Prison Bitch

Humorous memoir covering eleven years inside federal female camps and prisons. An excerpt from Chapter 6, Religious Services: I had been at Danbury a few months when Vicki persuaded me to attend a revival with her one night in the auditorium. Faith healers were on the ticket and I was more than a little skeptical. I decided to go. I’ll never forget it. It was standing room only, probably 500 women. Some were hoping to be healed of one affliction or another, some sought to be prophesied to. It was, to use an over-used prison phrase, off the chain. From simple introductions of our guests we soon progressed to speaking in tongues and laying on of hands. At this point, the screaming began. I don’t know if they were casting out demons or what, but those being healed let out blood-curdling screams. Let me just briefly state that I am a survivor of domestic violence. I can’t even watch a movie with those themes without having a full-scale panic attack. Xanax being unavailable to me in Club Fed, I avoid loud, contentious and violent situations at all costs. After the screaming began, I looked at Vicki like maybe this wasn’t the service I needed right now. She motioned for me to keep my seat, but could tell I was uncomfortable. Next, two things happened simultaneously. A lady in the middle of the audience, in front of us and to the left, began projectile vomiting in a whole circle around herself. Just like Regan in The Exorcist! Also, somebody suddenly screamed bloody murder in the back of the crowd, near the restrooms, and roughly threw herself against the back wall. Now I broke out in a cold sweat. My pupils were probably bigger than my skull as I made my way out of there, nearly hyperventilating, Vicki hot on my heels. No more organized religion at Danbury for me!