It Takes a Towne Club to Raise a Man-Child

How do you frame-in a one-year old story containing an extremely flawed character? Do you start with today’s dialogue where the resident unit manager in the employee lunchroom shares a firsthand account between bites of his bologna sandwich? And if you sit closer to get a clearer understanding of human nature will you be nodding your head while your newly found lunch mate reminisces about this flawed character who for lack of a better name we call Dr. Pepper or Dr. P for short?

First, in the retelling of this story you must visualize Dr. P unsupervised in the prisoner visiting-room during non-visiting hours. Then you must ask yourself, since he’s so close to the electronic gates and his parole is less than one hour away, what could possibly go wrong? Then the resident unit manager introduces you to another character—the day-shift sergeant and you learn that she is making a phone call to Lansing; still you are rooting for the soon-to-be-ex-felon to do the right thing, to turn his life around. Tap those heels together, you want to say (everyone likes an underdog) and repeat after me, there’s no place like home, there’s no place like home. However, we’re not in Kansas are we? We’re in the dust storms of Michigan and our flawed character has a parched throat and he’s rocking the vending machine back and forth, back and forth, back and forth until a plastic bottle of pop releases itself from the vending machine’s mechanical grip and Dr. P, for all intents and purposes, does what he thinks is best: he quenches his thirst. For clarification, or maybe because you just don’t want to believe someone could be that stupid, you ask the resident unit manager whether Dr. P had been warned about stealing a pop and you’re assured he had been warned more than once. Also, you learn how his immediate response: “Fuck you Sarge, I’m going home” may not have been the most diplomatic approach to a minor infraction because custody staff escorted him back to his housing unit and told him to wait there until this issue could be resolved.

You notice a wayward piece of cheese dangling from the resident unit manager’s mouth. You ask him if Dr. P went home. “Oh no,” he responds, “Dr. P locks in my unit. It’s been well over a year since his last parole hearing.” You point to the cheese as if one perfect swipe will improve the construction of this frame-story.