The Rookie

The following is an excerpt from Part One:

During my tenure in Hell mod there is a new block officer on the patty Patty Cake shift. He instantly attains the nick name of Rookie. All the while, I am a rookie jailbird, so I can empathize with his awkward unfamiliarity. Some of the well-seasoned, seedier convicts purposely razz him. They are like a bunch of kids pushing to see how far they can go.

He rises above their pettiness. He devotes his attention to the guys who have legitimate needs. He answers questions and attempts to respond to requests. Yet within a month he assumes the attitude of his mentor, dumb-fuck Penelope. He assumes the premise that all inmates are created equal—equal to what you scrape off the bottom of your shoe. He becomes cold, callous, uncaring, and unpleasant, a product of a pathetic system that cultivates hate mongers. Adapting to a rotten attitude in order to “fit in” on the job is one thing. Complacency with tolerance is the preliminary step. Resorting to cruelty is the final level, and entirely beyond acceptability.

One night someone shouts “Fuckin’ rookie.” He challenges everyone in that section of the mod to come forward. No one does. Everyone is locked in. Ten minutes later, he returns with a battalion of seven other monkeys. They raid every cell along that wall. Everything is smashed around and destroyed. Bedding and clothing are flung into the toilets. Kool-aid is splashed over everything in sight. The barbarians are like human tornados on a rampage of revenge. They complete their profane task and exit the mod laughing and joking. They look like they just attended a live Robin Williams stand up performance.