"Being incarcerated requires a certain sense of humor. Of course many people who are in prison lose their humor, misplace it in property or trade it in–two for one: two angry–bitters for one jolly perspective.

Ironically I discovered my sense of humor in November of 1987 in the form of a skinny crazy woman with whom I shared a cell for two nights.

Our cell was in a place called, “the basement of cottage 3”–imagine a double barred concrete and steel dungeon, dank and stark, and you would imagine correctly. Rose liked to sing and clap and snap her fingers and stomp her feet and make sucky noises with her dentures. She required no food or sleep and she never stopped moving.

I, on the other hand, could be mistaken for a slug, a sloth, a slow moving eating and sleeping machine, who craves quiet. Some people gotta have a cigarette; I gotta have quiet. Rose and I had no cigarettes (foolishly I had recently quit but I would soon return to them for several more years), ergo there would be no quiet.

My mind snapped. The rubber band that had held it all together, pinged and fell limp between neurons, all the while Rose kept sucking and clicking and clapping and stomping.

Rose taught me to laugh–at myself and circumstances. Not that life isn’t a serious business but because it is so serious we must have chuckles and mirth to freshen the spirit. It is therefore in the spirit of enjoying the foolishness with which we all live, I bring you some classic prison experiences.

For the Jewish Passover meal, the kitchen served pork.

When we have a fire drill, we pretend to go out.

When we have an actual fire, we are locked in.

No fire exit door can ever be unlocked and used because their areas are not secure.

Once when my attorney came to visit me, he was told, after waiting an hour, I could not be found.

My family had their mail returned to them with “released” stamped on the front of the envelope.

A long time ago we were allowed plants in our cells. When an officer searched my cell, she confiscated one of my plants because it was taking up all the oxygen in my area.

The only catalogs we may have in our possession are those from which we cannot order.

We can wait so long for a new pair of glasses, the prescription changes.

You can visit the dentist and be fitted with someone else’s teeth.

I had to file a grievance in order to have the compulsory PPD test (TB test) given because medical said they had no record of me.

You cannot apply for a college class without paying for it. You cannot pay for it without approval from the administration. You can’t get approval without the class material list. You can’t get the class material list until you apply to the college. You can’t apply for the class until you pay the college…

Not only does the medical department insist it has performed a gallbladder surgery on a friend of mine (you would think this would be easy to repudiate), they also insist she has an artificial limb.

Smoking in bed is permitted but it is a fire hazard for a nonsmoker to have books on the end of their bed.

Just the other day at lunch a friend of mine was relaying a story of how she and some other women had finally won a battle against D.O.C. Every inmate has an account with D.O.C. and D.O.C. withholds $25 of each inmate’s money for their release. So when a person walks out the door, they will have a golden handshake. Of course, these days many prisoners will never be released, nevertheless D.O.C. still withheld their $25. My friend and her life–serving cohorts argued for the release of their $25, D.O.C. acknowledged the validity of their argument and returned their money to their spend accounts.

After listening to this story, I nudged my friend, “You won $25 for never leaving prison?” She paused and chuckled too loudly, “At least they didn’t say I had to use it towards the cost of my burial.”

Rose herself has long since died but I still hear her. She never stopped making music. She never stopped laughing. Perhaps she wasn’t so crazy after all." (Elizabeth Haysom, Fluvanna Review, June 29, 2006).

Elizabeth Haysom is presently incarcerated at the Fluvanna Correctional Center for Women in Troy, Virginia. This column is one of a series, published under the general heading 'Glimpses from Inside.'