Off the gravy train.
I am so blue. But what else is new. Ah nothing like a little poetry to open the letter.
I just finished typing a short letter to good old immigration for one of my fellow inmates that is going to be leaving this country after he gets done serving his time here. He has been in the country since 1992, and came in on some ship arriving in NYC. He can barely speak English. Seems weird that one can live here so many years, not speak English and yet have some sort of a life.
We had to fill out a form that is titled Information for Travel Document or passport that immigration sent him. He thought he arrived in 1995, but then when he showed me a copy of his RAP sheet; he was arrested back in 1992 for some misdemeanor charge. He does not have a long rap sheet at all. While filling out the form he mentioned he has two daughters. Both are living in the Bronx, same building, to different mothers, age 4 years old. Go figure.
Okay, so now two American citizens will never see their Dad again. Or not. Perhaps he will manage to get back in the country. Hey if a non-English speaking petty criminal illegal alien can get some from not one but two different women (at the same time, it appears) maybe I can still find love somewhere? But then again, maybe not.
I am now officially off the gravy train of the mess hall payroll. Not only did a few officers get tired of me getting paid to stay away, they refused to give me a job working the same hours I was originally hired for. I just finished a week that had me working the three meals. The problem with this is that I end up missing out on going to the chapel for two of the four available program hours. It has been over a year since I have actually worked there so I guess I should be grateful.
Even if I decided to work the hours they gave me, it would have only been short term. Several of the officers there were heard multiple times plotting my ultimate removal from the mess hall. This talk in front of other inmates puts a nice big target on my back, and would have ended up with me receiving some sort of bodily harm. The term Dead Right comes to mind. Yes, I could certainly do the work, but I was not wanted even doing jobs that were at the bottom of the list.
I am now officially a dorm porter and Chapel clerk. These are the same jobs I have been doing all along, but now I will be getting less money. But more on that later.