|Okay Nance, tell us what you really think|
I received an email from my sister recently, nagging because I haven’t been blogging. I’ve been so busy with work that most of the humour has left my life, and the last thing you all want to read is a boring list of all the things I have to do.
The obvious solution is to go to prison.
I mean think about it – someone like me – whose description of the perfect day is sitting for twelve hours in front of the computer, writing. It’s a no-brainer.
There would be no housework to do except I think they give you a chore like laundry (which I have to do here anyway) and it would take a total of three seconds to clean my room.
Apparently, there is also time to exercise each day. A forced exercise break. Imagine that? I’d love it! I’ve heard they have nice gym equipment there too, treadmills and ellipticals – better stuff than I can afford to buy here at home.
And then somebody would make my meals. Hear that? Someone else does the cooking! And probably the dishes, too. And then with no men around that means no sports on T.V. This sounds really good.
I think I’d adjust fine. I’m not a fussy eater, I don’t smoke, don’t do drugs and could easily quit my wine habit. I cut my hair short already and barely comb it and I wear sweatsuits most days. As long as I could take my computer along I’d be just fine. A three year sentence would be about right. I could finish all the novels I’ve started and write a flippin’ fantastic blog.
Just think of it: “Life is Pretty Damn Interesting Inside these Prison Walls.”
I could interview inmates, talk about their crimes, report on the day-to-day fights and shit that goes on. People love to talk about themselves and I’m a great listener so that would be my strategy for making friends.
Just so long as I don’t have to participate in any squirmishes I’d be okay. I’d have to establish right off the bat that I’m just there as an observer – kinda like the reporter who goes to war with the troops but doesn’t have to do any actual fighting.
I could offer to do all kinds of things in jail: I could teach a fitness class or do some personal training; help them set up a prison newspaper; teach a computer class; offer a creative writing workshop; evaluate a few manuscripts (I’m not qualified to do any of this in regular society) but I figure, besides Conrad Black, how many people with my experience are locked up? Most writers end up in the looney bin or rehab. There is a real need for someone with my skills in prison.
And at the very least, I could bring along a few of my favourite recipes and whip up a pan of “the cake with the yellow icing” during my turn in the kitchen (that is if I can get some coconut smuggled in). And my homemade fudge is TO DIE FOR. I could trade it for pretty much anything – like office supplies.
Now the question is: How do I get there.
I’m pretty squeamish so there can’t be any blood involved. It would definitely have to be white collar crime. And should involve huge amounts of money. Of course the bonus would be if I could skim off and hide enough to pay off debts in the process, it would make three years in the Big House worthwhile. I mean otherwise, we’re looking at another 10 years of hard labour . . .
My strategy for getting along would include befriending the toughest inmate and the guards. It would be pretty easy to get on the good side of the guards because I’m quite helpful and don’t mind being bossed around, so long as my efforts are appreciated. I’d also have to somehow let them all know that I have no interest in being anybody’s Bitch. I mean, that would be pretty gross, so I’d have to take along my runners just in case. And of course that’s why becoming best friends with one of the guards (preferably a heterosexual female) would be my top priority.
Yes, if I went to jail my writing career would just take right off.
Excuse me now while I log off and do a search for “White Collar Crime for Dummies.” Or maybe I’ll just email Conrad Black . . .