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43 ​5 For week three, Martha or a supervisor extends me on 3G, but switches my shift from 8–4 to 2–10.On Monday , another 2–10 attendant shows up to be Attendant Walton’s actual relief. With the 8–4 attendant, there are indeed three of us, so Martha wasn’t lying—I’m still a shadow.When Edison, the 4–12 attendant, arrives, I explain at the console that I’ve been training during the day shift. Through black-­ rimmed glasses, he frowns at the TV area and our boys. “I hate that damn school area. Anything could happen down there. You won’t catch me working days.” To avoid school duty and its three floors worth of juveniles crammed onto one floor for five hours, Attendant Edison requested 4–12. He is shorter than me, but his forearms bulge like the middle of a python digesting a wild pig. His head is shaved shiny and dark like his spectacle frames. One attendant has deemed him “a tar baby.” Later Edison will point that shiny black head at overzealous spades players and say, “Bring that shit down!” Their voices plunge to whispers. Any inmate on 3G or even 4G scaring Attendant Edison seems fanciful. His fear of the school area troubles me. If he avoids the day shift, I should too. Attendant Edison’s coworker three nights a week is 3G’s regular 2–10 attendant, a woman named McAdams, “Ms. Mac.” Despite remaining on the same block for my third training week, between 3G itself and the school area, I’ve met lots of staff. Each can have his own interpretation of policy and procedure, which I must then interpret and apply. Now it’s not just a boy’s club. I noticed no women at any point in my testing/interview process. A woman though can staff a male cellblock if her coworker is male. Wide, sassy, and front-­ heavy, Ms. Mac’s voice is deep and I’d guess she’s forty. “Boy, I will whup yo’ ass!” she facetiously 44 c h a p t e r f i v e threatens Ernest, burr-­ headed with consistently slurred speech. He’d pretended to walk away when she told him to sit down. Ernest and her other two pets are all my stature and ATs charged with first-­ degree murder. The four of them fill a table and run games of Spades all evening. Ms. Mac goes loud like her playmates , but Attendant Edison never curses at any of them. Several attendants have advised me against cards or chess or basketball with the inmates. “Don’t get that close to them,” one warned. Interacting with the inmates complicates the jailer’s relationship with the jailed, but these three accused felons adhere to Ms. Mac’s every directive. Jealousy is tempting because I worry they wouldn’t do the same for me without her or Edison nearby. None of Ms. Mac’s three pets were my almost-­ fighters in the elevator lobby, but none forced their capable physiques between the smaller boys to help me tamp down the skirmish.Working with one of the “lame ass” attendants I’ve already heard about worries me, worrying as well that I might be one of the lame asses myself whom no one wants to team with. Still I’m taking pleasure in the evening shift because at 3:00 p.m., not I, but the 8–4 returns the boys to cellblock from class.What I covet as well about 2–10 is fewer rules to enforce because there are fewer settings for rules. No school area duty during 2–10 means that the only guaranteed work location for 2–10 on 3G is 3G. Should Recreation summon us to the rec yard for softball, the door is twenty yards down the hall—a non-­ elevator trip. Basketball in the basement gymnasium requires the elevator, but such rec calls only happen once or twice a week. Few inmates can pronounce “Dostert,”so to them, I’m “Mr. D.” Attendant Edison’s “Dostert” comes out something like “Dystra,” so to him I’m just “D.” Around him, I feel welcome even though Edison isn’t resolving my other frustration—ignorance of what the juveniles are to be doing or not doing at every second regardless of setting. The Policy and Procedure Guide for Group Services gives me no help for the moment-­ to-­ moment. I want Attendant Edison...

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