aaaiiieeeee! I lost a post!!! Now I found it!
Has this ever happened to you?? It was here last night! Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr
Found it! Thank you J.B., I owe you lunch -
(Originally written last weekend, about my first Thurs and Fri interviewing)
I wake up at 4:45am (boooooo), shower, try to eat, get to the bus stop at 6:10 to catch the 6:20 bus downtown. I’m thinking the bus ride will take an hour, per usual, and the walk from stop to PDO (Public Defender’s Office) about 15-20 minutes. However, due to the early morning hour, the bus takes twenty minutes. Surprise! So I have a nice little stroll around downtown, surprisingly busy already; I look in windows, poke around lit alleys, listen to the really really frightening screams of birds that live under the monorail, look at my watch. Ten minutes has passed. Surprise! It’s only 7:00. Not supposed to be at PDO till 8:00. Well! So I wander around the river, give myself a hearty, mind-of-its-own 'fro, and sit on a bench. Stare at the sky.
So Day One started off rather relaxing, but the jail was to prove a bit more stressful. Not because of the inmates, or the surroundings, but because the PD’s office assigned B to train me. I know B from school; we used to hang out some before he graduated. He is wonderful in many ways. But he hates his job. He chainsmokes like I have never seen. And he will stretch lunch from one hour to two without a second thought. Frankly, he’d just rather not work. So, he’s happy to hang out with me and talk about stuff, but we are on two totally different pages.
One of the Investigators gets me my paperwork and pass, explains the interviewing sheet, and gives me 4 interviews to get the day started. On Thursdays, I work from 8-2. It’s already 9:30. So B grabs me and we head out the back of the building, whereupon B lets me in on his little ritual. Now, I love B, but this boy smokes two cigarettes before we leave, we walk down to the jail, and then he smokes two more. This ritual does not budge.
We can’t take anything into the jail other than our metal binder (containing forms, paper, and pen), although I managed to sneak some Dr. Pepper lip gloss and a mint into B’s front pocket. I can already figure that B, bless him, is not going to be very helpful in explaining why we do certain things, so I’m hyper-aware at this point, trying to figure it all out.
We give our IDs to the CO (Correctional Officer) at the desk just inside the front entrance, who assigns us Special Visitor tags. We pin them to our blazers, walk to the left, through the metal detector, and a CO opens a bulletproof glass door, which opens out to a glass hallway. COs watch us in a sort of production booth, again shielded with bulletproof glass, the overhead lights in their booth dimmed and all sorts of little knobs, buttons, and screens softly lit up around them. I didn’t see it at the time (much to the COs later amusement), but B flashes the peace sign at them, indicating he wants Floor Two, and elevators opposite the production booth open to admit us, with the “2” button already lit up.
The elevators rise and open to a similar layout as the first floor: production booth behind bulletproof glass, holding usually three to four COs. We slide our Interview Roster through a slot and the receiving CO points to a door on our right, where we will see the “East” wing prisoners. B and the CO chat for a second while I look all around – gray-painted cinderblock walls, gray floor – then the CO suddenly pipes the Doobie Brothers’ “Black Water” through the speakers, all the COs and B get up and do a little dance, then a buzzer sounds, the East wing door unlocks, and B pushes us through. Kinda surreal.
The door opens to a longish gray hall of 5 glassed interview rooms. It deadends in a wall, and the other end is a sliding glass door through which the prisoners, once called, will enter. Apparently – and I’m still not too sure on this – the CO looks at the roster and calls the inmate’s name over the PA system, telling him or her that the PD’s office is here to see them. The inmates appear or do not – it’s up to them. Which is why we don’t interview from 11:30-12:30 of 4:30-5:30, when they’re eating; stealing food is the largest cause of fights, and no inmate will leave his food, even to talk with his attorney.
So we are to wait no more than ten minutes for the inmate to appear. Sometimes it’s the inmate’s fault, sometimes it the COs (on Friday I had one forget about me). But this time, this first interview, where I was to watch B demonstrate proper skills and procedure (hmm), the inmate was quite prompt. The interview room contained three metal stools, bolted down, and a table, bolted down. I leaned against the wall and B sat at the table. The inmate arrived, and people, let me tell you, he was the Baddie from Highlander’s younger brother:
It was so amazing. He spoke to B almost exclusively (I didn’t ask any questions), but would occasionally glance up at me when making a joke, or sheepishly when talking about what he was doing with his girl the night he was arrested. He had a certain way of moving and definite accent to him, but he seemed quite mature and I initially thought he was at least 8 years older than the Arrest Report stated.
He also had a very interesting tic: occasionally, absent-mindedly, he would suck back his spit. I wonder why he did this. It sounded like he was cold, and was breathing in too sharply because of it, but I knew this wasn’t the case. Did he have too much saliva at some point in his life for some reason, long enough to establish this as a habit? It was quite fascinating.
It occurred to me, then, that I was experiencing something I’d always wanted but never thought possible: this man, with his tattoos and near-shaved head, with all his pretenses, was the kind of someone I have always wanted to examine up close, but never could. I mean really, I am not going to visit the guy’s house, pull him aside, and tell him to go about his business, don’t mind me I’m just watching, while I look him over from head to toe, ears to shoes, watch his movements, note his speech patterns, whether he cleaned his nails or not. Whether he keeps his head up or down, sits with a slouch or straight back. Now, though, I finally get to see it.
What’s more; if I were to see him out in his hood, it would be with (as he put it) his shoes, car, and clothes, all of which were specifically designed to match. I’d be seeing this Guy+More, with all his headdresses and plumage, be seeing him as he wished to be seen.
But in this jail, I get to see him as he actually is.
No props. No distractions. Just a man, slouched over on a stool too small, arms folded across his chest, looking down.
He was a human being. He might have done something unlawful a few days ago, but he wasn’t a bad person. He wasn’t evil incarnate. He was just a man. Who shook my hand when he left.
Later, B will tell me that he didn’t take note of the guy’s height as he walked in, but definitely noticed it when he walked out. Taking a drag of his obligatory second cigarette outside the jail, he will say, “I thought he was a lot taller . . . He seemed taller.” And I don’t get the chance to interview anyone myself that day, or even see another interview in action, due to running around with B, but as I sit in my Thursday afternoon Happy Class (with fave philosophical Professor), I think to myself that the day really couldn’t have been any better.
Well okay, maybe less smoke. But that’s it.
And less hot sun.
Oh, and a shorter lunch. I’m really determined to not appear like I’m taking advantage of all this given-freedom (and we investigators have a ton of freedom – I’m not at all used to it). I really want to distinguish myself as someone who works hard, no questions asked.
Ce la!!
Found it! Thank you J.B., I owe you lunch -
(Originally written last weekend, about my first Thurs and Fri interviewing)
I wake up at 4:45am (boooooo), shower, try to eat, get to the bus stop at 6:10 to catch the 6:20 bus downtown. I’m thinking the bus ride will take an hour, per usual, and the walk from stop to PDO (Public Defender’s Office) about 15-20 minutes. However, due to the early morning hour, the bus takes twenty minutes. Surprise! So I have a nice little stroll around downtown, surprisingly busy already; I look in windows, poke around lit alleys, listen to the really really frightening screams of birds that live under the monorail, look at my watch. Ten minutes has passed. Surprise! It’s only 7:00. Not supposed to be at PDO till 8:00. Well! So I wander around the river, give myself a hearty, mind-of-its-own 'fro, and sit on a bench. Stare at the sky.
So Day One started off rather relaxing, but the jail was to prove a bit more stressful. Not because of the inmates, or the surroundings, but because the PD’s office assigned B to train me. I know B from school; we used to hang out some before he graduated. He is wonderful in many ways. But he hates his job. He chainsmokes like I have never seen. And he will stretch lunch from one hour to two without a second thought. Frankly, he’d just rather not work. So, he’s happy to hang out with me and talk about stuff, but we are on two totally different pages.
One of the Investigators gets me my paperwork and pass, explains the interviewing sheet, and gives me 4 interviews to get the day started. On Thursdays, I work from 8-2. It’s already 9:30. So B grabs me and we head out the back of the building, whereupon B lets me in on his little ritual. Now, I love B, but this boy smokes two cigarettes before we leave, we walk down to the jail, and then he smokes two more. This ritual does not budge.
We can’t take anything into the jail other than our metal binder (containing forms, paper, and pen), although I managed to sneak some Dr. Pepper lip gloss and a mint into B’s front pocket. I can already figure that B, bless him, is not going to be very helpful in explaining why we do certain things, so I’m hyper-aware at this point, trying to figure it all out.
We give our IDs to the CO (Correctional Officer) at the desk just inside the front entrance, who assigns us Special Visitor tags. We pin them to our blazers, walk to the left, through the metal detector, and a CO opens a bulletproof glass door, which opens out to a glass hallway. COs watch us in a sort of production booth, again shielded with bulletproof glass, the overhead lights in their booth dimmed and all sorts of little knobs, buttons, and screens softly lit up around them. I didn’t see it at the time (much to the COs later amusement), but B flashes the peace sign at them, indicating he wants Floor Two, and elevators opposite the production booth open to admit us, with the “2” button already lit up.
The elevators rise and open to a similar layout as the first floor: production booth behind bulletproof glass, holding usually three to four COs. We slide our Interview Roster through a slot and the receiving CO points to a door on our right, where we will see the “East” wing prisoners. B and the CO chat for a second while I look all around – gray-painted cinderblock walls, gray floor – then the CO suddenly pipes the Doobie Brothers’ “Black Water” through the speakers, all the COs and B get up and do a little dance, then a buzzer sounds, the East wing door unlocks, and B pushes us through. Kinda surreal.
The door opens to a longish gray hall of 5 glassed interview rooms. It deadends in a wall, and the other end is a sliding glass door through which the prisoners, once called, will enter. Apparently – and I’m still not too sure on this – the CO looks at the roster and calls the inmate’s name over the PA system, telling him or her that the PD’s office is here to see them. The inmates appear or do not – it’s up to them. Which is why we don’t interview from 11:30-12:30 of 4:30-5:30, when they’re eating; stealing food is the largest cause of fights, and no inmate will leave his food, even to talk with his attorney.
So we are to wait no more than ten minutes for the inmate to appear. Sometimes it’s the inmate’s fault, sometimes it the COs (on Friday I had one forget about me). But this time, this first interview, where I was to watch B demonstrate proper skills and procedure (hmm), the inmate was quite prompt. The interview room contained three metal stools, bolted down, and a table, bolted down. I leaned against the wall and B sat at the table. The inmate arrived, and people, let me tell you, he was the Baddie from Highlander’s younger brother:
It was so amazing. He spoke to B almost exclusively (I didn’t ask any questions), but would occasionally glance up at me when making a joke, or sheepishly when talking about what he was doing with his girl the night he was arrested. He had a certain way of moving and definite accent to him, but he seemed quite mature and I initially thought he was at least 8 years older than the Arrest Report stated.
He also had a very interesting tic: occasionally, absent-mindedly, he would suck back his spit. I wonder why he did this. It sounded like he was cold, and was breathing in too sharply because of it, but I knew this wasn’t the case. Did he have too much saliva at some point in his life for some reason, long enough to establish this as a habit? It was quite fascinating.
It occurred to me, then, that I was experiencing something I’d always wanted but never thought possible: this man, with his tattoos and near-shaved head, with all his pretenses, was the kind of someone I have always wanted to examine up close, but never could. I mean really, I am not going to visit the guy’s house, pull him aside, and tell him to go about his business, don’t mind me I’m just watching, while I look him over from head to toe, ears to shoes, watch his movements, note his speech patterns, whether he cleaned his nails or not. Whether he keeps his head up or down, sits with a slouch or straight back. Now, though, I finally get to see it.
What’s more; if I were to see him out in his hood, it would be with (as he put it) his shoes, car, and clothes, all of which were specifically designed to match. I’d be seeing this Guy+More, with all his headdresses and plumage, be seeing him as he wished to be seen.
But in this jail, I get to see him as he actually is.
No props. No distractions. Just a man, slouched over on a stool too small, arms folded across his chest, looking down.
He was a human being. He might have done something unlawful a few days ago, but he wasn’t a bad person. He wasn’t evil incarnate. He was just a man. Who shook my hand when he left.
Later, B will tell me that he didn’t take note of the guy’s height as he walked in, but definitely noticed it when he walked out. Taking a drag of his obligatory second cigarette outside the jail, he will say, “I thought he was a lot taller . . . He seemed taller.” And I don’t get the chance to interview anyone myself that day, or even see another interview in action, due to running around with B, but as I sit in my Thursday afternoon Happy Class (with fave philosophical Professor), I think to myself that the day really couldn’t have been any better.
Well okay, maybe less smoke. But that’s it.
And less hot sun.
Oh, and a shorter lunch. I’m really determined to not appear like I’m taking advantage of all this given-freedom (and we investigators have a ton of freedom – I’m not at all used to it). I really want to distinguish myself as someone who works hard, no questions asked.
Ce la!!
posted by i heart public defense at 4:12 PM
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