Last Thursday, I woke up from a well-earned afternoon nap to find a note on my locker: “Come see me.” It was from my friend “M” over in Wing-3. We’ve been hanging out a lot lately—he’s around my age, and we get along well. He’s also a night owl like me, which helps. In fact, most of the inmates in Wing-3 are closer to my age and tend to stay up later.
I get along really well with all the guys in “M”‘s 4-person cube – even though one of them is constantly whining about not getting invited into Wing-4. His cube is actually the same one I lived in before I moved to Wing-4.
When I got to M’s cube, I noticed a bunk was empty. Turns out “V,” one of their guys, had just been moved to Wing-4 while I was sleeping (not the whiny one—he’s still whining). M told me the cube wanted me to take the open spot since I was there all the time anyway and, as he put it, “better you than some random.”
At first, I wasn’t sure. But within minutes, I realized I wanted to move. You know those moments when an opportunity shows up you didn’t even know you were looking for, but suddenly it just feels right? That’s what this was. So, I made a quick decision and headed straight to the counselor’s office to ask about moving. Shit! She was already gone for the day. That night, I thought it over again, and the next morning, I was waiting outside her office the minute she opened.
She told me she wasn’t planning on doing any wing-to-wing bed moves, but when I told her which bunk I wanted, she said I got lucky—the guy she was about to assign to that bed had just been sent to the SHU. Since I’ve never caused trouble, she agreed to make the move. But when I told her I was moving from Wing-4, her eyes about popped out of her head. She asked if I was sure. “Nobody ever leaves Wing-4 voluntarily,” she said. “It’s a privilege.” But I was sure. She hit the keys, and the move was official.
Back in Wing-3, my new cube mates were thrilled. But Wing-4? Not so much. Apparently, I made history—I was the first person ever to voluntarily leave Wing-4. I did not realize this when I requested the move. After I moved my stuff at lunch, word spread fast. People came up to me all afternoon asking why I moved. “Too quiet over there,” I’d say. They just couldn’t process it. “You don’t like quiet?” By dinner, it felt like half the camp was talking about it. Some folks gave me props, but most couldn’t wrap their heads around why I’d leave the supposed holy grail of housing.
The main reason I moved to Wing-4 in the first place was because it was highly sought after by most older inmates for various reasons. Wing-4 has rules that ban contraband, define how clean your area must be, and place very harsh restrictions on noise. These are all inmate, and mostly wing-4 shot callers, enforced. I was told I was lucky to get in there because they don’t usually allow people that have been at the camp under a year to get in.
So here’s the real reason I wanted out: Wing-4 was too quiet, too uptight, and a little too self-important for me. After 9:30 p.m., you couldn’t even talk. Locker noise, coughing, even turning over in bed—someone was bound to get mad. I’m a night owl, so I’d lie there tossing and turning, stressed out that I was disturbing someone. Even during the day, if your voice got above a whisper, the shot callers would shush you. And they were the only ones allowed to talk freely. Constant chatter, constant judgment.
It started to wear on me. I didn’t realize how much until I saw the chance to move. The truth is, it felt like a country club over there—clean bathrooms, yes, but also a sense of superiority that hung in the air. The shot callers were always talking down about people, sometimes behind their backs, sometimes not. Even if their critiques were accurate, it just felt petty and toxic. Now, whenever I walk through Wing-4, I swear I can smell the arrogance.
Not to say everyone over there was like that—there were good people too—but the overall vibe? Just not for me.
In the end, I gave up the fancy bathrooms and the “elite” status for a louder wing with down-to-earth people who don’t take themselves too seriously. I can relax, be myself, and not feel judged every time I breathe too loud. And honestly? That trade was worth it.
Sounds like you found your rhythm in there Belize. Forget the privileged pricks. I hope your new cubie isn’t constantly whining. We’re all rooting for you! Can’t wait to hear more