mr-onion's Diaryland Diary

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Prison Bitch

I've been thinking about prison in a general kind of way for a few weeks. I was having some after work beers with a buddy (let's call him Ginger) who was suffering from an "Office Space" type meltdown.

Shortly after we sat down and got served, the usual neighbourhood mix of people in that bar (we'll call the pub, the Wizard's Knob) sidled over and sat down with us: The Moocher (never has any money for beer or smokes), The I've-been-clean-for-eight-months-so-you-can-stop-calling-me-a-Junkie, and a random skank who was blowing one or both of them.

So....Ginger decides this is his moment to reveal the news to us about his term in prison. We all give him the WTF face, me and Moocher and Junkie and Skank all at the same time because Ginger has the natural-born face of a Narc/Mommy's Boy.

So Ginger proceeds to inform us all about how he got booked, fingerprinted, photographed and thrown into a cell full of rabid killers in the shite Canadian town we live in. We've only known Ginger for about 4 years, so he could've conceivably done something worth convicting in the past. We all wait.....tick....tick....tick....delaying our next sip so that smug Ginger can tell us what the cops busted him for.

He won't tell, so by that time I'm seeing new evils in his haircut that are the first signs of a hardened pedophile. So I ventured:

"how long were you behind bars then, Jackass?"

*silence*

"C'Mon, spill it or I'm not getting you another pint!"

*sputter* "15 minutes"

Ginger was in a holding cell for 15 minutes for driving without his insurance papers in the car.

This lame confession sparked something in me, and I wondered all of a sudden how many of my not-so-long-time-friends had a record. So I gazed around the table at Bloodsucker, Needles and BJ and asked them all point-blank if they'd ever been in jail. One after the other.....they all said............"yes".

Now that I was onto something, I couldn't let it go. I started to ask random cabbies* over the next weeks, on the way home from the pub, whether I looked like a top bunk or bottom bunk sort of person from an incarceration point of view. I like to tell cabbies blatant lies and stories on the way home to convince them that I'm sober**.

This in my mind was vital information to know, especially in regards to my room mate (let�s call her Franz).

Franz has been planning a trip to Fuckit (I'd rather spell it my way thanks) Thailand, and has stockpiled a load of tourist books on the subject:

The Smelly Traveller

The Lonely Planet

Thailand: Things That Looked Edible

How Many Shots Do I Need?

In an effort to be helpful, I flicked through local customs and Do's and Don'ts of Thailand. Apparently, they have the Prison Bitch system going on down there. When you meet someone in the street, the person witht the lesser status is supposed to press their palms together, bow and greet the more important person. Status in Thailand is determined based on age, career, gender, money etc. so you're always sort of guessing what level your status is.

Franz's too busy checking out the local clean breweries (Carlsberg, Heineken) and the HIV infection rate of the local hookers (virtually all are positive) to hear me muttering darkly "wanna be onna top bunk".

So far, I have compiled a table of vital stats to see who would be whose bitch in prison, me or my room mate.

FRANZ

No prior convictions

German

Below average height

Aries

Sporty, lives to snowboard

Grew up on the wrong side of the tracks

dimples

can get mean when there's ice-cream involved

Spent 4 years at a hippie university studying languages

ONION

No priors

S. American

Average height

Leo

Ass-stapled-to-sofa,love to flick through all the channels in under one minute

Grew up on the tracks

nope

Snarly when woken

5 years of dedicated drinking at university, accidentally graduated before finishing that last pint.

I will need to think on this for a while, but if anyone could offer an opinion on who deserves the top bunk then maybe I could sleep at night.

**N.B. The only cabbie I don't mess with is my regular "ohshitI'vesleptinandI'mlateforwork" guy. He is a don't fuck with me redneck with a life's mission to gun down Marlon Brando*** using his lottery winnings to buy ammo and the private island in the S. Pacific next to Brando's.

***N.B. until recently. R.I.P. Marlon.....I hope you're eating a heavenly chicken wing right now.

6:44 p.m. - 2004-07-26

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