Your Intrepid Reporter has seen the inside of some jails, as Gentle Reader will recall, most recently in the Occupy Mount Tabor fiasco. But I’ve also been arrested for hitch-hiking in Pennsylvania, disturbing I believe it was the peace in Massachusetts, and various other minor offenses — for which I did county jail time, we’re talkin’ here — in California, the state in which I got a bachelor and a master’s degree.
But Multnomah County Sheriff’s Office, Gentle Reader, is different from any county jail I’ve ever been in before. The Multnomah jail is now the Nourishing Mother, the [in Latin] alma mater, as it were, of our [the German word] Lumpenproletariat. A lot, perhaps a majority, of deputies of the female sex are corralling a bunch of unemployed louts and attempting to care for them.
Really, that’s what they’re doing, by and large. I didn’t need the care of these many women, some of whom are quite fetching [I say that only in a grandfatherly way, you realize], but whose very presence whatever they were up to changes the lived experience of incarceration considerably.
I mean, I’m riding down in an elevator with a being whose shape is a beachball to begin with and the impression is accentuated by her many belted accoutrements: she may be the poster child of lesbianism, but the woman is indeed straightening the front of her shirt, with one button undone, the entire moving part of the trip. As I say, it changes the whole elevator ride for the prisoner, let me tell you!
My last stay was six days in duration, by the way, three of them naked, in a bare cell, with a single blanket.