Monica stood in front of the bathroom mirror of her hotel room in the
uniform shirt and a regular skirt. She held the pants out in front of her,
surveying them. Truthfully, this was the closest she'd ever been to a pair
of them, let alone having to put some on.
"Can't be much harder than underwear," she decided logically, slipping her skirt off and pulling the pants up her legs. When she began to lose her balance, she threw out her hand to catch herself against the wall, fumbling with her feet to get the pants all the way up. When Monica finally zipped and buttoned them up, instantly she knew which she preferred to pants or skirts.
These pants were stiff (nothing a good washing couldn't fix), but the immobility was like a lock on her leg freedom. Of course, Monica realized that pants were an essential part to the outfit, so she had to live with them. She knew that after a while, she'd have to get used to this uniform.
And, she reminded herself, this was for Percy.
She hadn't gotten any guns (perhaps she wouldn't at all?), or a baton, or for that matter, any gear; but she decided that as a newbie, she wouldn't be getting that stuff quite yet. If not at all in the time that she worked there. Monica only had one goal, and she wasn't sure how long it would take to reach it. Just now, she wasn't sure if it would take a day, or ten years.
Whatever.
* * * * * * * * * *
MONICA
I entered the door to B block in my uncomfortable pants. Just that morning I had washed them three times; all the way up until I left for my first day on the job. Washing did absolutely NOTHING. For someone who's never worn pants before, I noted that I WAS pretty good at covering up the abnormality.
"You look mighty comf'table in them pants there, ma'am, for a lady."
I looked to the source of the voice, which came from a stack of books on top of a desk. It was a man's voice, of course, but I couldn't see who it was; his head popped back around the mountain of books. The desk was so cluttered, that the man was completely hidden behind his stacks of... things.
"Sir?" I inched my way closer to the desk.
"Sorry," the man said jovially, wrapping his arms around the books and pulling them into his lap so that I could see him.
He was a semi-handsome guy, and his visage hardly matched his voice. Of course, I have a strange attraction to strange men, so he didn't bother me a bit. His face was a little whiskery, it seemed, from lack of time to shave, no doubt. There were faint traces of darkness under his eyes - probably for some personal reason, but other than that, his features were youthful. I guessed he was in his mid-twenties.
"I'm Jerry Muller," he said with energy, reaching his hand across the desk surface, which was now swiped clean.
"Monica Gilbert," I replied, taking his hand. He shook it almost as hard as Tim Hoover had; it seemed to be a prison-guy thing, I guessed, to shake hard.
"Pleased to meet you, Tim's told me we were getting a new guard... didn't know they was going to be a SHE, but that's no problem with me," Jerry said sincerely. "There's your desk," he said, pointing at an empty one to the far wall of his. "You can just make yourself at home there. The other B block guy is on his lunch break; there's only one more. We don't need too many guards around this block," Jerry explained.
"What's his name?" I asked, glancing around the building. I immediately realized how much larger this place was than E block. There were only six cells there, but here there were at least a dozen lining the walls. It seemed the whole place was a perfect rectangle. To the far left was Jerry's cluttered desk, the far right was what was going to be my desk, and at the end of the corridor, was a third desk, I was guessing to be the other guys'. We were all set up to face the prisoners, who were all sleeping, I could see. It WAS still morning, and when I glanced at the clock behind me, it read 8:42.
"The other guy's pretty much the boss 'round here. His name's Bret Inglebert, and he's really nice once you get to know him. Friendly guy, but can't say he's the most normal..." Jerry leaned forward as if Bret were right there watching him, and whispered, "He likes to read, see? No problem there. But he gets a bit caught up in the stories if you know what I mean. You just wait 'til he gets absorbed in a book; it's hard not to laugh. Sometimes he repeats lines at random moments, but hopefully you'll get to see his expressions first..."
A glimmer of a warm smile spread over my face, but I quickly wiped it off. I still wasn't sure about first impressions, but Jerry WAS really nice; made you feel right at home here.
"Well," Jerry said, clearing his throat and leaning back in his chair. "The prisoners get up 'round here at 9:15 to eat breakfast, then they go outside and do their work, then they eat lunch, and after that they play their football and what-not... Our jobs are to make sure they stay under control and stay on task. One toe out of line and it's back to the cell's with them; we are a bit strict. But hey, it IS prison."
I nodded and let him continue.
"Their lunch break is our lunch break, right? That's all we get free while the other guards step in. That's at 12:30. After the prisoners get themselves all worn out with their games and such (which we must look after as well), they go back to their cells. By that time, it's around 2:00, and we come back here," Jerry slapped his hand on his desk. "Then - we watch them 'til dinner, right? With me?"
I nodded. "When's their dinner?"
"6:15. Then we go home. It's really quite simple, you get used to the schedule after a while. We're expected to be at work by 9:00, and we go back home at 6:15. Easy as that. The night guys do their night shifts, the lunch guys do their lunch shifts... we do the daytime shifts," Jerry blabbered on. "First day on the job, ma'am, you can be my shadow. See how it's all done. It's really quite an easy, interesting job once you get it."
"Yes sir," I sighed.
"No need to call me sir... I get a bit repulsed with that formal stuff. I'm just Jerry, here," Jerry nodded, giving me another feeling of warm welcome. "Here," he said, pulling from his desk drawer, a belt, "-are your things. Handcuffs, baton, gun, the like." He handed me the belt with little hesitation, but I sensed it. He was a bit uneasy handing a woman such power.
"No need to worry, sir- Jerry," I corrected myself quickly, lowering my eyebrows and nodding once politely. "I've been on a police force before and I can handle these things."
"And I'm sure you can," Jerry said, but still with an uneasy tone of voice.
The truth was, I had never held a gun before. But - I had never worn pants before as well.
As I wrapped the belt around my waist, I thought to myself, Hey - if I can wear pants, I can sure as anything wear a gun.
A/N: Thaaaat's all for now, folks! More to come soon! ENJOY! :)
"Can't be much harder than underwear," she decided logically, slipping her skirt off and pulling the pants up her legs. When she began to lose her balance, she threw out her hand to catch herself against the wall, fumbling with her feet to get the pants all the way up. When Monica finally zipped and buttoned them up, instantly she knew which she preferred to pants or skirts.
These pants were stiff (nothing a good washing couldn't fix), but the immobility was like a lock on her leg freedom. Of course, Monica realized that pants were an essential part to the outfit, so she had to live with them. She knew that after a while, she'd have to get used to this uniform.
And, she reminded herself, this was for Percy.
She hadn't gotten any guns (perhaps she wouldn't at all?), or a baton, or for that matter, any gear; but she decided that as a newbie, she wouldn't be getting that stuff quite yet. If not at all in the time that she worked there. Monica only had one goal, and she wasn't sure how long it would take to reach it. Just now, she wasn't sure if it would take a day, or ten years.
Whatever.
* * * * * * * * * *
MONICA
I entered the door to B block in my uncomfortable pants. Just that morning I had washed them three times; all the way up until I left for my first day on the job. Washing did absolutely NOTHING. For someone who's never worn pants before, I noted that I WAS pretty good at covering up the abnormality.
"You look mighty comf'table in them pants there, ma'am, for a lady."
I looked to the source of the voice, which came from a stack of books on top of a desk. It was a man's voice, of course, but I couldn't see who it was; his head popped back around the mountain of books. The desk was so cluttered, that the man was completely hidden behind his stacks of... things.
"Sir?" I inched my way closer to the desk.
"Sorry," the man said jovially, wrapping his arms around the books and pulling them into his lap so that I could see him.
He was a semi-handsome guy, and his visage hardly matched his voice. Of course, I have a strange attraction to strange men, so he didn't bother me a bit. His face was a little whiskery, it seemed, from lack of time to shave, no doubt. There were faint traces of darkness under his eyes - probably for some personal reason, but other than that, his features were youthful. I guessed he was in his mid-twenties.
"I'm Jerry Muller," he said with energy, reaching his hand across the desk surface, which was now swiped clean.
"Monica Gilbert," I replied, taking his hand. He shook it almost as hard as Tim Hoover had; it seemed to be a prison-guy thing, I guessed, to shake hard.
"Pleased to meet you, Tim's told me we were getting a new guard... didn't know they was going to be a SHE, but that's no problem with me," Jerry said sincerely. "There's your desk," he said, pointing at an empty one to the far wall of his. "You can just make yourself at home there. The other B block guy is on his lunch break; there's only one more. We don't need too many guards around this block," Jerry explained.
"What's his name?" I asked, glancing around the building. I immediately realized how much larger this place was than E block. There were only six cells there, but here there were at least a dozen lining the walls. It seemed the whole place was a perfect rectangle. To the far left was Jerry's cluttered desk, the far right was what was going to be my desk, and at the end of the corridor, was a third desk, I was guessing to be the other guys'. We were all set up to face the prisoners, who were all sleeping, I could see. It WAS still morning, and when I glanced at the clock behind me, it read 8:42.
"The other guy's pretty much the boss 'round here. His name's Bret Inglebert, and he's really nice once you get to know him. Friendly guy, but can't say he's the most normal..." Jerry leaned forward as if Bret were right there watching him, and whispered, "He likes to read, see? No problem there. But he gets a bit caught up in the stories if you know what I mean. You just wait 'til he gets absorbed in a book; it's hard not to laugh. Sometimes he repeats lines at random moments, but hopefully you'll get to see his expressions first..."
A glimmer of a warm smile spread over my face, but I quickly wiped it off. I still wasn't sure about first impressions, but Jerry WAS really nice; made you feel right at home here.
"Well," Jerry said, clearing his throat and leaning back in his chair. "The prisoners get up 'round here at 9:15 to eat breakfast, then they go outside and do their work, then they eat lunch, and after that they play their football and what-not... Our jobs are to make sure they stay under control and stay on task. One toe out of line and it's back to the cell's with them; we are a bit strict. But hey, it IS prison."
I nodded and let him continue.
"Their lunch break is our lunch break, right? That's all we get free while the other guards step in. That's at 12:30. After the prisoners get themselves all worn out with their games and such (which we must look after as well), they go back to their cells. By that time, it's around 2:00, and we come back here," Jerry slapped his hand on his desk. "Then - we watch them 'til dinner, right? With me?"
I nodded. "When's their dinner?"
"6:15. Then we go home. It's really quite simple, you get used to the schedule after a while. We're expected to be at work by 9:00, and we go back home at 6:15. Easy as that. The night guys do their night shifts, the lunch guys do their lunch shifts... we do the daytime shifts," Jerry blabbered on. "First day on the job, ma'am, you can be my shadow. See how it's all done. It's really quite an easy, interesting job once you get it."
"Yes sir," I sighed.
"No need to call me sir... I get a bit repulsed with that formal stuff. I'm just Jerry, here," Jerry nodded, giving me another feeling of warm welcome. "Here," he said, pulling from his desk drawer, a belt, "-are your things. Handcuffs, baton, gun, the like." He handed me the belt with little hesitation, but I sensed it. He was a bit uneasy handing a woman such power.
"No need to worry, sir- Jerry," I corrected myself quickly, lowering my eyebrows and nodding once politely. "I've been on a police force before and I can handle these things."
"And I'm sure you can," Jerry said, but still with an uneasy tone of voice.
The truth was, I had never held a gun before. But - I had never worn pants before as well.
As I wrapped the belt around my waist, I thought to myself, Hey - if I can wear pants, I can sure as anything wear a gun.
A/N: Thaaaat's all for now, folks! More to come soon! ENJOY! :)