Lessons From a Drug Lord: The Most Unexpected Lessons from the Most Unexpected Person by Shaun Attwood

Author:Shaun Attwood [ATTWOOD, SHAUN]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Self-Help / Substance Abuse & Addictions / Drug Dependence, Self-Help / Substance Abuse & Addictions / General, Biography & Autobiography / Personal Memoirs
Publisher: Gildan Media Corporation
Published: 2014-04-15T00:00:00+00:00

Two Tonys, Tucson prison, 2007.

After Two Tonys is transported to see an eye doctor, I ask him how it went.

“Have you ever been transported into Tucson from here?” Two Tonys asks.

“No.”

“Let me tell you about the transportation guards: they’re real negative. They’re probably told, ‘If you slip and fall, don’t think a prisoner won’t grab your gun and kill you.’ They’re trained to keep their distance and remain aloof. They’re going to give us what we’ve got coming and no more: chains, transportation and a cup of water if there’s a fountain around. They’re not gonna talk about who won the ball game or where the nearest pizzeria is. They’re real shitheads. Anyhow, I get to the doctor’s office, and there must have been 20 people waiting to see him. I’m at the bottom of the list ’cause I’m a state prisoner. I look around and I got no one to talk to.”

“How did the other patients react to you?” I ask.

“They wouldn’t make eye contact with me. I’ve got belly chains on, ankle chains, I’m sitting between two guards packing Glock pistols, and they didn’t wanna look at me. So I’m looking at them, studying them. There must have been six old couples. I start figuring stuff out in my brain ’cause I’ve got nothing better to do. I’m gonna be stuck there for a couple of hours staring at them.

“Here’s what I see: a couple across from me about my age, probably married for 40 years. I see the guy in his grey knee-length shorts, his cotton shirt, his argyle socks and his Nike-swoosh shoes. You know, presentable. A typical retired suburbanite who probably got a gold watch when he quit working for the phone company or the insurance company or some other shit, where they gave him cake and donuts at the office cubicle party, and told him what a swell guy he’d been for the past 25 years, running from cubicle to cubicle, saying how much they were gonna miss him—till his ass hit the door. And the guy’s just sitting there, looking at the wall. Not saying anything to the old prune-faced lady sitting next to him, who he’s gotta be nice to, and will probably miss like hell when she dies. And she’s just sitting there looking at the wall as well, and I said to myself, You know what? He’s doing time. You think this guy ain’t doing time? He’s gonna see the doctor, and she’s gonna give him moral support after they squirt that shit in his eye. After they squirted me, I couldn’t see shit on the way home. I had to feel my way to the chow hall. And then he’s gonna go home to his nice middle-income house with a pool in the backyard, and the grandkids, who probably live in Cincinnati, are gonna come over and visit him once a year, at Xmas. And his old lady knows just how he likes his coffee in the morning. And

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