Greased lightning

No... This has nothing to do with show tunes, Olivia Newton, or John Travolta.  It has to do with my visa... It came... Jumpin Jesus on a pogo stick that was fast!  I sent in my COE 1st day priority mail from UPS with return shipping on Tuesday, which was picked up around 4pm.  Fortunately I could ship it using my works account for a huge discount.  It was shipped back today (Thursday) and arrived at noon.  When I got it, I was expecting that I was missing something, because it got there on Wednesday morning and shipped out later that day...  But it was all there.  Its a really cool laser sticker with all kinds of security wing dings on it... There is a massive difference from my working Visa from 2001... Which was just a stamp...

I just sent a scanned copy of the visa, so the ball is in their court.  They said it will probably be August-ish for me... but we will see...

to do list

Time: Monday afternoon
Music: Miles Davis... So what.
Blogging is so incredibly new to me, and I really don't know its in and outs.  The google layout is pretty self explanitory, but there are so many little things that aren't...  I have a feeling I am spending way too much time on this, but I have to admit that there is an addictive edge to all of this.

Getting ready for Japan is a bit of a nightmare too.  I will be sending my documentation to the Consulate tomorrow via UPS, but there are other things I need to pay attention to. 
1) I need to get my commission work done.  I have been fairly slack ass about it, and quite unmotivated.
2) I need to get pension info together to send to Japan, so I can get started with that whole system once I get there.
3) I need to start sorting out what is going to get taken and what is going to get trashed.
4) I need to make an emergency sheet for my parents, including all my account information and passwords.
5) I need to arrange for medications to try and control my wild ass blood sugar, and figure out how this will work once it runs out.
6) I need to do the laundry... like now...

Damn... I have a headache now...

Being a Ronin part V

Time: Sunday evening
Music: Iron Maiden...The prophecy

In August 2001, I moved to Japan with NOVA and lived in Goi, which is in Ichihara-shi, in Chiba prefecture.  Like I have mentioned in previous posts, Goi had alot of illegal activity going through it.  The difference between illegal activity in Japan versus illegal activity in the US is that criminals go after criminals.  From what I understand, the Yakuza have pretty strict guidelines regarding messing with regular people.  When it comes to gaijin, we may as well be on different planets.  I didn't know it at the time, but my favorite bar was run by the wife of a high ranking Yakuza.  Running the gaijin bar was a kind of a side project for her, and when she would come, she would always come with her body guard; a guy with 3 fingers on one hand a running suit and a bit of an attitude. We all just called her Mamasan.  Mamasan used some kind of crazy, outdated colloquialisms in her Japanese, but she had an odd affection for me.  As it turns out, the Yakuza are very superstitious, and I when I was drinking there, business was good... hence, I was her lucky charm.  She was always pretty nice to me, and even tried to hook me up with her daughter... a 17 year old drop out to whom Mama bought some kind of boutique for her to run as a business.  I politely declined.

One night after work, I went directly to The Phoenix, and was having a pretty good time there.  As usual, they had 6 TVs going on at the same time... but then again it was a sports bar.  Most of the Flower mansion crowd was there, and at that time I was the only American.  One guy, a Kiwi, who was one of the biggest drunkards I have ever met, went on and on about how he hated Americans.  I just sat there and listened to him prattle on his venom.  I bought him another beer, and he said I was an exception to the rule.  I really liked that guy...  Soon, one of the bartenders started to tell me how there was some kind of accident in New York, and a building was on fire.  He turned a couple of the TVs to the channels showing it live... And that is when I watched the second plane hit the world trade center.  I just stared at the TV for the next few hours in disbelief while others made comments around me.  The Australian guy was starting to be a real prick.  "America is under attack, man!" he said as he was giggling and bouncing around... I really wanted to smash his skull through with a mug at the time, but I was still in shock, and that level of violence has never been in my character.  My British roommate said to me "Now you know how we felt, getting bombed."  It wasn't in a mean way, and the way he actually said it was kind. For the next few weeks, all my students would always ask me if I had family in New York.  It actually got irritating after a while, but they were trying to be nice and they were generally concerned. 

The view outside my front door in Kisarazu.

After the second year, I had become an old hand at NOVA.  Most people would stay for a little less than 1 year, get frustrated with Japan, and leave.  There were two others that were really long timers there however.  An Australian and a Canadian; both charisma men.  If you have never heard of a charisma man, google it and you will be very entertained.  In short however, its a guy who can not get women in his own country but when he comes to Japan, he starts to get dates fairly easily just based on his personality.  Eventually a charisma man begins to get an overly inflated ego of himself, and begins to think they are the center of the universe.  They were both interesting characters, but each had a very warped view on women.  One in particular would often tell me it was very easy to "bully" your way into a relationship.  I have to admit, in Japan I found dating much simpler than in America.  I never did go to the Charisma man extreme though.  I was very lucky though to meet a wonderful woman while in Goi.  Not as a girlfriend, but as a mentor.  She was an older Japanese teacher and I went to her class at least 4 times a week in the beginning.  Her name was Reiko, and we became good friends.  I often called her my Japanese mother.

drunk charisma man... and Japanese girl trying to get away.  He was a funny guy though.

I stayed in Goi for roughly a year and a half, until I moved to Kisarazu.  I actually was working in Kisarazu most of the time, so I thought that the move would be better.  Living in the Flower Mansion was fun for a while, but the magic was soon gone.  The really fun people had moved on, and in their place came people I really had nothing in common with.  The culture in that building had shifted, and I got tired of the non stop shuffle of roommates.  Reiko helped me with finding a place, and I really liked it there.  My salary was also really good at NOVA, and I lived by myself in a 2DK apartment.  This time truly by myself, and it was a good run while I was there.  I really felt at home in Kisarazu, and just down the street was a Don Kihote, where I was a regular.  What I really loved about Kisarazudont know why.

Hard to see, but that little cloud looking thing is Mt. Fuji.  Its just a low rez pic of my route home

Over time, I did everything that NOVA offered in the way of training courses, and I was pretty popular with the students, but I saw how the Japanese staff treated students, and that bothered me.  Once they had the students money, they treated them like cattle.  As long as they kept getting new contracts and renewals, nothing else mattered, so I quit...  Not before I got another job with another company... A company that was well known for a place that readily hired former NOVA teachers.  That company was Interac... That is another story...

The visa progresses...

Time: Sunday afternoon
Music: Kasabian....  Test transmission

Taking a break from my 'Being a Ronin' series for a visa update.  My wife did the paperwork for the visa in Japan and submitted it on March 7th.  Of course, that massive earthquake hit a few days later and delayed it a little. She called back to immigration a few months later to see if there was any significant delay, but all they would say was that the Certificate of Eligibility would take approximately 3 months.  3 months and 1 week later, I have the COE in hand.  The next step was to drive to Atlanta, pay the fee, and do all the application work.  I took the time off of work a week beforehand and began to prepare.  It turns out all the information and forms are on the web.  I was trying to do things the same way I did them in 2001, but time progresses on.  I called the Japanese consulate in Atlanta just in case however and they told me that everything can be done by mail... but they told me a million times that they would not be responsible if it was lost in the mail.  So what I need to send is the visa application, 2 passport photos, a waiver of liability for sending things in the mail, and my COE.  They made it clear that its really important that I sign the passport, as that is a cause of a lot of denials.  To this I have to provide return postage as well. Fortunately, for a US citizen, there is no visa fee. 

Its great news since I dont have to make a 4 hour pilgrimage to Atlanta, hang out for an hour, and spend another 4 hours driving home.  Now... will I go into work tomorrow?  I doubt it....

Being a Ronin part IV

Time: Definitely Sunday morning
Music: Pink Floyd... The gunners dream


What the hell does all this have to do with a Ronin?  It has more to do with my hopping from job to job, and it seems to describe my past hops pretty well.  Finally here is the final repost, and it was when I was in the process of waiting for a position at NOVA.

Presque isle in Marquette, Michigan.  My favorite place in the world

The time has almost come for me to move out of my apartment. I am not sure if I am going to miss this place, or if I just hate moving. Its probably a little bit of both. I have sold lots of things that I can’t take with me; Mostly hobby things. Its so hard to get all of this money together to leave, but it seems like it would be worth it. NOVA has a deal for a one way ticket to Japan for about $870. I wish I knew where they where going to have me assigned, but all I know, is that it will be somewhere in the Kanto region. Originally, when asked what cities I wanted to live in, I put down: Kyoto, Chiba, Yokohama, and Tokyo. I am hoping for Chiba, since I hear its more countryside than city, and that is what I like. My first choice was Kyoto, but the recruiter said that he had openings in every school except in Hokkaido, Okinawa, and Kyoto. My money is that I will be placed in Chiba. I hate guessing though.
What do you think I am doing in this 3 month interim between jobs? After that hell on Earth I went through,  I am officially on a 3 month vacation. Its hard for me to describe, but working at the SC home for boys was like being alone in the dark for 2 years. The sky always seemed to be gray, I slept too much, and I did not want to ever do anything. Believe it or not, but most of the time on my days off where spent worrying about going back to work. After quitting, and being gone from work for about a week, it felt like the blood in my veins started circulating again. I felt alive again.
I responded in about a few days after being accepted by NOVA, and officially took the position. I mailed them the proper documentation, and within a few weeks, they sent me a package on what region they will have me work in, what to bring, so on and so forth. They also told me that they have shipped my documentation to Japan, and I should get everything in order about 2 to 3 weeks before I actually leave. I should be practicing my Katakana and Hiragana, but I have been incredibly lazy.
One of the things I have planned is to go up to the upper peninsula of Michigan. My father grew up there, and I went to college there for 2 years. I used to go there every summer when I was a kid, for the fourth of July. I am glad that I am going to get this chance to go, because word is, that my grandfather has just gotten lung cancer and my grandmother is going blind. My grandparents are perhaps the most stubborn people I know though. I heard my grandmother couldnt see well enough to cut her own food, but she drove to church on Sunday. Stubborn....
Life in the Upper Peninsula (UP) is almost ritualized, especially during the month of July. The UP is part of disappearing America, the town Ishpeming in particular, where my Grandparents live. Every friday the VFW has a fish fry, which is very popular, and is actually a big draw. The morning of the 4th of July there is that small town parade that my grandfather adores, and then that night there are fireworks. The only problem is that it doesnt get dark in the UP until 11pm that time of year.

All things considered... I am glad that I got my last chance to say goodbye.

Post script 2011...  My grandfather did pass away shortly after I had left for Japan.

Being a Ronin part III

Time: Same as the other Ronin posts
Music: Pink Floyd... Time
OK... This one only has cursing in it, but nothing of a political nature.  I am posting this one because I found it really funny... But that just might be me.

About every decade or so, the National Guard sends its troops to the desert for war games, and it was now our turn. The whole battalion took charter buses to a secluded portion of Greenville airport. All of us where armed with all kinds of weapons… M16A2 Assault rifles, and all sorts of knives, bayonets, and even machetes. When we arrived, about half a brigade of troops where already there, and a great green line of soldiers formed up in massive formations, ready to board either the 747, or two 737s’. It was an awesome site to see so many in uniform in one place like that.

The dustbowl

The weather there was hot and really humid. On top of it all, my sinuses where acting up, or so I thought… It later turned out to be a full- fledged flu. I crammed into the 747, and made sure to get myself a window seat (my favorite seat to fly in). I slowly became more feverish as the flight progressed, and by the time we landed in some secluded, shut down airfield, I was sick as hell. From there we took a bus ride to the base, and arrived at the base around 4 in the morning. I could hardly stand up by this point, but I did anyway, as collapsing probably would have made it more difficult for me in the long run. We where eventually crammed into a room, where our fearless leader… General Dumas, stood, holding a flag of South Carolina in one hand, and a flag bearing our unit crest in the other. This guy looked, talked, and acted like Ross Perot. He gave the expected "We are going to kick ass" kind of speech. Everyone was tired, and no one cared what this prick had to say. We where quickly assigned our area to bunk in. It turns out that our areas where not barracks, but long shed like structures roughly about 10 meters wide and 40 meters long, with only a roof in case it ever rained there I suppose. We passed by the High ranking officer’s air-conditioned trailers, to our area. The one thing that really annoyed me about this situation, was that it was located 300 meters away from the closest bathrooms. It was always very dusty there, and a permanent haze of cigarette smoke plagued the site. In addition, at night, giant floodlights glared down on all of us, so that it felt like we where sleeping in a football stadium. The whole area was aptly named "The dust bowl".  We where given uncomfortable cots and told to deal with it. To be honest, it was more comfortable to sleep in the dirt once we where on maneuvers, and "in the box."

Desert Ice cream

We got maybe 3 hours sleep before we woke up to the blazing sun, which had cleared the nearby mountains by 7am, and was almost in mid sky. We immediately set to work on our Bradleys’ (Infantry carrying tanks). It did not take long for me to develop heat exhaustion in combination with my flu, while working on the Bradley. It was hard to walk in that state, and I must admit that the environment seemed surreal those first few days. One of the more humorous things that happened was the fact that the army let ice cream trucks into the motor pool, were they sold ice cream at greatly inflated prices, and where always bought out by overheated soldiers.  I am sure those ice cream sellers can retire after just selling ice cream to us.  Each Bradley was tasked to have a load large crates full of equipment, loaded into it.  Most of the day was being spent doing 15 minute maintenance checks, but most of our day is wasted just hanging out inside the Bradleys.  Its not bad hanging out inside the Bradleys other than the boredom, but its not a good idea to be directly in the sun.  Its amazing how fast the sun will suck the energy out of you, and overheat you if your directly in it.  It is also very hot, and sometimes very windy...  Although wind is better than nothing, it is a hot wind, and throws dust everywhere.  There are so many dust devils all over the place.  These are not small ones either, these things look like small tornadoes and shoot dust hundreds of feet in the air.  Most of them average about 10 meters in diameter.
My Bradley crew consisted of the Platoon leader, 1^st Lt. Frost as the Bradley commander (BC), the gunner, Sgt. Hollis, and a back up gunner, Sgt. Frasier, since Frost would have to occasionally jump out of the Bradley to lead the dismounted Infantry in attacking the objective. And finally myself, as the driver. As it turned out, Frasier mostly took up space during the whole of NTC. The crew next to us, was a very motivated crew who used to make up the core of the old self- starting soldiers. Among them was the driver Dutch, their BC SSgt. Rains, and their gunner Murphy. Murphy was a Phillip- Morris poster boy, and made sure to bring 4 cartons of Marlboros’. Unfortunately, Murphy and Dutch where trying to quit. This group was effectively the 3^rd in command. The 2^nd Bradley in Command was our platoon sergeant, SFC Arnold, A squat man, that was the spitting image of Gary Coleman, and a Napoleon complex a mile long. His gunner was an amiable, but rather abused southern boy named Green. I liked him, despite his born again Christian zeal and preaching, and felt generally bad that Arnold gave him all the shitty details he could think of. Arnold’s driver was a dopey, gold toothed kid, who stood around with, what to me, looked like a drunken grin, and laughed like Scooby doo. He was part of the good old boy clique that was discussed previously, and annoyed the shit out of me by merely existing. He wasn’t a bad kid I suppose, I guess I disliked what he was a part of more.
While we where in the dust bowl, the gas attack alarm went off, so we dropped what we where doing and suited up in our NBC uniform. The NBC suit consists of a charcoal lined suit, large rubber over boots, and almost arm length rubber gloves. The suit as a whole adds about 20 degrees of heat since the whole damn thing isn’t meant to breathe. The temperature was already 110 degrees as it was, so the heat was excessive. After nearly an hour, Murphy and Dutch figured out how to rig the gas mask so they would be able to smoke. It was quite a sight to see smoke fill up the eye pieces of the mask, then again, that is what made those two entertaining to watch. When I came out of the suit, the charcoal liner had burst, and I was covered from head to foot with soot. I get out of the suit as quickly as possible, and stomped off to the showers 300 hundred meters away, black as midnight, and for a moment a star, as everyone laughed at took pictures. I was a good sport about it though, as it is must have looked very silly.

smoking in full gear

Eventually, the war games began, and to no surprise, most of our equipment failed because of their old age and ragged. While I was driving, it was always funny to hear Frost in the turret "Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! This god damned piece of shit, radio! It won’t send! Mother Fuckin’ piece of shit!" One time, the whole transmission tore itself to pieces, and stranded us in the middle of the desert for 48 hours. Frost hitched a ride with another Bradley, and Hollis, Frasier and I where left on our own, with a dwindling supply of water. The temperature during the day rose to 120 degrees during the day, and almost boiled the water we had stored. This is when I learned that if you drink hot water on a hot day, it makes you gag. Eventually we saw a truck carrying water and ice heading our way. We began flagging it down, but it was intent to pass us by. At that point we became desperate, and ambushed the truck. I stood in front of the truck and yelled at the driver, while Hollis and Frasier lept in the back and grabbed the water and ice. The driver of the truck was plenty displeased, and told us that he was going to report us. I yelled out my name to him, and told him to fuck off. I knew that if he told the brass, they wouldn’t do anything about it, because it was their fault that they left us stranded for 2 days with no supplies, even when the mandated that every soldier to drink lots of water.
Our Bradley eventually got towed to a maintenance point, where it was overhauled for 4 days. Frasier and I had the dull duty of staying in the rear and watching over the busted up Bradley. When we returned to the unit, we found out one of our missions was scrapped because of the Battalions 75% mechanical failure rate. Higher up was really pissed off, but they should have expected it from the 2^nd hand, over-worn equipment. We set up our position 50 meters away from Rains’ Bradley, and when they lowered their ramp to come out and question us, a giant cloud of cigarette smoke billowed out from the vehicle. So much for Rains and Dutch’s attempt at quitting smoking… As usual, Murphy corrupted them all. 2 days later he ran out of cigarettes, and became very jumpy. Even the very professional Sgt. Rains, nerves where beginning to fray from the lack of nicotine. After 4 days of no smoking and short tempers, Murphy found a guy selling Newports at the fueling depot. He bought a few cases at an very high rate, and complained about how nasty they where everytime he smoked one, but he smoked them all none the less, and this time was more careful about letting his crew-mates bum one or two. I guess if you got to have one, then you got to have one.
Our active duty opponents cheated constantly, and would often, not have placed the sensors which made this war game possible, on their vehicles. So when we shot our lasers at them, nothing would happen. I guess it didn’t matter too much, since our laser stopped working, seconds into the fight, causing Frost to lose it again "What the fuck! Now the fucking MILES won’t work? What the hell is this!?! Piece of fucking shit! Great… The god damned radio is out again!" I could hear him pounding the hell out of the radio from my remote location in the driver’s compartment. Then he would yell at me "I want you to drive up to their location, get out, and start throwing rocks at them… After all, that’s all they are fucking giving us!" I often felt bad for Frost, since he was platoon leader, he had to siphon down the orders to us from the Captain. What made that screwy, is that no one above company level knew what was really going on. This usually gave us a false sense of mobilization when we would actually be waiting around, doing nothing, or training for the wrong thing.
                            There where times though, where I could admire the desert.  I hate the heat a great deal, but it seemed that a part of my soul was native to the desert.  The skys where so blue, and the wind in my face made me feel free.  There where times when I was on a ridge, that I felt like I need only will myself to grow wings, fly away, and live here... Never needing to eat or drink again.  Let me stress the heat though.  It isnt like you can find any shade in the desert, and the only shade we could find where in the Bradleys'.  When we would stop for a while, we would lower the trim vein on the front, and lay plywood over it, to create a shaded area under the Bradley.  Staying cool was the priority.

Near the end of NTC, after all the engagements where done, all of which we lost, we began our environmentally friendly task of walking the desert, picking up any trash we found, which was very little. It was a horrendous task, which belonged to the dismounted infantry. The dismounts came up two people short due to injuries, so Arnold gave the detail to the people he liked the least… Green and I. As I expected, it was an infamous cluster fuck I came to expect from the guard. The whole thing was run by the Command sergeant major, who in his zeal, forgot to arrange for us to have enough water. The detail would last all day, and the water ran out in 2 hours. It was extremely hot, hotter than usual, and many men where passing out from the heat. The request went to the sergeant major to get more water, but he refused, and said "They are just being pussies." No body liked the Sergeant major. One of the sergeants I knew who was a police officer in the real world, made a special mental note to get a real good look at the Sergeant majors car when we got back. I hope he did.
The last days, we quickly turned in our equipment, and collected our things, ready to board the awaiting bus. On our way out, we went back into the large room, which we came in originally, and there stood General Dumas. Thank god he had no speech for us, but instead passed out little coins, which had our battalion crest on it. That coin quickly made its way to my junk drawer when I got home.
We got on the bus and headed toward the abandoned airfield again, and when we where about to board they put us in an abandoned hanger and told us that we would have to spend an extra night there, because the plane was too hot to fuel. Everyone had made plans to have people pick them up, and no way to contact them. The entire Battalion became very angry and the Company commanders, whose livelihood depended upon the men, became very nervous. Eventually, the captains came around, and convinced the airforce to let us land at another city and refuel.
It took us 4 hours to take off once on the plane. Our pilot was what looked like a TWA reject, whom we saw was having a lot of mixed drinks being served to him. On the good side, he floored it all the way to our refuel point. On the bad side, he wasn’t good at the landing bit, and we where tossed out of our seats on that landing. We got in Greenville at about 5am, and got to our armory, where our tired out rides where waiting for us, at about 7am. I was the first off the bus, ran straight off, and into my sisters car, and told her to gun it before they called a formation, or kept us there for a dumb reason. I got home an hour later, to find that my family came in and cleaned my apartment, and even bought me new sheets and a comforter… How nice of them. I got out of uniform, took a shower, and sat on the bed to see what it felt like. I woke up 14 hours later.

NTC put the G in Goatfuck.

Being a Ronin part II

Time: Late Saturday night/Sunday morning
Music: Jeff Buckly... Halelujiah

Next in this pretty raw series, is a look at my work for the Department of Juvenile Justice.  At the time I was calling it the SC home for boys...  I have this odd tendency to protect privacy when I can.  A note on this though, a lot has changed since then for that organization, as I unbelievably went back to work for them in 2006, albeit at a different location.  If the first 'Being a Ronin' post didn't offend you, then this probably will do the trick:

Of course during my military service, I graduated from the university of South Carolina with a BS, and got a job working as an officer for a prison for wayward boys in South Carolina. In particularly, ones who where arrested for drug and alcohol problems. The program started out well, but new and incompetent leaders where installed by the new governor as a political favour. Rehabilitation was now our goal, and punishment and public protection went to the wayside. All of this was not kiddy land, as you may expect, but where young junkies (one in particular who needed a hit so bad, stole a syringe and injected himself with urine), rapists, sexual offenders, thieves, arsonists… Young thugs who worshipped idols in the form of false hip-hop gods, and who where in general, uneducated, not particularly bright, and disconnected from any sort of empathy. I was amazed at how music affected these kids. I had always been one to say that music is a reflection of life, and had no affect on people… But once again that would be a lie. They mainly listened to Hip Hop and when they where listening to it… They became more violent. I even experimented with it once… We had taken away their walkmans, and made them listen to a radio controlled by the officers. One day I listened to older music, but stuff that was more acceptable… The Temptations, Al Green, Marvin Gaye… The good stuff. The reaction the kids had was almost happy, and serene. The next day, I played some more modern stuff that I knew they would like… Busta Rhymes, Cypress Hill, that sort of thing. The kids enjoyed the music of course, but it spiraled out of control. They became violent, and irate. I had to cut that little experiment off early, because I had to break up too many fights, and try and correct outrageous behavior.
After a while, the program became moderately successful. That was more due to the contact between working staff and children. Communication between the Officers, counselors, and social workers was also superb. The anti drug and alcohol unit, in essence, cut itself off from the policy of the campus, and discipline was handled in unit. The architecture also favored security, allowing kids to have there own rooms. Kids also where there on contract, allowed extra incentives if they could conform, even early release… But if you screwed up, you where either kicked out of the program, or began at the bottom again, possibly extending their sentence. Contact between other kids in other dorms was strictly limited, so the kids could not be swayed by the other criminals. The program became successful enough eventually though, that it was expanded and given its own campus…

Big mistake.

All officers, counselors, and other staff, who transferred, had to go to special training courses, to help counsel the kids. The classes where in fact very insightful, but with one major flaw… One outside presenter, who thought this all was an outpatient service, clearly told us all, that this program could not work, was flawed, and would have disastrous results. That was water off a ducks back…

The success of the old unit depended on maximum exposure between kids and staff, limited contact with other kids, and above all, a voluntary program. All of this went in the toilet, and was quickly trumpeted as an innovative step, from the new, vainglorious administrators. The program quickly broke down and in essence, ceased to exist, it just went through the motions. The administrators noticed this, and quickly turned their attention to the officers, whom they launched an immediate pogrom against.
Imagine a place where sexual assault happened everyday to female officers, where kids actively smoked, got high, fought, gambled, attacked officers, and nothing was done about it. That was the place I worked in. Female officers really had it bad, as the boys, who already fucked up their mind on drugs and booze, and where mostly going through puberty to boot, loved to pull out their dicks and masturbate in front of women. All this shit was swept under the carpet by administration in an effort to look good in front of their superiors. It was all about the illusion of safety, where none in fact existed. At most, kids who committed only the worst of offenses in the institution where punished. Most of the aforementioned crimes where only punished by a slap on the wrist, a small stint in the maximum security unit (most of them liked it there because they got to sleep more, and sometimes tried to go there), and possibly making them do a chore. They still ate 3 times a day, and had their snack and juice before going to bed. When they did eventually go home, most came back, went to adult prisons, mental institutions, or where killed. There was almost never a happy ending, and the lucky ones lived a life of drug addicted poverty and sought after mediocrity. 

My route heading to work passed over the freeway… I26 west. Maybe I should just get off the road and drive to San Diego. I had enough money… I could do it. So why didn’t I? The answer is obvious of course… I would be fired, I wouldn’t be able to pay my bills, and my credibility with potential future employers would turn to shit.
What an exquisite cage we build for ourselves. We have become slaves and indentured servants. There is actually nothing to stop me from being free, except the limitations that I placed on myself… I would not even be breaking any laws if I got on old I26 and headed west as far as I could… No one could stop me… save my own master and worst enemy… Myself.