My First Day In Prison

This IS my first day in prison at San Quentin State Penitentiary. I pulled this directly from my book, Prison Diary(a): A San Quentin Comedy, Kinda. Enjoy! I didn’t!

Day 1

Really long day. Slept on a bench last night in the county jail. Don’t worry, I had a dirty t-shirt for a pillow. Super comfortable. They got us up at 6am (not like any of us were sleeping). We had to strip naked so they could check if we were carrying any paraphernalia under our ball sack or in our buttholes. Just a room full of dudes, naked, bending over and spreading our butt cheeks, totally normal. When I first came in to county and they asked me to lift my balls and spread my butt cheeks, bend over and cough, I asked him if he was serious. How big are your nuts that you can hide anything behind them? Maybe roll something in to them like a tortilla? What the hell is going on down there? And who is going to go through the trouble of shoving something up their butthole and letting a little piece of it stick out so the guards could see? If I am stuffing anything up there, it is going all the way baby! Go big or go home!! Even though you can’t,you are in jail. I had been in court all day, there was no way I was stuffing a weapon or drugs up my asshole at 8am and then sitting on it all day. Just for the record, it’s not like I would have brought it in that way no matter what the situation was that day, but you know what I mean. We got dressed up in our transfer gear: orange jumpsuits (just like the movies! Orange Is The New Fucked). They wrapped a chain around our waists,chained our handcuffed wrists to our waist, and attached another chain to our feet which was then connected to our chained up ankles. Basically, we weren’t going anywhere. I mean, we could run, but it would have to be really fast baby steps. Fence climbing is totally out at this point. They loaded the “dangerous” guys first. I don’t know why I put dangerous in quotes, the dudes in red are dangerous as shit. They had their own separate cages, dressed in red instead of orange. Crips and Nortenos are twice as angry at this point. They are heading to prison AND they have to wear red. Poor guys.

We loaded on, two to a seat even though it was really made for one. Even the big fat guy got stuck next to someone, luckily it was the smallest dude in the group. From what I learned later about the little guy, I don’t think he was too upset about having to snuggle up next to a big ‘ol teddy bear.

You are on the road before the first light, peering through the bars in the bus, trying to catch a glimpse of anything familiar. Keep in mind, I had only been outside once in the last two weeks, and that was basically in a huge concrete box. All I could see was the sky. They had all sorts of fencing and barbed wire at the top of these 35 foot walls. Who the hell could climb up there to even need the fencing? There must be some pretty acrobatic dudes in here, or guys still high on PCP. Those guys are nuts. Don’t mess with someone on PCP, they are like the White Walkers in Game of Thrones. Anyways,we were squinting, looking at “home” through the windows. It felt like a field trip in elementary school (if field trips were years and years long). It was raining so we could barely see anything, but just being out of the cell felt amazing. We are on the road with everyone heading to work, the traffic was pretty bad in a couple spots, but the longer we were in the bus meant the less time we were at San Quentin. We thought the CO was messing with us when he said we were going to SQ.

“Ha Ha. Very funny copper.”

He wasn’t kidding, not that it would have been that funny of a joke anyways.

It takes about an hour and a half to get there. I had never even driven by San Quentin before. The only visual I had was from Metallica’s St. Anger video they had done about a decade earlier. That was all the visual I needed. This is going to be so fucked. All the guys in county were telling me how everyone goes to Delano for reception, no big deal. Dorm living, people are laid back, blah, blah, blah. No one mentioned SQ. Dickheads.

So we are all breaking our necks trying to catch a glimpse of our new home. It is worse than any of us ever could have imagined. Huge walls,shitty, run down houses surrounding it (I am guessing where COs live?), all gray, dark, ominous, just awful. We pull through the gates. It is still early enough that no one is out at yard yet. We see mostly old buildings but pull up next to a modern one. My thought was, “ok, there are some old parts, but since we are only here for a little while, we must be staying in the new part.” I was totally wrong, but I didn’t know that yet. We get off the bus, check our names against the roll sheet, and strip naked, again. Do a nuts and butts check, again(like we stopped off for some heroin and weed on the way in). Then finally we get our SQ blue uniforms. Keep in mind we are in San Francisco at 730am in February. It is freezing. All the COs are wearing beanies, gloves, and huge jackets. We are standing in front of a wide open door, butt-ass naked. It is coooooooollllldddd! Not the most flattering weather for a gear check either.Just saying, I had to postpone my Playgirl photo shoot that day. I was experiencing Minimus Wienerus. Very humbling experience so far, not expecting it to get much better.

The hallway is lined with holding cells. Imagine walking through a hospital but instead of rooms there are big steel doors with little windows and a bunch of sad people dressed in orange inside. That’s what this hallway looks like. They put us in to our holding cell: 12x12, maybe 15 ft.ceilings, off white walls, two 4ft. benches, sink/toilet combo thingy, and we wait.

And wait.

And wait some more.

Finally they move us to a different holding cell so we can take pictures for our badges, finger printing, and do our check in interview.

This is how the interview went:

(just for the visual, I am in a tiny office and the woman interviewing me is about 6’3,240):

CO: name?

Me: Joey Reghitto

CO: Age?

Me: 34

CO: Height?

Me: Six foot one

CO: Weight?

Me: 210

CO: Highest education level?

Me: Master’s degree

CO: What the fuck? What the hell are you doing here?

Me: Made outwith a senior in high school.

CO: That’s it?

Me: Yup

CO:Bullshit. You fucked her.

Me: Nope.

CO:Bullshit. She sucked your dick.

Me: Nope.

CO: Hmmm.What’s the deal?

Me: I was the Assistant Principal.

CO: Oh.Shit. That was dumb.

Me: You think?

CO: Didn’t you have a lawyer?

Me: Yup.

CO: And you still got prison time?

Me: Yup.

CO: Should have gotten a better lawyer.

Me: It’s looking like it.

CO: Well, I hope it was worth it.

Me: Of course not, (chuckle) are you serious?

CO: Yes I am.Next!

We went back in to the holding cell to wait for everyone to finish, then we headed back to our original holding cell.

We waited.

And waited.

And waited.

They brought us a bag lunch: two pieces of bread wrapped in cellophane, packet of grape jelly, a packet of peanut butter you have to rub together (you look like you are trying to start a fire with sticks) so it will come out, milk, and two squares of a graham cracker. Bon apetite!

There was a clock on the wall in the hallway, so we knew exactly what time it was, and there was room in the cell for some people to spread out on the floor, or on the benches, but not really. It worked great for the 5’0 Pisas (unaffiliated Latinos), but not for me. I was the tallest and subsequently the most uncomfortable. The guards came by and dropped off the sheets and blankets that we will be using (one thin white sheet, one thin wool blanket, and one thick, super itchy wool blanket) and some guys tried to sleep while we waited. Nothing like concrete and wood benches for sleep, but when you are up all night you can pretty much sleep anywhere. Not me. ADHD had my brain spinning out of control. I just sat there, and thought. Blah.

Dinner came by around 630pm. Salisbury steak? I think. Boiled green beans, piece of lemon cake or something, and some milk, all on a maroon cafeteria tray with a spork. After dinner we had medical checks. We had to see a couple different nurses, get some shots, and then talk to a psychiatrist to see if we were nuts, if we were going to commit suicide, stuff like that. My answer to the suicide question may have been different if I had seen where we were going to be living before the interview, but I didn’t, so the answer was “No.”

I came to SQ a few days before the Super Bowl (Seattle v.Denver). There was a TV in county, so I was able to have my heart broken by Seattle a couple weeks earlier. I thought maybe there would be a TV in here too. The building we were in was nice, there was no reason to think the living situation would be much different than county (I was very wrong), so I was shooting the shit with the guard about watching the game. He said there are some TVs in the cell blocks, maybe I would be able to see one from my cell. Cool, I thought. One small victory. Got my blood pressure taken, temperature, flu shot,etc. Then I went in to see the psychiatrist.

This is how that conversation went:

Dr: How are you?

Me: Fine, not great, obviously.

Dr: Are you feeling depressed, sad, anything of the sort (he has a Russian accent also, so add in your head while you read).

Me: How could I not be, look where I am?

Dr: True true, but are you suicidal? How are you coping?

Me: I’m still here

Dr: Ok. Good. I overheard you talking about watching the Super Bowl with the guard out there. Are you a football fan?

Me: Huge. I love it. (I’m thinking we will start talking about the game).

Dr: Have you been so privileged in your life that you have not had to worry about physical harm before?

Me: Wait. What? I guess nothing out of the ordinary. Why?

Dr: Because you are getting ready to go in to a penitentiary,and you are inquiring about a football game.

Me: Yeah?

Dr: What you should be worrying about is being murdered. This is a very dangerous place, with dangerous people. Inmates are stabbed and killed here all the time. But your thoughts are on an American football game?

Me: Well, not any more.

Dr: Keep your eyes and ears open, be safe. Bad things happen all the time. Next!

So, if things weren’t bad enough, they got WAY worse after that conversation. Holy shit. This shit can’t be like the movies, right?

Back to the holding cell, this time only for a little bit. We got pulled out about 8pm. They line us up, hand us a piece of paper with our assignment on it: Alpine 318L. Here we go. My heart is beating out of my chest. My eyes are scanning everything as we walk out of the nice building we have been sitting in all day and head towards what looks like castle walls towering above our heads. They were so close together it felt like they were holding us in(which, I guess, ironically, they were). Bright lights in certain places, pitch black in others. Cold and wet, COs yelling at us to hurry the fuck up, calling us retards and faggots. We pass a handful of other, towering buildings as we are forced to stay on the yellow line. All the nice buildings are where the medical offices and holding cells are, the rest looks like a medieval city. We walk around the corner and see two towering doors wide open, must be home. We walk in, the hallways were damp. Metal staircases, barbed wire, guards lined up. It looks like there are four cell blocks connected on either side of a hallway, stairs towering up the middle to get to the level you need to be. We walk in to the first door on our left. The noise from the different cell blocks was echoing throughout the hallway. Yelling,chanting, anger, aggression, pouring through the cracks. We walk through the “Alpine”door, and it hits you like a fucking train; ho-ly shit.

If I were going to write down what I thought prison would be like (I mean before I got there, obviously), if I was thinking worst case scenario, this is honestly worse than I could have even imagined, but I can’t say I was shocked. You walk through the door and are looking down a narrow room,five stories high, towering windows on the right wall, bridges, catwalks, barbed wire, and rows of tiers and cells on the left. Arms are hanging out the cells,holding mirrors, middle fingers from others. Trash is flying down from the upper tiers. Yelling and screaming the most horrible things.

“Fuck you guys,”

“Where are you from?”

“I’m going to fucking stab you.”

“Let me see your buttholes.”

“You guys are going to die.”

All kinds of the worst shit you could possibly hear in this given situation. Actually, I can’t think of any situation where you would want to hear the shit they were yelling. We could be at Disneyland, and if someone yelled at me, “I want to see your butthole,” or “I am going to slit your fucking throat,” the day would have just taken a dramatic turn for the worse.

I’m going to die?

Great.

You want to see my butthole?

Splendid.

We are a bunch of faggots and we are going to get fucked like faggots?

Aw, shit. Sign me up!

They line us up on the first tier (where the biggest nut bags are housed) and how do they make the situation even better? You guessed it,they made us strip naked (again) and change in to different blues, right thereon the tier, right in front of everyone.

Voyeur much?

Holy shit.

Naked?

Again?

When does the fun stop?

So the guys really do get to see our buttholes? Perfect! I hope mine was just dirty and hairy enough to deter any carnal thoughts,actually, deter any thoughts that weren’t, “ew, look at his butthole.”

After we changed, the guards asked if we were retarded and if we were going to stand there all day or get up to our fucking cells. I wanted to be retarded, but that really wasn’t an option. My cell was on the third tier, so I had to walk up the narrow staircase in the middle of the block,everyone asking where we were from, throwing stuff at us, mirrors everywhere,trying to catch a glimpse of the new guys. I get to the third tier, turn to head down to my cell, and all I see are mirrors sticking out of pitch black cells. I am zoned out at this point. In a trance. Fight or flight. My mind was going so fast I could barely processing anything. I must have been in survival mode. I get to my cell, total blackness. Guys on either side asking where I’m from, telling me they are nice, I can talk to them, to help them pass stuff down to other cells. I just stand in front of my cell and wait for the bar to get thrown to get in. The “bar” (literally a bar that goes along the top of all the cells to keep them closed) is on one end of the tier. It allows the guards to control the cells being opened or closed. If the bar is not “thrown” you can’t get in to the cell, even with a key. I walk in, my new bunky turns the fluorescent light on, and I am home.

I didn’t check out any cells as I was walking up. Actually, I wasn’t looking because I didn’t want to make eye contact with anyone. I was terrified, so this was the first I had seen what I was going to be living in. It was TINY! Like, holy shit tiny!Two people? In here? Are you crazy? It was smaller than my bathroom! The foot of the bunk bed basically butted up against the cell doors, the distance from the side of the bunk to the wall was about two feet, and the distance from the back of the bunk to the back wall was just big enough to fit a small toilet with a little leg room. 4x9? 4x10? Holy shit. How long am I here? The crazy thing was I was watching The Rock (great movie) the night I left county and thought,wow, those cells are small. And that was for one person! These are the same damn cells but for two! Shit! How old is this place? (Later found out it was builtin 1852) I am living in a historical landmark, without many updates. I’m surprised we aren’t living by candlelight. I guess they are just keeping it OG.

Completely overwhelmed, my bunky tells me where my shelves are and which bunk is mine. He is posted on the bottom bunk, and I am in no mood to argue (even though I am “L” for lower bunk), so I hop up on the top one. The shelf is so close to the top of the bed I can’t turn on my side all the way and even have trouble rolling over. It is about a foot off the bed, if that. Man, this is shit. I know I am in prison, but fuckin’ a.

My bunky seems like a cool enough guy, said not to get too overwhelmed (easier said than done my friend). He said he cried the first night he was here (the first time he was in, three times ago), and that it was awful here, but it will be fine, just run a program (have a routine) and it will help. There are some crazy ass people in here (I am sure you are shocked to hear that). I am already feeling lucky that my dude at least seems normal.There are others that couldn’t fake it even if they tried.

He tells me we get out of the cells for about 40 minutes a day. 20 minutes for breakfast and 20 minutes for dinner. We pick up our bag lunch at breakfast on the way out of the chow hall. If my math is right, that means we are in our cells 23 hours and 20 minutes a day. Once or twice a week for yard (1 hour), and a couple times a week for showers (10 minutes) and that’s it. I am in a concrete bathroom nearly 24 hours a day with another human being. I have no idea when I transfer out of here. Could be a month, could be three,some guys have been here nine. Total crap shoot. Actual, total crap in general.All around. Everywhere. Smeared on the walls.

Not much to say or do, so, lights out.

But no sleepy for Joey.

I am sure you are not surprised that I ended up having a hard time falling asleep. This place is so loud. Yelling, screaming, chanting, all kinds of stuff. It sounds like a big angry party. If you didn’t know better you would expect to see people out walking around, but they aren’t, all the conversations are being yelled between guys hanging on the bars of a prison cell. Surreal. My mind is racing, my heart is racing. I am in prison. I fucked up so bad I am now in prison. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck me. I hate my guts. I fucking hate the shit out of myself. I have for the last year and a half. This brings it even more to a head. Fuck. Laying in my bunk, looking through bars at a sign that says: There are no warning shots in this cell block. This is what I have become. What a shitty son I am. Fucked up husband and father, friend, grandson, nephew, everything. I am fucking loser. A piece of shit loser. Fuck myself.