13 August 05

Pricked

At 7am my cell door clicked open.
“Jon, come out!” said Officer Redrock, who was accompanied by a doctor.
“I’m takin’ a shit. Can you wait a minute?” Long Island pled his case.
I stayed put because the toilet is adjacent to the cell door.
“Tough shit! Jon, come out, now!”
Disobeying an order is a ticketable offense, so I opened the door.
What's this?” I said, and squinted at the syringe the doctor was fondling.
“TB test,” the doctor said.
“I read that these shots mess up the immune system. I feel perfectly healthy. Can I sign a refusal for medical treatment?”
“Absolutely not. If you don’t take it voluntarily, I’ll call out the turtles [the goon squad], and they’ll strap you down and force you to take it,” the doctor said while eyeballing the veins in my left arm.
“That’s just great. I’m sick of these - ouch!”
“What a way to start the day, eh?” Officer Redrock said.
“Yeah. Thanks.” I said and shut the door.

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