Long backstory aside, my sister and I were at a visitation facility where our mother was allowed to see us while staff supervised from afar.

On this sunny summer’s day, we were eating outside. While we sat at the picnic table, a wasp started buzzing around, scaring my sister. So, I did what any terrified child would do and trapped the pest under my cup.

Crisis averted, we continued with lunch and then moved on to playing in the large garden. Except, the wasp wasn’t the only one. We still had two more cups from lunch, which trapped two more wasps. When a fourth showed up, I went and found a load more cups.

My sister and I made a game of trapping as many as we could while our mother watched. The idea was that once we were done, we could play safety, but time ran out before we caught them all.

There had to have been many twenty or more upside-down cups in that garden, each with a very angry wasp stuck underneath. It’s only all these years later that I realised the person who had to clean all that up would not have had a fun time.

When I was first put in jail, I searched the library cart for something to read. The TVs were controlled by certain cliques, and just about the only thing they ever played was ESPN (Entertainment and Sports Programming Network). I do not care about sports in the slightest.

Among the stacks of religious books, thirty-year-old and mainly discredited self-help books, and cheap airport paperbacks, I DID manage to find something worth reading: “Hamlet”.

I was sitting on my bunk reading it, and one cellmate saw it.

Cellmate: “What is that?”

Me: “Oh, it’s Hamlet. I know, pretty cheesy, but it’s about the only thing worth reading on the library cart.”

Cellmate: “What’s Hamlet?”

Me: “You know… Hamlet… by Shakespeare.”

Cellmate: “What’s Shakespeare?”

Me: “You’re kidding, right?”

Cellmate: *Completely blank face* “No. What is it?”

Me: “Wow, I’d at least think you’d have heard of him in high school, or through pop culture osmosis or something. He’s only the most well-known writer in the English language.”

Cellmate: “Nah, I usually only know about rap music.”

Me: “Ooookay, hang on…”

I flipped over to the “To be or not to be” soliloquy and read/acted it out for him.

Cellmate: “Wow, that’s pretty cool. I really like that ‘For in that sleep of death what dreams may come’ part the best! Has this guy… What was his name again?”

Me: “…William Shakespeare,”

Cellmate: “Yeah! Has he written any other stuff?”

I was unable to shake the feeling I was being pranked.

Me: “Yeah… He’s written a few things.”

Cellmate: “Cool. I’ll have to look him up. That ‘For in that sleep of death what dreams may come’ part would make a dope rap song!”

I am a prison officer in a male prison, and while I am cisgender female, I am also openly pansexual, and I’m very active/supportive of the LGBTQI+ community.

In conversation with a colleague, he jokingly shares what he thinks is a funny story about a recent intake, who (while still legally required to be housed in a men’s prison) is openly transfemale. He continually refers to this person using their deadname.

Me: “You mean, [Female/Preferred Name].”

Colleague: “No, his name on [System] is [Deadname].”

Me: “Would you like me to prove you wrong?”

I bring up the person’s profile and point out the section for identified gender and preferred name.

Colleague: “HA! ‘Preferred’ name. But his legal name is still [Deadname].”

Me: “Like how my legal name is [My Full Name], but my preferred name is [Shortened Version]?”

Colleague: “…”

Me: “Besides which, under the current departmental policy, you are required to acknowledge her identified gender and refer to her by her preferred name, regardless of your own personal bigotry regarding trans people.”

He left the room shortly after and has not spoken to me since.

I don’t miss our talks.

About two and a half years ago, I started working as a health care assistant in the local women’s prison.

All in all, it was an okay job. I got on with most of the women, especially those who would stop me to ask about my day or just tell me about the new photo their friends or family sent. The officers were nice, if a little dismissive of genuine health problems at times.

I left the job after almost two years, but I still work there sporadically to keep my hand in, so to speak. I am working today.

The day starts as normal: handover and then medication rounds.

My registered practitioner is late in, due to a prior agreement we were not made aware of, so we go to the prison wing and find out that the lone officer won’t have a second for an hour. We need two officers for meds: one to supervise the girls taking the meds and one to unlock and lock up.

No problem. We get some admin done.

Meds start, and all is going well until two girls end up in a verbal altercation and are restrained back to their cells.

We then change sides to do the other section of the wing on the other side of the building. It’s slow, but everyone gets medicated. Then, it’s just clean up and breakfast. It’s about 11:30.

Now, to clarify, as a member of healthcare, I am required to carry a radio. We take a call sign and respond to location updates and alarms. Most notable alarms are our emergency codes. Code Red is heavy bleeding. Think a bloodbath, sprayed on the walls type. Code Blue is unresponsive or not breathing.

For either of these, it’s not uncommon to see five staff members sprinting the length of the prison with a 15-kg bag in tow.

We get set up to go back to our office in the centre of the prison, when an alarm is sent across the radios, signalled by a near-deafening klaxon.

Control: “Code Blue, [MY WING]. Acknowledge [OFFICER AND GOVERNOR IN CHARGE]. Acknowledge [NURSE IN CHARGE].”

Safe to say I’m hauling this 15-kg bag down two flights of stairs whilst trying to locate the cell.

As I arrive, the officer in charge of that wing tells me the patient is fine.

Officer: “There’s nothing wrong with her.”

Either way, I entered and tried to rouse the woman, a known epileptic. 

In the next thirty minutes, this woman suffered twenty-four witnessed seizures, each lasting between twenty and sixty seconds. She did not regain consciousness between, and she left for the hospital with the paramedics.

She returned later, self-discharged due to a fear of hospitals, but understandably tired and sore.

So much for “nothing wrong with her!”

I work on the reception of a children’s prison. Due to current global events, we have restricted the number of visits we can have to the prison per week to allow for social distancing and for the visiting room to be cleaned between visits, etc. To make sure that it’s fair and that all children are getting visits relatively equally, each child can only have one professional and one family visit per week — as well as unlimited phone calls and some video calls.

A social worker calls and asks to book a visit to see a child. I apologise, explain the above, and tell them that another professional has a visit booked this week for that child, so the social worker will have to call next week to visit next week.

Social Worker: “But my visit is very important!”

Me: “I understand, but [Other Professional] has already booked a visit. Can you discuss this with [Child] by video call?”

Social Worker: “It’s a statutory visit. I have to see them in person once per month, and next week is the start of the next calendar month!”

Me: “I know other professionals have had this issue, and I’m sorry, but we have found that most authorities are understanding what with the national guidance.”

Social Worker: “Oh. Well… when is [Other Professional]’s visit?”

Me: “Friday.”

Social Worker: “Oh, that’s perfect!”

Me: “Sorry, because of national guidelines on households mixing, you and [Other Professional] can’t visit together; you need to book your own slot.”

Social Worker: “Oh, I don’t want to come with her!”

Me: “Erm, okay?”

Social Worker: “I can come Friday instead of [Other Professional]. You said she’d understand.”

Me: “No? Sorry, no, I can’t let you cancel someone else’s appointment.”

Social Worker: “I can talk to [Other Professional].”

Me: “Yes. Okay. You speak to [Other Professional], and if they ring me to cancel the appointment, I’ll ring you to let you know the slot is free.”

The social worker agreed. The other professional did not call to cancel their appointment.

The social worker in this post is not representative of all social workers, who, in my experience, tend to be excellent, hard-working, and understanding people. This one was just entitled.