"I have discovered that if I try to own six gray T-shirts it will cost an entire forest of trees.

A few months ago the clothing policy changed and we were no longer allowed to wear solid color T-shirts. Now we can only wear gray, short-sleeve, pocketless tees that have a certain type of wide crew neck collar. So all of us are shopping madly for new T-shirts.

I ordered three different types of gray T-shirts from J.C. Penney who immediately told me that two of the types were no longer sold. (How can this be? I ordered them from the brand new big catalog.)

Since we are allowed to submit only one order a month to an approved vendor, I felt as though I had wasted my ordering opportunity.

I used my next precious order on Hanes. I chose them because only they sold the style of slipper we are allowed to own and my slippers had that chewed up worn out look. My slippers arrived promptly but the T-shirts were on back order.

Time went by.

I was called to personal property for package pick up and my heart raced with expectation: my T-shirts were here! As soon as I could, I marched over to personal property, filled out the paperwork, stood in the long serpentine line in the claustrophobic humid heat. At last it was my turn at, the desk. Full of merriment, I handed over my paperwork and chitchatted as the assistant hunted through the shelves of packages. She returned with an envelope.

A Hanes catalog.

They had sent me a catalog in a big envelope.

The officer gave me a brief lecture--if I wanted to receive a catalog I would have to submit the appropriate paperwork. It was not my finest hour. I ranted and raved about not ordering the catalog, not wanting or needing the catalog. In the midst of my crazed state I realized two things: It wasn't the officer's fault and the law of survival states, 'Always be courteous (bow and scrape) to the personal property officer.'

I left forlorn.

Several weeks later I am again called to personal property for package pickup. Other women have been receiving their T-shirts from Hanes so I am ecstatic. I'm stoked. Pumped. (Small pleasures!) I charged over to personal property at the first opportunity. I filled out the paperwork and stood in the long serpentine line in the claustrophobic humid heat. At last it was my turn at the desk. I handed in my paperwork, the assistant hunted for my package and returned with an envelope containing a Hanes catalog.

It is testament to the flexibility and strength of the human body that I didn't have an aneurism.

I listened to the catalog-ordering lecture. I said thank you. I left. I frothed at the mouth with garbled fury over my T-shirts and this endless supply of Hanes catalogs all coming to me. One of my friends (I had them trapped) offered to loan me a T-shirt, (an illegal activity) until mine arrived, but I shouted that wasn't the point. What was the point? Mail order sucks and I want my stuff.

Time went by and at mail call one evening I received a postcard from Hanes telling me how they hate to disappoint customers but it was going to be 10 years (another month) before I received my T-shirts. Did I want to hang in there? Of course! How could I risk another precious order?

I was called for package pickup. This time my heart did not race or sing; it was sour. I sauntered over to personal property, filled out the paperwork and stood in the long serpentine line in the claustrophobic humid heat. At last it was my turn at the desk.

'It's probably another catalog of out-of-stock stuff.' I tried to sound cheery and loose to the assistant as I handed her the paperwork. The personal property officer beamed at me.

The assistant hunted through the packages on the shelves and returned with an envelope.

Hanes had sent me one T-shirt.

I eagerly read the packing slip, which informed me that my other T-shirts (identical in every way to the one in my hands) were also shipped the same day, individually, in separate envelopes. One at a time.

No wonder shipping and handling costs as much as the items! I was outraged.

'At least you got one T-shirt,' the officer shrugged. 'They always come like that.'

I'm a partially educated prisoner, but surely this reeks of wasted resources and shoddy business practice.

It's been four months since my first T-shirt order and I have squeezed three out of the reluctant vendors (we're allowed six). I still have one out there floating in the back-order universe and I think I will gracefully stop there. I'd rather live on four T-shirts than kill another forest of trees in the attempt to live on six." (Elizabeth Haysom, Fluvanna Review, August 11, 2005)

Elizabeth Haysom is incarcerated at the Fluvanna Correctional Center for Women in Troy. Her essays are indexed at Glimpses from Inside.