#1: Tonight I decided to unleash some Grand-Theft-Auto-style violence on an unsuspecting community. I recall stealing an SUV which I had previously vandalized with a foamy substance, perhaps shaving cream (smart idea huh?). Before this I ran over at least two people with a different vehicle, and I'm sure other mayhem occured. My crime wave came to an end abruptly, which was never fully explained, and my lawyer told me I could expect to do at least 15 years for my crimes. I guess its swell that they didn't hand me the death penalty or life without the possibility of parole, just "at least" 15 years behind bars.

Anyway, I was taken to the jail and was processed. Most of this made sense: I had to strip down, shower, do the usual stuff you do when you pass through the penal gauntlet. It was smooth sailing until I got to a waiting room. There were several changes of clothes on a table, and the room had numerous observation windows that looked out onto a large activity room. The floor was covered with those blue gym mats that get used when you need a softer surface to land on instead of a hard concrete floor, such as when you're studying a martial art and get tossed around a lot. On these mats were two obstacle courses formed by use of large, soft blocks of various shapes and sizes. They were spaced in such a way so that your feet should land between them, the idea being similar to making soldiers cross through rows of tires to improve their coordination while wearing heavy battle gear. Navigating these obstacles was a mandatory part of processing - in essense, I was trying to "test into" the prison - and I promptly went into the main room and ran both courses. However, those runs didn't count since I didn't change into the clothes in the other room. I went back, stripped, and saw what I had to change into: a dress. I felt kind of humiliated - but I assumed that was the whole point - so I sucked it up, ran the first course, apparently passing. I then had to go back and change again, this time into a skirt and top. Note that while the first outfit was technically a dress, it was very utilitarian; almost more of a hospital gown than anything else. So, now that I'm really doll'ed up I run the second course and apparently fail. It turns out that I was supposed to run and jump but keep with my hands firmly by my side the whole time until the end at which point I was supposed to extend them outwards. There were other rules to the game and they showed me charts and videos on how to properly do it. It was much more choreographed than the first test! Later I learn that the point of this intricate procedure isn't to humiliate per se, but to help temper violent personalities and to mitigate the tedium of doing time...picture jails offering synchronized swimming in lieu of bible groups and you'd have the right idea as to what was occuring. In my memory, I recall seeing a psychologist recite his psychobabble on why this rehabilitation program works and just before I wake up, I was flashed a memo in my mind calling for the immediate end to the program, owing to state budget cuts. Presumably, this allowed the prisoners to get on with other, more pressing tasks like stabbing each other and raping the new guys.

Commentary: Fifteen years has shown up again...that's the time it took the hotel worker from 11/4/09 to work her way up from cleaning floors to making peanuts as the front desk person in the hotel.