Welcome to my thrilling escapade in the second phase of prison guard training, where I proudly stood as a trailblazing woman, part of Texas’s second batch of female prison guards. With women being as rare as a unicorn in a sea of men, we often found ourselves assigned to “safe places.” Safe places were like the VIP sections of prisons: control areas, reception areas, front offices, and entrance gates—essentially, the prime real estate of law enforcement. Oh, and did I mention that we also got the charming assignment of working late nights more than the guys? Apparently, it’s all about keeping the ladies out of the "danger zone," which no one ever bothered to explain—talk about a mystery among men!

One particularly delightful night, as the winds howled and the rain poured like buckets from the sky, I was tasked with outside security. Yes, you guessed it—my mission was to determine if the ghosts of inmates’ past were trying to sneak out through broken windows or if the school building had acquired a taste for night-time shenanigans. Armed with a rain poncho that made me look like a confused potato and oversized rubber boots that were more like clown shoes issued to me by the Sargent, I bravely ventured outside, ready to take on whatever the night had in store.

After successfully checking doors and cavorting through empty buildings (and trying not to slip and fall like a cartoon character), I approached the gate to the back of the inmate residence buildings. It was here that my epic battle with the mud began. I swung open the gate like a heroic guardian, only to find that one of my rubber boots was now a permanent resident of the mud. With one foot free and the other still firmly planted in muddy oblivion, I began an awkward hop, reminiscent of a one-legged duck trying to swim. 

As if the night couldn’t get any better, the wind decided to play dress-up, catching my poncho and turning it into a cape that could only be described as a wet, soggy superhero ensemble. In my moment of despair, I thought, “Why not channel my inner inmate and climb the fence?” So, I did just that—leaping onto the fence like a not-so-graceful gazelle. 

Naturally, my heroic endeavors didn’t go unnoticed. The guard in the tower saw my impromptu attempt at vertical escape and shouted at me to get down. I, in my infinite wisdom, shook my head like a defiant toddler. His repeated demands were met with my best stubborn pout until he finally called for backup. In the meantime I had a vision of the guard reporting me as an attempted escapee and was going to shoot me, Yes, folks, I had to be rescued from a fence while covered in mud and wearing a poncho. If this prison guard thing didn’t work out, I could at least start a career in slapstick comedy. 

After my muddy rescue mission, I shuffled back to Line Control, boots caked in mud and my uniform looking like I had just survived a monsoon. My Sargent, the epitome of consideration, took one look at the mud I had tracked in and immediately demanded to know, “Who got mud all over this floor?” 

With a voice so small it could fit in a thimble; I confessed that the culprit was none other than yours truly. I then tactfully placed the blame on those oversized boots he had supplied me with. If there had been an escape route available, I would have vanished faster than you could say "wet critter."

For the rest of my shift, I embraced my new role as a janitor in the Line Control building, tirelessly mopping away the evidence of my unfortunate adventures, while anxiously counting down the minutes until I could escape back to normalcy. Lesson learned: when you work in a prison, sometimes the toughest prison break you’ll face is from a muddy boot!

Thank you for reading!