Augustus: Variety! Whoo-hooo, variety is the spice of life. And here in Oz, we got plenty of variety. All sorts of folks get sent here. Most of the cons here in Oz, they're what you on the outside would expect; there's crazy killers, brain dead junkies, common thieves, streetwise g's, chesters, hustlers, rapists...
A diminutive woman walks in front of Augie as he speaks, interrupting his rolling thoughts. She's a pretty lady, wall of hair, face like a frying pan. "Hey, this is my job now, beat it," she informs him.
"What? You must be trippin', lady. I'M the narrator here at Oz. Go over to Parker's Women's Correctional Facility, maybe they'll give you a gig there."
She leans down close to his face and sticks a finger in front of him as he draws back, recoiling from her aggression. "Listen, pal, I spent 8 years on the biggest show in the history of TV. A show that people have actually heard of, you hear me? Just because we got busted doesn't mean we're breaking up the team. The guys are coming here, and so am I."
"Oh! So you're HER. Elaine, right? Yeah, I was just getting ready to talk about you, introduce your friends, they're almost here too."
Surprised and delighted, Elaine places her hands on his shoulders and gives him her patented forceful shove while exclaiming, "Get out!"
Regrouping and rolling himself back to center stage, Augustus eyes her with an admiring look. "Yeah, I'm serious! They should be here any minute. I'm sorry I didn't know who you were. Damn, they didn't tell me you were such a fox."
Acting coyly and doing a sidestep, Elaine's face lights into a broad smile as her dark curls cascade and frame her broad grin. "Oh, why, thank you. I gotta say, I'm a bit relieved too. I didn't know what to expect. I mean, blech, criminals, right? But, hey," she gives an admiring glance at Augustus' cherubic visage.
"Well, have a seat," he pats his lap. "Get comfy, they haven't brought in your chair yet, princess."
Climbing onto his lap, Elaine again grows agitated, "See, this is what I mean. I'm not used to this kind of treatment. We got everything we wanted at NBC. A new chair, no problem."
"Well, baby, as I was just saying, Oz is an adjustment. Not to mention adjusting to a cable budget."
Placing an arm around his shoulders, she again seems slightly contented. "Well, there are certain perks, I suppose. Hey, let's see what the guys are up to!"
The feel of her soft arm on his shoulders has non-plussed Augie for the first time ever. The Benes tattoo now firmly etched upon him, he has no option but to simply nod and agree with her.
----
The three men are seated on a bench in a dimly lit "reception area" waiting to be escorted into their new home.
"What if some big tough guy tries to make me his bitch, Jerry," the short balding man inquires nervously.
"George, you can't say that."
"Sure he can, buddy," the tall man with a face like a horse interjects. "Remember, no censors anymore."
"Oh, yeah."
The short man wrings his hands, consumed with his own fears. "I mean it Jerry. What will I do? I'm not young anymore, I may not be strong enough to defend myself against that kind of thing."
"Yeah," his carefree friend wisecracks, "as opposed to the Herculean strength you possessed in your twenties."
The tall man rises and begins to look around, stopping to awkwardly pull at a something moving in his pants leg.
"Kramer, what the hell is that?"
"Cigarettes, Jerry. Nicotine. Smokes, tobacco, el producto de RJ Reynolds," he proclaims as he points at his pal and winks. "Yeah, they're as good as money in here. I've got it all worked out with Newman, he's going to..."
"Idiot! They're going to strip search us, you know! You're going to get in trouble on your first day!"
Kramer blanches at the thought, his voice high and squeaky, "Strip search?"
"This is prison, not the New York Health club."
He halts speaking as a stern blonde woman enters the room and begins reading in a monotone voice. "We have rules here. You will go to classes, you will..."
The short neurotic man raises his hand, "I, I have a question."
She leans down and stares at him. "Yes?"
"Well, I already have my high school diploma. In fact, I think I have a copy of it here in my wallet," he begins to reach for his back pocket. "So I was just wondering if it would possible to forego the whole classroom..."
"You'll do exactly as we tell you to do. Got that?"
His only reply is to look down at the ground sheepishly and nod.
Whittlesey finishes her speech and pairs each man with a sponsor. Kramer looks at his and does a double take, slightly stumbling backwards. "That's quite a hat you've got there. Very tiny. How do you keep that on?"
Jerry begins to walk side by side with his, a bulky man with a serious demeanor. "Say, that's quite a tattoo you've got there. What's it mean?"
"It's a sign that I'm a member of the Aryan Brotherhood."
"Oh! I see. Yeah, you know, I was once mistaken for a nazi, it was really quite funny. I was at the airport see, and..."
"Shut the fuck up. Here's your pod."
George looks down at the ground, pondering the day's events. Looking over at his sponsor, he thinks he really doesn't look all that bad. A handsome guy, shaved bald, a bit skinny, but not too vicious at all. "So, that female guard back there,"
"Whittlesey?"
"Yeah. Is she, um, single?"
"What?"
"Well, I think she was kind of looking at me back there. I thought I might ask her out. I mean, I don't think I'll be meeting very many women here, so..."
O'Reilly rolls his eyes at the short man and escorts him into his pod, then quickly turns to leave. "Hey, Hey," George calls out. "Where are you going?"
Straightening his belt, O'Reilly answers him with words that confound the stocky man. "To alert everyone that there's a new prag in Em City," he replies curtly and then turns and leaves.
----
Augustus: Adjustment and assimilation. One of the hardest things to get used to in Oz is how drastically things will change. All the comforts of home, gone. All your clout, gone. And for someone who was babied on the outside, it's that much fuckin worse.
Elaine: Hey! Who are you calling a baby?
Augustus: Not you, baby.
---
Kramer clumsily pushes the door to the neighboring pod open and stumbles inside. "Hey, buddy," he proclaims and slides down onto the floor, rooting around under Jerry's bunk. He pulls out a can of spray starch and stands back up. "I need to use this, I'll bring it back."
"Kramer! That's my last can of starch! This place is driving me nuts. I can't find a decent iron, my clothes are all wrinkled. It's only been one week in here and look at me, I'm a mess. I need that stuff."
"Relax, mojambo, I'll bring it back."
"Well, what do you need it for?"
"My roommate, his hat is getting a bit floppy. I think if I spray this on his skull, and then attach the hat..."
Sighing with resignation, Jerry cuts him off, "Forget it, just take it."
---
Sitting at the lunch table, the three men discuss the day's events.
"Well that O'Reilly, your sponsor, he's one crazy bastard. I was in the gym, wiping off the bench press when he got done with it, and he turned around and saw me and got all bent out of shape about it. He started asking me if I thought he had germs or something, and then going off about how cancer isn't contagious."
"Well what about me," the short man interjects. "No one has even approached me about being their bitch."
"Prag, George," Kramer wags his fork at him. "They call 'em prags here."
Jerry looks at him dubiously, "What, are you the official prison interpreter now? You're learning the lingo?"
"When in Rome, little buddy."
"Can we please stop with the vocabulary lessons? I have a problem here!"
"What? What is the problem? You're telling me you WANT to be someone's PRAG now," Jerry mockingly emphasizes the word for Kramer's benefit. "You were terrified of it, and now you're whining because it isn't happening."
"No. No. No. I don't want to be a prag. I'm just saying, I find it strange and a bit offensive that no one wants me to be their prag. I mean, is there something wrong with me? Am I not good enough prag material?"
"Oh, you're perfect prag material, George."
"See! See! So what's going on? I'm as good as he is!" He points over to one of Schillinger's known targets.
"Why don't you just be happy that no one's bothering you?"
"Because, Jerry! Because it's blatant rejection. I can't handle that. It's them saying to me, 'you aren't good enough.' 'George Costanza isn't even good enough to be my prag.' Can you believe that?" His volume starts to increase as he gets more agitated. "Well, let me tell you something, I worked for Steinbrenner, I'm a class A prag, I was trained by the best, the best, Jerry!"
---
Elaine: Well, what do you think?
Augustus: I have never seen anything like it. I have never seen people so consumed with themselves and locked into their own world that even Oz doesn't affect them. Bizarre.
Elaine: Pretty cool, huh?
Augustus' only reply is to look at the strange woman sitting on his lap and raise a curious brow.
---
Two more weeks later:
Jerry tosses a towel in the garbage can as Kramer is walking by.
"What the hell are you doing?"
"That touched the floor in the shower room. It's ruined."
Kramer retrieves the towel and bunches it up under his arm. "So, what are you doing today?"
"Ah, I'm gonna go to the library. They have a collection of old Marvel comics there. Why, what are you doing?"
"Goin to meet O'Reilly. We've got a little something cooking with the..."
"Ah, I don't want to know, Kramer. I'm not getting pulled into another scheme."
Kramer smacks his hands together and rubs them, "All right then, see you later."
---
Turning around under the shower to allow the water to fall down his back, George sees Adebisi enter the room. Sucking in between his teeth, Adebisi eyes the soft man, then blows him a kiss.
George is overwhelmed with pride and happiness. 'Finally,' he thinks, 'finally someone puts the moves on me.'
Adebisi removes the towel draped around his waist and begins to strut toward the smaller man. Then George realizes what is happening, and he suddenly remembers his wish to Jerry a couple of weeks ago. "Oh, no, really, thank you very much. I'm very flattered, really I am. But we don't have to do this. The thought was the important thing," he nervously replies. Shutting off the water, he hurriedly grabs a towel and begins to dry off.
As he passes Adebisi in his hasty retreat, the brawny man pats him on the ass and explains, "You not my type."
George begins to walk away, but suddenly stops as he contemplates that comment. Turning around, he walks back to the man now under the shower. "Um, yes, hello again. What exactly do mean, not your type? I was just wondering, I mean, do you not find me attractive, is that it?"
---
Elaine: What's that supposed to mean?
Augustus: Nothing, I was just saying that since you've got our own chair now, you could sit over there every once in a while.
Elaine: Why, do you think I'm fat? Am I too heavy for you, wimp boy?
Augustus: Wimp boy? Man, forget it. Forget you. You want this gig, here you go! I can't take this anymore.
Augustus pushes her off his lap and gets up and begins to walk away, turning to speak over his shoulder, "Keep the chair."
Elaine: Assimilate this, pal!