Its 18:00, November 22nd of our complete flustercluck of a year, 2020. Covid isn't a new thing. We've been hammered about the face and ears with prophylactic protocols and PSAs for months now. Those with functioning brains and endurant hearts understand what it takes to remain safe these days. And yet…fatigue has finally had its way with us.
We’re being placed on quarantine. Again.
Now, you'd assume with the aforementioned, well-intentioned, and yes, much needed, bludgeoning, the Washington State DOC would be ready with functional, plug and play precautions and procedures ready to go *the moment* some poor sap gets labeled "plague monkey".
You, dear reader, would be mistaken.
Its 07:00, November 23rd, and nothing about this "quarantine" makes sense.
My unit is a minimum security one with two wings of sixty-four cells joined by an open air officer's station and universal entry. I'm on "A-Side". Each cell is occupied by two souls and is arrayed about a common area known as the day room.
This space contains twenty-three, 5-man tables, eleven phones, two Jpay kiosks, a like number of microwaves, a water and ice dispenser, a public use television, and access to our bathrooms.
Yes, you read that right, our bathrooms.
Minimum security units are furnished with what are known as 'dry cells'. For those of you fortunate enough to have never been incarcerated, this means there’s no running water or toilets in the two-man living space. Every sixteen cells shares two urinals, two toilets, four sinks, and three showers. Each is also within a few paces of our communal provider of ice and water.
But we can't use that.
We must port our water by the cup from the bathroom because the sinks aren't big enough to allow a pitcher under the tap.
I know, poor us. First world prison-problems and all.
But here's the rub: We can crowd the bathroom like a distant, lion endangered watering hole, but we can't gather water in an open, socially distanced space *designed* for it?
Better yet, "B-Side", you know, the one adjacent to "A-Side" via that open air officer's station I mentioned? Yeah, they're *not* on "quarantine" and the staff are interacting with residents of *both* sides. They’re walking between us, carrying things from one side to the other, hosts for whatever germs or viruses want to hitch a ride.
To be fair, Airway Heights really has done a decent job of keeping the Ms. Rona outside. They have. There's been a few scares. Two other units have suffered what were going through already, but as far as I know, no one who *lives* here has contracted the virus yet. The folks who work here, though, are a different story.
Two, closer to three, days ago a staff member who works at one of AHCC's many Correctional Industries tested positive for Covid-19 and possibly exposed about a dozen of, not just my fellow incarcerated individuals (yes, that's the PC term these days), but my fellow A-Side unit mates. My friends and neighbors.
Two, closer to three, days ago. Those potential plague monkeys did not pass "Go", they went from their job site straight to quarantine in a separate unit usually designated for housing flu victims...
Two, closer to three, days ago. So if they went straight to Jail and did NOT collect their $200, why is A-Side suddenly under quarantine?
Two, closer to three, days later?
It's 9:25, Monday and they're just now performing some perfunctory screenings.
Have you any symptoms? Temperature's at 98.5, and oh, your blood pressure is a bit high. Thank you? Is it any wonder? No one from admin has spoken with us. The staff haven't any more clue about what's happening than we do. All they know is they're supposed to sequester us. Keep us from the day room and all it gives access to, save the bathrooms of course.
"Toilet use only" is the catch phrase.
Another shining example of those first world prison-problems.
Really, the only true bother is the lack of phone access. I call my mate every day. Her voice is one of the few bright spots in my life and to say I dislike being even verbally separated from her is an understatement of epic proportions. For those wondering, our physical visitations were cancelled early on to limit the spread.
I can't call my sister, talk to my 14 year old guru of a niece or even take a shower at this point. I'd catch up on some much needed sleep if I wasn't worried I'd miss some vital announcement, but at least I've got the next two weeks off from work, right?
Hmm... Wait a minute... I won't have to work on Thanksgiving. For the first time in *years*. I won't have to spend eight hours converting bowling ball sized Butterballs into 6 ounce portions with an outdated, no longer automated meat slicer. I won't have to watch my fingers like a hawk while struggling to balance said slicer on a too small table that has *wheels* for some unknowable reason. I won't have to pick turkey bits out of my boots for the next three days or balance on plastic sheeting, lubricated with fowl fat in effort to spare the *concrete* of my makeshift abattoir.
I can have dinner with my friends!
Well, at least one of them.
I shouldn't complain. I shouldn't be annoyed. I'm currently healthy and safe. I've got coffee, WiFi, a functioning tablet, and my buddy to hunker down and play nerd games with when I get tired of sleeping. But its difficult to feel thankful when they pass out masks as remedy and comfort. They've been doing that for *months*.
I've *bundles* of masks. All *kinds* of masks.
What I want, is for the people who work here to wear them when they're *not* here so none of us have to worry about telling our loved ones we can't call them because someone hasn't a functioning brain or an endurant heart.
We incarcerated individuals have understood isolation and separation for a very long time, something many in the outside world are just now getting a tiny spoonful of.
Now we are getting your spoonful, too.
I'll be chewing carefully. It's a lot to swallow.