we were going to her job at the men’s central jail where she works the swing shift. her name was shelby.
she is not a guard, but i told her about my good friend who used to be one.
shelby is an administrator who has worked downtown for over a decade. part of the paperwork trail inmates rely on for transfers, medical help, release, all that, passes through her desk.
so if you don’t like anyone you can just, you know, lose their paperwork? I asked devilishly
she laughed and said, no no. and then laughed more as if that was the first time she had thought about it.
it’s been cloudy and gray hear in la, even in the middle of the day. gloomy. am i sick? am i sad about something? or is it the emotional vibe of not having my BFF, the sun, making sweet love to my pale bald head?
whatever the situation, it was the perfect lighting and mood to drive from koreatown to one of the most notorious jails in the west.
i had so many questions, as i am sure you would have had too.
can you hear them bone? can you hear them cry? do you know which guards are sneaking in the drugs? have you ever fallen in love with any of them?
instead i asked, is it true they’re gonna tear this old jail down?
i hope not, she said. i hope they just build a second jail somewhere downtown. why knock down a building because it’s overcrowded? why not add an additional one? she asked, clearly thinking like a normal person and not a grifting politician who only sees dollar signs when they hear there’s a problem that needs to be addressed.
shelby looked chinese, but her accent was truly filipino. if you’re lucky enough to be around those angelic people you can just tell. still, i asked her.
yes, i am. how did you know? i came here because i was tired of working in a corporate office in manila. my friend was here and saw an ad for the jail, and thank god i got it.
i rolled up the window and turned down the heavy metal.
did I hear you right? i asked, speaking through my covid mask. did you say you left the tropics of your island nation, because you didn’t like your office… so you could work in THE JANKY ASS DEATH JAIL IN DOWNTOWN LA?
she laughed and laughed. i laughed too. we got on the hollywood freeway where there was no traffic. it was either in line at in-n-out or getting high next to a palm tree.
i didn’t come here to work in the jail. i just wanted any job in the states. the pay in manila is low. working for la pays very well.
that inspired me to tell her this story:
i used to run this blog about la. when i started, it wasn’t popular yet, so i went on a road trip. sometimes talk shows like good morning america will go on the road around the country when they want their ratings to go up, taking a circular route to my point.
my angle, i said, was to show people what some cities had that was was better than la and what they had that was worse. one of my first stops was in utah where my friend was a prison guard. when she told me i could visit her, i thought we would hang out in the parking lot, but no, she got me into the prison, on the wrong side of the thick glass.
i was scared, and told my friend i was scared. she said, you see that white masking tape on the floor? you see those TVs hanging from the ceiling? if anyone goes over that line, then those TVs are turned off for a week. on Sunday there’s football. the inmates will beat the mess out of whoever crossed that line and gets their football cut off. and we will let them.
so you are safe.
shelby said, that’s right. and snickered.
how is that right, shelby? these are men who are in jail because they don’t obey the rules!
she laughed some more and said, but they obey the inside-the-prison rules, which are more important.
we got off the 101 near the train station. homeless tents here and there. billboards advertising things in spanish. a denny’s. she talked about how when she first came to la she didn’t see that many homeless people. crime was low. times were good.
but i wanted to know more about this jail. what’s the employee cafeteria like?
there are many filipinos where i work. we often have a potluck where we bring our own dishes and share.
i told her about my podcast and how i have had a few filipino guests including one guy who said la rose cafe in east hollywood is the best in la for filipino food.
the laughter stopped. she got very quiet and then said he was wrong. she said their desserts are good but in east hollywood there’s the point point joint on santa monica blvd. near vermont. it’s the best, although it’s mostly takeout.
point point, she repeated, so my stupid brain could soak it in.
i wanted to ask her if she plans to jet back to manila when she retires, because that’s what some americans do. but I didn’t want it to sound like i was all, leave my beloved homeland.
fortunately, i found the courage.
oh yes. american dollars go very far there. right now it’s 56 pesos for every dollar, she said
i explained that i studied poetry in school and am not very good with math. how much does a two bedroom apartment cost on average in manila?
why do you need two bedrooms? she asked.
i hear live-in maids are like $200 a month, i joked
a regular 2-bedroom apartment is about $300, she said. maids cost $7 an hour. so 40-hours times 7 is $280, but you are giving her a place to live? take one hundred fifty off. a live-in maid is maybe $130 as long as you don’t beat her, she said very casually.
why would i beat someone who is keeping my apartment clean?
she will cook for you too, she added.
shelby told me that i picked her up at a liquor store because she had just sent her family a few hundred dollars which will keep them happy for a month.
you people are the nicest, i said and when she shook her head i said, who’s nicer? the swedes?
canadians! she and i laughed.
i dropped her off at the doomed dark jail, and as she walked in i saw her insulated lunch bag and cursed myself for not asking what was in it.