The Wyner in Adventures From Prison

I often wonder how some of the men I meet here manage to function in the real world….then I realize that they didn’t, at least not well… since they are now in prison. Duh! (of course we will skip over the fact that I’m here too)
A new guy arrived on the compound about a month ago. He’s in his early 30’s, clean shaven, reasonably good looking in a frat boy way and educated enough to speak in full, clear sentences. He’s also from my neck of the woods.
I’d seen him watching us play bocce, but didn’t have a chance to speak to him until he came into the library.
“I’ll take the Wall Street Journal,” he said and I hand it to him. He looks at it and sneers (seriously sneers). “This is from last week.”
“Yeah, we didn’t get the mail from this weekend.” It was Monday.
“Well why not?”
“Um…it’s not like we have a key to the mailroom.”
“So you’ll put Monday up tomorrow?”
“No, tomorrow I’ll put up the Weekend Edition. Monday will be up on Wednesday.”
“That’s stupid.”
“Well, just be glad we get it at all. The guys who read it are lucky our boss is willing to spend $600 of our $4000 budget on a single paper. So we put them up sequentially, so everyone can read every issue. Sometimes we’re three or four days behind.”
“That’s just not acceptable. When you get them you should just put up the newest.”
“We did once, people complained.”
“Well then just show it to me.”
Great he’s one of those guys. “There are 2000 people on this compound. If I did that for you, I’d have to do a favor for every other person who asked for one – and that’s about 10 guys daily. Not going to happen.”
“But no one else has to know.”
“Doesn’t matter, now are you going to read that issue or do you want a different paper?”
“Anything newer?”
“Nope,” I grin.
He takes the paper and slinks off.
The next day, he comes up to me while I am waiting outside for the library to open after lunch.
“Can I talk to you?” he asked.
“No!” I think, but actually say, “What’s up?”
“I came over for TV sign-ups last night,” he said.
“Okay”
“I had to stand in line for an hour!”
“Yeah, it gets busy. Lots of guys want to watch DVD’s.”
“Well see, I have a bad back and that’s not okay. I shouldn’t have to stand for so long. So I told the woman doing the sign-ups (my boss) and she laughed at me.”
I laughed.
He glares. “It’s not funny.”
“Dude, there are guys with walkers in that line, hell; there’s a guy with one leg in that line. She’s not going to give you special treatment for a bad back.”
He sighs. “Look is there anything you can do? Just put me on a TV if no one shows up. I’ll pay you.”
“No, you won’t,” I said to him, no longer amused. “I don’t take bribes.”
“Maybe one of your co-workers then…”
“No. None of us takes bribes. We’re all hired because we don’t need the money.”
“But you’re an inmate…”
“Which doesn’t mean, I don’t have integrity,” I told him.
“I’ll pay you well,” he said with shock.
“Go away,” I growl.
And he scurries off.
Later that day, I’m talking to my boss and tell her about the idiot new guy trying to bribe me. She laughed, then said, “That’s okay, I had a guy try to convince me to let him sign up for TV’s first because he had a bad back.”
I laughed, “Same idiot.”
“No!” she gasped, then laughs again. “Boy he’s got some learning to do.”
“Yeah well if he can piss me off, then he’s got to be careful otherwise some hot head will smack the shit out of him.”
“Maybe that’s what he needs,” she suggests.
I shrug.
“Just to cover my bases, I did call medical and asked them if there is any personal reason I should give this guy special treatment.”
“And?” I asked.
“Nope”
“Dumbass,” I laughed.
The next day, he has a movie time. I see him peering at the list and frowning. “My name isn’t on here.”
I look at my copy, then at his ID, then swallow a laugh. “I think that’s you,” I said tapping the schedule. “My boss must have misspelled your name.”
“Oh, he said. I give him his DVD and then run to my bosses office.
“Tell me you did this on purpose,” I said.
“Gus, what the hell are you talking about?”
“This!” I show her the schedule. She looks at where I’m pointing and frowns.
“What?” She asks genuinely confused.
“This guy here is the one who we were talking about yesterday. The bad back guy.
“And?”
“That’s not how he spells his last name. Close, but you added a letter.”
“So?”
“Read what you wrote out loud.”
“Wyner…Oh my God!”
“So it wasn’t on purpose?”
“No!” Her face has turned beet red.
“Well obviously your subconscious wanted to get it’s two cents in.”
“Did he notice? Tell me he didn’t notice.”
“Oh, he noticed. I just told him you had bad handwriting.”
“I can’t believe I did that,” she said still blushing.
“I know,” I laughed. “It’s awesome!”
And so The Wyner was born.