My Prison Life - What a Shitty Lunch

After you're condemned to a stretch inside, and providing that your sentence isn't as short as a fat man’s dick, you become eligible to be a "trustee". This means that you get to relieve the tedium of rotting away in prison while the world outside keeps turning by working in different parts of the jail. Because of my previous experience as a chef, Scottish accent, sunny disposition and charm, I was lucky enough to get a gig in the kitchen, which was a pretty big deal, because it meant that the prison staff trusted me with very big Sabatier knives. It also meant that they trusted me to keep everyone in there fit and healthy, and I did my best to convince Fat Lou and Eugenia, the two food hoovers who ran the kitchen, that this trust was justified by singing songs and cracking jokes.

But eventually I started to feel like I'd been in Washington County Jail too long. I started to feel like I actually came from Oregon, and this had a disorientating effect upon my Scottish soul. So, when Fat Lou came waddling out of her office one day all "Listen Up, guys" to tell us about some party we had to cater for some fucker who was retiring after 50 years of service, I decided to pull the caper I'm gonna tell you about now.

I suggested to Eugenia that we make a huge cauldron of chilli con carne for the luncheon. This made sense, because the prison was full of Hispanics and Mexican cholos. The cons and the screws didn't agree on much, but they both adored the way I made chilli, with loads of fresh "cilantro", which is what Hispanics call coriander.

Now, because Mexican dishes were so popular in the jail, we in the kitchen would make our own tortilla chips out of stale corn tortillas. And in order to turn these corn tortillas into tortilla chips, we'd fry them in the five-gallon drums we had of this stuff called "olestra", which is a fat substitute that, when used improperly, causes pretty quick and unstoppable diarrhoea. Completely unaware of my actual plan, Eugenia and Fat Lou were marvelling at the efficiency with which I was planning everything, right down to the bain-maries loaded with my own special salsa. It was gonna be "a hit with the screws", they were saying. 'Put an "S" at the front of that,' is what I was thinking. On the day of the party, I made myself scarce while some goober stirred the chilli under Eugenia's disapproving gaze. When it got left out to simmer, I made a dash from the stores with a big container of olestra and glug-glugged it into the chilli. I then took an industrial cooking paddle and mixed it up good and proper, before giving it the taste test, disguising its presence with chilli powder and garlic paste and leaving it to slow-cook overnight.

Show time finally came, and on the day I took the decision to let some other trustees in on the plan, as I needed some people to hide all the toilet paper from the screws' toilets and store areas. I don't remember where my buddies and I were when the shit hit the fan, the floor, the stairs, the halls and the toilet doors, but I remember that it was difficult to stop laughing.

It went down fast and en masse. They had greedily chowed down the chilli and within five minutes they were running for the toilets, holding onto their arses like they were scared they might fall off. When they got to the toilets, of course there was no toilet paper, and it was chucking up a stink. It got everyone, even the Mayor. Every single trustee got sacked and demoted back to "basic" accommodation and the screws knew it was me, but it was totally worth it for the lulz.

Previously: My Prison Life - We Had Sex Through the Bars of Her Cage