After Bonnie and I returned from a fabulous dinner at Limon last night, where our waiter possessed an uncanny resemblance to Mr. Antonio Banderas, I crawled in bed and watched a documentary on women's prisons. I couldn't help but wonder how I would handle incarceration.
I've had this conversation before, and at the time, the consensus was that I'd freak out, be made into a bitch immediately, and probably die by shiv. I disagree. In watching this documentary, and maybe it's the left-wing media portrayal, I found many of the gal prisoners lovely, smart, peaceful women. Not only could I survive there, I'd thrive, becoming a revolutionary leader, fighting for prisoners rights, a low carb cafeteria menu, and a better thread count.
If I ended up in prison, it would most likely be because some man done me wrong and I had to have him killed. (Note: I wouldn't do the actual killing. I'd contract out.) So, already, I'd have the hard edge reputation of being in the slammer for murder. Plus, most of the women are in there for the very same thing, choosing life behind bars versus life with Vernon, the alcoholic abuser with stains on his shirt.
The rule of thumb in prison is to get in a fight on your first day, to throw down so everyone knows not to fuck with you. I think my advantage in this arena is that I'd be able to pick out the only other woman who was more hoity toity than me, and kick her ass.
Also, you have to make friends immediately, which I can usually do. While not my typical crowd, I'm quite adaptable. I could easily learn the lingo, adjust my outfit in accordance with current prison trends, and cornrow my hair.
Towards the end of the program, the women discussed sex in prison, of which 90% of them have. The uber-butch gal prisoners are known as "studs", and are prized as the hottest catches in the pen. I guess they're the closest thing you'd get to a man, although, quite frankly, if you're smart at all, I'd say bed a guard. The only problem with that is the fact that other, less ingenious prisoners might resent the accompanying special attention. That's a tough call.
Overall, I think I'd do a hell of a lot better than Martha. And I'd do nothing but write. Just imagine the blog then.