Any time you put a thousand men of different backgrounds together into a small area for an extended period of time you end up with a lot of funny stories. I can't use guys real names so I'll make up names to make the story flow better and I won't bother with trying to assign a time frame to it as that won't matter to the story itself. What will matter is that these stories will give you a little insight into what prison life is like.
Ken was large black guy with limited cranial ability. Meaning he was fat and not too bright. But he was a nice guy and everyone liked him. I liked him. A good example of Ken's personality is that one day I saw him staring at this new guy, but not saying anything. The new guy was a young white fellow who wore his paints low on his hips, braided his hair and talked like an inner city black guy. The new guy didn't know Ken so when he realized Ken was staring at him he became offended and in a confrontational way said, "What!" Not realizing the new guy was irritated, Ken said exactly what was on his mind. Ken couldn't figure the new guy out so he said, "What is you?" Everyone laughed and the situation was defused.
At the time I made fudge which I sold for an income. I didn't make much, but my fudge was so good it was in high demand. I also experimented with making candy and other sweets, so Ken was used to seeing me with something good to eat and he wasn't shy about asking for some. One day in the art room a guy found an old case of Crayola crayons. There were thousands of them, but as no one used crayons I accepted a 24 pack to use as a joke. I used a razor to cut the tips off which gave me 24 multi-colored bits that looked like candy. I went around the room offering this "candy" to guys but they weren't going for it.
I was about to give up on my prank when Ken came into the room. I acted like I was eating something, which pulled him in. "What you eatn," he asked. I had my hand open so he could see the multi-colored "candy" which is what his eyes were focused on. "Candy," I said. "Want some?" He held out his big hand so I dumped them all into his hand. Ken immediately popped half the crayons into his mouth. I'm not very good at keeping a straight face so I just walked off, laughing as I went. I left the art room and went back to the block, soon forgetting about the event.
I saw Ken later that day and he said, "Very funny. You got me." So we shared a good laugh and the rest of the night guys were laughing about it. All in good humor.
The next day Ken walked up to me with a pair of scissors and a sheet and said, "You ready?" I said, "Sure." then sat down and let him cut my hair. Ken was my barber, not the best we had but he was cheap and I wasn't that particular about my hair. Nor did I pay attention to when my hair got long, so Ken would let me know when I needed a cut, which I always appreciated. So this was a normal event for us that I didn't give a second thought. As was my habit I kept telling him to hurry up as he cut my hair and as was his habit he ignored me and took his time. When he was done I thanked him, complained about how slow he was and paid him. The first guy I passed after the hair cut looked at me funny. The next guy laughed. This caused me to find a mirror. Ken had given me a creatively horrible hair cut. He'd gotten even with me and somehow done it with a straight face. Every time guys told that story, which they did often, I was the dummy.
Such is life in the Big House.
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