At the place where I work for a living, there are female prisoners that perform the housekeeping duties early in the mornings. We are told that we are not to make friends with them. Do not touch them. Do not attempt to interact with them outside their duties in any way. They may call us “sir” or “ma’am” as appropriate, but are not to socialize more than wishing us a nice day. It is a cold little arrangement, but it makes sense I suppose.
I know none of them by name. The only identification they wear is printed on their beige coveralls. “Department of Corrections”. They come and go, I don’t think I’ve seen the same faces for more than a few weeks at a time before there is someone new, and someone else is gone. For the most part they are cheerful and friendly. Perhaps glad to be doing what they are doing to some degree. I’m sure there are worse alternatives for them.
There is no way for me to know what they are incarcerated for. I believe they are from a medium security facility. I’ve never really been that curious about the details though.
Outside the area where I sit is a table. On this table there are occasionally flowers, or snacks, and usually magazines that co-workers bring in, free for whoever would like to take them. These ladies from the Department of Correction have discovered the magazines. Do they swoop in and take the magazines? No. They, with much cheerfulness and sounds of delight, flip through the “girly” magazines and find the perfume samples. These they rip out and share between the others in their group, to rub on their wrists and necks. They don’t take them back to prison with them, they aren’t allowed.
But for a little while, they get to smell like a bit of civilization. Until the next magazines, and ladies, arrive.
