PRISON

Tuesday, September 8, 2009

M. contemplates what life in a women's prison is like.

M: "I could tan in the yard so my pale skin won't clash with the orange prison outfit. I could work out and get buff. YES! Jake, after 12 years, when I'm 95 years old and I get out of prison, I'll have perfect teeth and I'll be buff!"

J: "Who wants an old buff woman with orange leathery skin?"

M: "Who doesn't?"

Sometimes M. and I argue like a married couple. More specifically, we argue like we're a married couple who should have gotten divorced two years ago, but we stay in the marriage for the arguments.

M: "We all need someone to argue with, Jake. Who am I going to argue with when you're not here? Our customers? Yeah right. I'd be all 'you're an idiot' and they'd be all 'why are you arguing with me?' and I'd have one phrase for them, one word, one name, and do you know what that name is? JAKE. And they'd say, 'Jake?' and I'd say 'yeah, Jake.'"

This is one of the many times during the day when I wish I could pull a magic wall over my cubicle opening. M. laughs as I pantomime pulling the side of my cubicle closed to block her out. Sometimes when she goes off like this I give her a blank stare. Then, after a few seconds, I frantically, yet subtly, look around for something, anything, to give my attention to.

M: "As long as I can take my shoes, I think I'm going to prison."