Got your attention with that title, didn’t I?
Sometimes friendship knows no bounds. Take for instance agreeing to accompany a friend visiting her step son at the South Fork Prison Camp in the Tillamook forest.
How he came to be there is a whole other story, perhaps best never told as it is sad, stupid and has caused much heart ache. But the fact is, he is a 28-year-old, handsome boy with a generous heart, winning smile and too much moxey for his own good. And he is in the pokey for a three and a half-year stint. Through good behavior and his natural charm, he got himself transferred out to the prison camp where life is much better over all. If one can say that about prison.
Because of her past experiences in visiting him, she was able to guide me in the dress code. No short shorts or skirts, no denim, and no underwire bras. I can only guess that the wire could be extricated and used as what? A weapon? Other than poke your eye out, I’m not sure it could withstand much force.
One time, when visiting her little felon, she forgot about the no underwire rule and marched straight up to the metal detector, which she then set off. The guard, who actually had a sense of humor, asked, “Underwire?” It donned on her that she indeed had worn the wrong bra. He suggested she retire to the restroom and try to pry them out of said bra. With what? She did have a little pair of scissors in her purse, but she was not allowed to bring it into the building, so it was placed in a locker outside. There were no scissors or knives at the check in desk, for obvious reasons. All the guard had to give her were a pair of nail clippers.
In she went to the most inhospitable, hot, dreary restroom one could image. There are outhouses better equipped than this little hovel. She stripped off the offending piece of clothing and endeavored to make a slit in the fabric in order to take out the dangerous wires. This act went on for several minutes, all the while she was sweating, muttering to herself and picking away at the seam. It seemed as if she would never make it and she had to face the fact she might have to put the thing back on and go home.
But, finally there came to be a tiny hole, and then a bigger hole and then a hole large enough to slip out the wires that could potentially become a weapon.
Now, what exactly was she to do with them? Put them in her pocket? No, they would still set off the alarm. Throw them away? She thought she could put them back in later. So, out she stepped with the wires and gave them to the guard. He didn’t bat an eye as he threw them away. Oh, well.
And that is how her piece of mutilated undergarment became known as “the prison bra.” I now have a “prison bra” of my own, which begs the question; how do two Christian women, both brought up in small town America, leading lives for Jesus come to have “prison bras?” Life is continuously throwing you curves balls and catching them with grace and humor is key to living well.
From now on, whenever she wants me to accompany her to see the step son, all she has to do is text the day, the time and the words, “wear your prison bra”.
magicalmess 