Before reporting to prison, I spent a lot of time trying to prepare myself. During pretrial, I watched countless YouTube videos about prison life, especially from people in low- and medium-security facilities. I figured I’d get a longer sentence, so I wanted to know how to stay safe, avoid conflict, and handle myself properly. I even reached out to White Collar Advice for guidance. I learned how to use prison currency, make meals from commissary items, and hustle for extra money by doing things like cleaning or sneaking kitchen food back to the unit. But there’s one thing none of those videos or consultations prepared me for: the drama.
Camps have fewer inmates—around 200 here—and a lot of downtime. That combination creates a pressure cooker of petty conflicts, cliques, and gossip. It’s like being back in high school, but with grown men, prison politics, and higher stakes.
Last week was especially intense. I’ll be vague on certain details since there are contraband phones around and some inmates may read this.
It started when a couple of my friends asked if I could help them get into Wing 4, affectionately called the “retirement wing”—a calmer unit preferred by older, more straight-laced inmates. RDAP had just graduated, and spots were opening. I told them I’d ask the wing’s “shot caller” (unofficial leader) about it.
Turns out, they weren’t getting in. The shot caller said they weren’t a good fit—too many complaints and “cop-outs” (formal grievances submitted to staff). He explained that when inmates constantly go to the guards, it creates tension with staff and that’s bad for the whole wing. I understood his logic, but I had the awkward job of subtly telling my friends they might want to chill with the complaints. This is prison—not a customer service desk.
During that conversation, the shot caller also warned me about certain people I was hanging out with, citing rumors I’d already heard and dismissed. I asked him about the rumors surrounding him—which he of course denied. Classic. Everyone in here tells you not to trust anyone else. It’s a closed loop of finger-pointing and denial. Hilarious and exhausting.
Then came round two of the week’s drama. Another friend from Wing 4 came to me furious with a different inmate who he felt was dragging the unit down—being lazy, messy, and making us all look bad. He wanted to report him to the counselor, but as I’ve mentioned, going to staff should always be a last resort. I offered to mediate and spoke to the shot caller again. That led to me being the one to have the uncomfortable conversation. I told the guy to clean up his act or risk getting kicked out. He promised to shape up—and did… for about 24 hours.
The shot caller then asked why I hadn’t been harder on him. I could only shake my head and think, “OMG, LOL.”
Besides the drama over cleanliness and cliques, there’s another type of drama I’ve come to expect: ego inflation and exaggeration. When new guys arrive—especially those who self-surrender—they often show up with puffed-up stories about how rich or important they were, or how unfairly they were charged. Many of the charges, like wire fraud or money laundering, are vague enough to allow for creative storytelling.
The funny part? Even though inmates aren’t allowed to carry their paperwork at camps (to avoid retaliation over sensitive charges), there are always a few contraband phones around. Sooner or later, someone looks you up. The truth comes out.
One guy I know has spent weeks claiming he was wrongly accused, just caught in a misunderstanding. But someone looked him up recently—turns out he flat-out stole a ton of money from multiple people. We haven’t called him out on it yet. We just ask him more questions about his case and laugh as his lies keep evolving. It’s equal parts funny and sad.
So now you, my loyal reader, have a glimpse into the kind of ridiculous, small-town drama that unfolds daily at Cumberland Prison Camp.
🏃♂️ Fitness Update:
On a more positive note, my training is going great. I’m now running up to 6 miles on the curve treadmill and 5 miles on the track. I’m on pace to complete a 13.1-mile half-marathon by the time I’m released.
I’m also planning to run a 10K on the track soon to coincide with a real-world 10K happening in one of my bunkie’s hometowns. A small symbolic connection between our two worlds.
In yoga, I’m making daily progress on flexibility and working toward achieving lotus pose—an advanced seated posture. My yoga book says it can take 10 years to master. I’d like to get there before I leave. It’s all about stretching those hip flexors, a little more each day.
Wish me luck—more updates (and drama) soon.
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