Comic Relief
By Elton L. Cross
As a comedian, I see the world differently than many people. Often, I find humor
in situations that aggravate other “normal” people. I believe humor helps me
fight the spiritual battle with depression that plagues many inmates as a result
of the oppression that we are subjected to, and it helps me deflect the
“rehabilitation” aimed at me each day.
For example, I was standing in line for breakfast the other day and other
inmates began cutting line, right in front of a correctional officer (CO). Of
course, I wondered why he didn’t do his job and stop the cutting, but I also
thought to myself that these must be new inmates. Who else would be that eager
for “prison food?” The moment passed, and I chuckled to myself. Of course, I
would never cut in line because that would draw attention to me, and I always
carry contraband: salt and pepper shakers! These items are prohibited in the
mess hall and, although CO’s don’t mind cutting, there’s something about
seasoning grits that sends many off the deep end.
Occasionally, I see news programs that show prison shakedowns. The officers
proudly display the various weapons they have confiscated. I wonder why they
don’t ever display my salt and pepper shakers? They’ve confiscated enough of
them from me. I think it would make a good news feature for the six o’clock
news. An officer, pointing at my shakers, tells the story: “I was standing guard
in the mess hall when I noticed a red headed inmate known as, “The Mule” (that’s
me!), remove a salt shaker form the top of his sock. I was behind him and off to
one side. He didn’t notice as I approached his table. As I crept closer, I
unholstered my mace. Just in case, you know. These animals can be dangerous when
they’re eating. Pointing my mace directly at his eyes, I shouted, “Set the salt
down slowly and back away from the table!” I then keyed my radio and called for
backup. After we secured the perpetrator, we did a pat down and found the
matching pepper shaker in his other sock. The entire operation was successful.
No food was seasoned!”
Another comic episode occurred the day I, The Mule, took jelly to the mess hall.
I sat down by a window and removed my jelly from my sock. As I began to squeeze
a little on to my lump of dough, I heard a tapping on the window. I turned to
see an officer shouting at me and pointing at my jelly. I couldn’t hear him very
clearly, but I think he said I was in violation of SCDC policy 403: Possession
of Jelly with Intent to Spread. Veins began popping out of the officer’s
forehead as his hand hovered over his mace holster. As I sat looking at what
appeared to me to be Barney Fife on crack, I saw a little light come on in his
head: he realized that mace doesn’t work through Plexiglas! He ran to the door,
rushed over, and confiscated my, by now, empty jelly container. I bet that’s
sitting right next to a big shank and my salt and pepper shakers in the
contraband room.
Jelly is on the menu, yet it’s never served. If I bring my own, it’s taken from
me. Now the officer is confiscating what he is supposed to be giving me but
never does. I love when humor writes itself.
While it’s true that these events have an aggravating angle to them, it’s also
true that they are funny. Funny, I need. Funny, I can work with. Perhaps it
seems like a small thing to some people, but I thank God that he gave me a sense
of humor. It’s a blessing, the seasoning of life that can never be confiscated.
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