didn’t know I even had phone privileges,” I explained calmly.

The older man’s gaze met mine. “No one has explained policies to you?”

“I know I’m not in any position for you to believe me or not, but I am telling you the truth. No one has told me anything since I was brought back here after I was bailed out the first time. I haven’t talked to my attorney, I only had one phone call and I think that was on Sunday. I didn’t know I had any phone rights. I don’t know what my rights are at this point.”

The man’s gaze went from my face to the guard’s. “Officer Greene, when you take him back to his cell, I want you to bring Officer Tait down.”

“Yes Mr. Lindstrom.”

“I expect all of our inmates to know what is expected of them. It is hard to run an effective corrections facility if they do not know the policies and guidelines of their communities.”

I guess in a way I got this guard in trouble! That’s what he gets for narking on me! Asshole!

The director explained the policies and procedures of the county jail to me and explained what was expected of me while I was here. I lost interest in the policies and procedures crap; I was only interested in what my privileges were. I found out that I had rights: to the phone for a total of 15 minutes a day to be used between the hours of 9 am until 8 pm, a shower twice a week, clean uniform twice a week, outdoor exercise daily for an hour a day and the commissary to purchase basic needs that are not provided by the jail.

The one thing that was gross was that I would only be able to shower twice a week! The other gross thing was that I had to buy my own toiletries which brought me back to the realization that I had not only didn’t have toiletries but no money in an account to buy them!!

I thanked the director when he told me that he had rescinded my telephone suspension. All I had to do now was wait until 9 to call Brian and find out why I’m back here….