From “The Human Condition: A User’s Manual,” by Arnold
Kunst
15 January
I remember a conversation I overheard during orientation
before I began my teaching job at California State PrisonSolano in Vacaville.
It was in the reception area; two buses had just arrived and two guys who got
off those buses clearly knew eath other. Here’s what I heard: “Hay, Bill, I
haven’t seen you since Folsom. What are you in for?” “No, Fred, it was San
Quintan. Parole violation; 18 months. What about you?” “I got a new beef. 18
months too.” “Oh, ok.”
What struck me was now casual all that sounded. Like, if
you’re, say, 37 you’re going to spend your 38th birthday in prison.
Trust me on this: there’ll be no cake, no candles, no family, no loved ones, no
gifts, no one telling you how glad they are that you’re on this planet. None of
that. That birthday is gong to be just another tasteless day watching your
fingernails grow - just like twenty bazillion other days before and after.
Unquestioned waste stretching out, beyond the furthest frontier. And because
it’s so unquestioned, the end of those 18 months isn’t going to make any
appreciable difference. Each of those guys will probably get out, but will be
back inside before the end of a baseball season.
Beating the odds takes more than the passage of those 18
months, trust me on that.
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