Barry Tuttle
worked as a guard. For twenty seven years, Monday through Saturday with a
rotating day off midweek, he'd worn the butternut uniform more than a few
guests of the Hastings Women's Correctional Facility claimed complimented his
eyes. This morning when he looked in his closet those duds were missing. Six
brand new uniforms, if they could truly be called uniforms, hung in their
place. They consisted of a crisp white shirt, white dress slacks and a matching
jacket. I'm your ice cream man, stop me
as I'm passing by. Barry's stomach clenched, Diamond Dave he was not.
He'd seen it
coming for a while. Privately owned correctional facilities had been gaining
market share over Public/Federally supported institutions over his entire
career. With privatization comes competition and once Amazon got involved,
things got a little weird. Amazon's interest tipped the Lion's share of the
penal pay-dirt to the private sector. Focus would no longer be on wresting
control away from the feds but rather on cannibalizing competitive
counterparts.
The new
uniforms came with a new title for Barry: Host. All part of Amazon's new,
"Destination Incarceration" promotion. The botched burglary, assault
or common assortment of Saturday night offenses that usually led to three hots
and a cot were small potatoes. Leave those to Canada. Extras and add ons were
where the real dough was to be made. The mess halls would now be bistros.
Greens would still be served on Sunday but now kale instead of collards. Orange
would no longer be the new black. A choice of understated ensembles from J.
Crew would be available for purchase for those settling up societal debt
imbalances. Thread count counts, and as always, membership has its privileges.
If you can in fact afford to do the time, then by all means, do the crime. And
don't worry. If you have Prime, we'll leave a light on for you.
.
