War Games

For most of my sentence I have taken it as being a failure of sorts on my part if the Governor doesn't know my name within days of arriving. I like being a big blob on management Radar.

A new approach has had to be developed here, where the overwhelming aim is to gain release in a very short space of time. This is also to recognise the exceptionally twitchy outlook of many staff and managers, who believe that the best way to deal with anything is to issue an IEP Warning. God forbid they deign to sort out a problem by that evolutionary miracle, the power of speech.

Habitual tugging of management's tail, then, has been relegated to being almost non-existent (blogging excepted...). The game isn't worth the penalties, and release is way more important than my choices of entertainment.

The name of the game here, at this point in time, is to stay as far off the Radar as is possible, to slide through the resettlement process without a murmur or wave of perturbation, leaving not so much as a damp footprint in the wet sand that comprises management’s consciousness.

Obviously there is my reputation to consider. The idea that I could pass through this nick without anyone noticing is a futile one; especially as the prison’s magazine editor. Being a vocal little bugger doesn't quite square with anonymity.

The best that I could hope for in these circumstances was to appear on the Radar for the right reasons. "Right" in this context meaning positive and cooperative. Or, at the very least, not being a pain in the arse. It seems to be working.