2003-05-16 - 5:27 p.m.
ADVENTURES IN PRISONLAND
Many prison bureaucracies are inefficient. Some prison bureaucracies are rude. The bureaucracy at one of our state prisons is incompetent. Given the paperwork connected with setting up an attorney-client visit at most prisons, an incompetent prison bureaucracy makes each visit an adventure.
I�ve had previous adventures at this prison in the southeast of our state. A few years back, attorney-client visits were arranged through a sweet, but often confused, woman with an Hispanic accent. Her accent matters because it alerted me to a potential problem. Many native Spanish speakers do not seem to hear the difference between �Ellen� and �Helen� very clearly. So I spelled �Ellen� for her and had her spell it back, just to make sure she had it correct.
when I arrived at the gate a few days later, I discovered that spelling made not difference. The gatehouse memo said �Helen Philately,� not �Ellen Philately.� While this error was annoying, I figured things would work out. First, we are the only Philatelies in the state. More important, the gate memo had my correct bar number listed and my bar card clearly shows that bar number.
I was wrong. By golly, the memo only authorized a visit by HELEN Philately and if I were not Helen, the gatehouse sergeant was not letting me in. In vain, I pointed out that this Helen had my bar number. In vain, I pointed out that this Helen had the same business address and phone number I did. In vain, I pointed out the obvious similarities between �Helen� and �Ellen,� particularly when heard over a phone. He was not budging.
Eventually, I convinced him to call the woman I made the appointment with. She confirmed that it was me. That call was not good enough. Sure it was supposed to be me�but he would only let in the person actually listed. I finally convinced him to put me on the phone to the superintendent�s office. I got in but the sergeant glared at me as I went in and as I went out. It was a good thing that I am a pro at the metal detectors. One beep would have been the excuse he needed to make things happen the way he thought they should and turn me away.
This week, I again visited this prison and again had an adventure. The adventure began more than a week before when I called to set up a visit. The person I had contacted before had left and I found myself out in the voicemail ozone. I hung up, called the prison back, and got to someone who supposedly knew who to contact about attorney-client visits. He put me through�to the wrong person who handed me off to another wrong person who sent me to a particular voicemail. I left a message explaining who I wanted to visit and when.
A day later, I received a return call telling me that I had spoken to the wrong person and giving me another number, another wrong number. Finally, I got to someone who was authorized to arrange the visits. She took the information and I thought all was well. I should know better.
The next day, I received a very odd telephone message. The secretary who took the message usually takes impeccable messages and she assured me that the message was correct. The message was from the woman I spoke with and said that it was okay this time but next time I had to call to set up an appointment. As I had called the day before to set an appointment, I was mystified. I returned the call. I indicated that I had received a message that puzzled me and told her the message. She assured me that the message was correct. I then pointed out that I had called. She told me that she knew that I had called but she had checked off the �ongoing� box. I had not told her to check off that box nor had we discussed that box, as I pointed out gently. She told me that she knew that but that she needed me to know that I had to call. As she assured me that the visit was still on, I shrugged (because she could not see me) and thanked her for her information.
That call was a harbinger. I almost did not get to make the visit to the two clients I needed to see. When I arrived at the gatehouse this time, there was no gatehouse memo. Luckily, the usual gatehouse sergeant was not there. The substitute did not know he was supposed to be obstructionist. Because I knew the name of the woman and when I spoke with her, he tracked her down. He also insisted that she get a memo out to him. (I think I�m in love with that sergeant but don�t tell Mr. Philately. It will be our little secret.)
I probably will have to set up another attorney-client visit at the prison in the near future. I can hardly wait to see what happens next time.
I just wish I knew whether I was playing Go Fish or Chess.
LAST YEAR: Lost...and Found
Personally
The Long and Shorts of It
The Little Matter of the Kitchen
Space in My House
Roar
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Copyright 2006 by Ellen |
