Shake Down: When Pizza Goes Wrong

My last journal entry was a brief thank you to my fans, friends, and family, not just because I appreciate their support, but also because not much had happened that week. That changed dramatically, just five minutes after I finished writing. Around 9:30 PM, inmates suddenly rushed into our wing, talking about getting dressed and other things I couldn’t quite make out. Their panicked and dismayed expressions signaled something was wrong. Moments later, three guards I hadn’t seen before stormed in, wearing riot gear and yelling for us to go to the gym. After a thorough pat-down, we filed out of the building and into the gym. This was my first shake-down.

Before I continue, I need to explain the inmates’ living and storage situation. Each person gets a locker, about the size of a high school locker, for everything they own: commissary items, food, clothing, hygiene products, towels—everything. The only thing allowed out is our shoes. Some inmates use the space under their mattresses for books and extra clothes to create more room. Imagine fitting your entire life into a high school locker. It’s challenging and requires careful organization.

Back to the story: As the 120 or so inmates from the “P” building entered the gym, we tried to figure out what was happening. It was easy to distinguish the newbies from the veterans. Those who had been here for a few months were relaxed, chatting on the bleachers, playing basketball, or pickleball. The newer arrivals, including myself, were looking for answers. After twenty minutes, an angry but familiar guard came in and yelled, “Line up for count! You know why you’re here.” She kept insisting we knew what was going on, but I didn’t. Finally, after the count, she explained to those of us in the dark: “You ******* stole our pizza!”

It turned out the guards had pizza delivered to the main entrance. As I mentioned in my first post, the main entrance is often unguarded, with only inmates present. Apparently, someone accepted the delivery and left the pizza on the guards’ desk. After a few minutes, the unattended Papa John’s proved too tempting, and someone stole and ate it, leaving the boxes in the trash. The guards were furious. They had called in guards from the nearby medium-security prison to shake us down. She gleefully described how the medium-security guards would tear apart our living spaces, throwing everything from lockers onto the floor and flipping our mattresses. She claimed they knew who did it, or at least had a good idea, but couldn’t prove it due to a lack of camera coverage. So, we were all to be punished. They threatened a lockdown, meaning weeks without leaving our four-man cubes, no exercise, no library, no RDAP classes, no TV, and no emails. For the next two hours, we sat in the gym, knowing our carefully organized lockers and possessions were being destroyed.

When we finally returned to our cubes after midnight, we saw the devastation. Luckily, my retirement wing was the least damaged. They had thrown the trash from the bins onto the floor and tossed a few bunks. The main destruction was in the other wings. It looked like a hurricane had hit. Everyone’s belongings were scattered on the floor. Torn books, commissary items, clothes, sheets, and mattresses were all mixed together. Even with everyone pitching in, it took hours to clean up—all over some pizza.

We never went into lockdown; rumor has it the higher-ups denied the request. They did, however, take away the TV rooms for two weeks. This doesn’t affect me much, as I’m more of a reader now, but most inmates are huge sports fans and are furious, especially during March Madness. The next morning, at our RDAP meeting, a Papa John’s box lay on the floor. We spent most of the meeting being yelled at. It was comical to me, since they find phones, vapes, drugs, and booze every week, but this was the first time they brought up pizza.

Keep in mind that I, and about 100 other inmates, didn’t steal, eat, or even know about the pizza until the shake-down. Yet, we were punished like the culprits. I guess they hoped we’d rat them out, but group punishment usually brings us closer, not turns us against each other.

One person did get punished: the guy who was on camera accepting the pizza delivery. He didn’t take the pizza; he left it on the guards’ desk. Since he was the only one on camera touching it, he was sent to SHU. I feel terrible for him. He did nothing but accept the pizza the guards weren’t there to receive, and now he’ll be kicked out of the RDAP program and lose a year of incentive. Just because he was near the door when the pizza arrived, he’ll lose a year of his life.

Prison, like much of the real world, is unfair. I must tread lightly to get out of here on time.