Monday, 6 December 2010

to get something done.......

To get something done, you've got to act like a dickhead.
This is the advice i was given early on.
 Being an Englishman in New York, i can tell you straight off the bat that everything you have heard about Americans going spastic over english accents is true. You get treated like royalty..knowing the intelligence of the average American, they probably think you ARE royalty..but never the less, it's sweet.
 This does not translate to the Prison domain.
When i first came out of the SHUm i was put on eleven north. While up there, i had to register to use the phone and internet. Then, for some unknown reason, i was moved down to the ninth floor.
 I had not spoken to or had any contact with my family and freinds in ten days, and considering the precarious predicament one had found oneself in, mans was shitting a brick.
 My moving floors had screwed up my phone 'privelidges', as i was registered to being on the eleventh floor, but was on the whenever i tried to use the phone, it wasn't having any of it.
 Day after day, every morning, i would go to the councillors office and ask the pompous redneck if she could kindly fix my 'minor problem', in my most charming Timothy Dalton impression. She would just smile, flirt, then do nothing to help.

Fourteen days had passed, and still nothing. Over lunch, i vent my feelings to the surround criminals in my vacinity..
 "Yo, to get anything done dude, you gotta act like a dickhead"
Sounds like an interesting theory..
I mean, i tried many times to get the job done using my English charms.
 Time for the Turkish approach.
As i walk toward the bitches office, i can feel the Raki running through my nose is cutting the surrounding air like a concord..
 "My phone is not working. I have been in this jail with no contact with the outside world for fourteen days. I need to use the phone"
 The saggy faced bozo the clown in front of me just lists excuses i have heard already. Even if she gave a valid one, i'm not listening anyway. She's squirming in her chair like some kind of moronic slug, trying to shift the blame to anyone that just happens to not be at work today.
 "So who's incompetant?"
 "huh?" She burps back at me
"Well someone clearly doesn't know how to do their job around here, so you're telling me these people are incompetant?"
 "err err no?"
"Well, either they are, or you are, as shit ain't getting done. My job in here is to be a well behaved prisoner, and i'm doing that, so who is the moron on this occasion that is incapable of doing their job properly?"
 She reaches over to the 'guards get the fuck in here it's clobberin time' button, so i kindly take my leave.
Funnily enough, an hour later, guess who's phone is now working?
 Later in the evening i hear an inmate talking to one of his freinds..
"you see that white boy going crazy at Ms L? Crazy cracker"

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