(12) Chivalry vs. The Mexican Mafia

chivalry(An anecdote from my time in the prison. As I’m no longer employed there, I thought I’d re-post it):

Some of you know I’ve taken a job as a prison guard. The rules say I’m not supposed to talk about my experiences but with apologies to my pagan state, I think I will anyway:

I’ve often told people I can spot white trash from a distance. I don’t know their history but I’m convinced they all share the same ancestry. They’re low class but not in the dignified way of many poor southerners. They slaughter the English language, engage in all sorts of depravity, and worst of all, they’re the whites most prone to race mixing. It’s odd, but the majority are scrawny and have blond hair and blue eyes. Their skin is tanned and their faces squint up like weasels. If all that sounds imaginary, tell yourselves it’s their bastardized accents that mark them. The shame of it is their women are usually gorgeous. So, with demoralizing certitude, I knew when I saw our new co-worker, she was probably infatuated with a negro.

Why think so? She’s of the class I’ve described above, in her late twenties, and still single. She’s never mentioned having children so I assume she’s either aborted them or…well, she did tell me her favorite television show was “Orange is the New Black” (a prison drama focusing on two lesbians). I never believe women when they tell me they’re lesbians. My bet, and I’m more certain of this as I watch her with our co-workers and the inmates, is that she’s infatuated with a negro, probably the whole lot of them.

I’ll leave that dark trail of thought and get on with the story.

She tries to deal with the inmates as if she were a negress. She tries to battle it out with them, will to will. She takes her cue from the black female prison guards (there are many and only they seem to gain rank). “Why yoooo disrespetin’ me?!”

But there was one day she called me and asked to be relieved on the yard. She looked a little sheepish and said she just couldn’t take it out there anymore and needed a break.

“What happened?” I asked.

Apparently, when they’re around white men, these girls find it easier to let go of their defense-mechanisms – I mean their anti-feminine machismo learned from the black race. They sometimes revert back to being white.

She lapsed into such a state and told me what happened. She had walked by a group of Mexican inmates and one of them had whistled at her. That struck me as an uncharacteristically lady-like thing for her to worry about, but there it was. She indicated the “tall one” who, maybe owing to his unusual size (most Mestizos are around five feet, he was probably six), had gained some level of respect among his fellows. I had no doubt he was showing off for them.

I walked onto the yard with all the voices of the Alt. Right in my head. They were cursing chivalry and calling me a “White Knight”. And even as I walked out there, I knew whatever I did wouldn’t be appreciated. Still, by God, a white woman had been insulted and, well, I’m no ordinary Alt. Righter.

I knew El Alto was associated with a Mexican drug gang and I also knew most prison guards give that group a wide berth. The last of us who tried disciplining them was shot at while pumping gas the next day. The police never caught the shooter.

On the inside, the Mexicans are smart enough not to openly cause problems but they do break the rules when no one is looking. The guards usually look the other way, especially over something as petty as a lustful whistle.

Not today, hombres…

I walked into the group, took El Alto’s arm, spun him around, and handcuffed him, right in front of his amigos. Then I marched him inside a dorm, kicked everyone out of a shower room (making a big commotion) and strip searched him… a long, slow process.

“Why choo doin’ dis mayun?” he kept asking.

“You like whistling at ladies, eh? That makes me suspicious. Makes me think you might have something on you. I’m going to find it.”

I drew it out as long as possible, speaking loudly, knowing my voice would echo around the bathroom tiles and into the dorm. His macho air was obliterated for all to see – a serious punishment among those degenerates.

I found multiple articles about El Chapo, the cartel leader getting publicity down in Mexico, as well as other cartel paraphernalia. But technically, he didn’t have anything against the rules; I wasn’t really expecting him to. It was the search that did the damage.

Long story short, I’ve warned my parents (both law enforcement) and I’ve taken measures for my own safety. As for my fellow officer, she’s warmed up to me but like all the blacks in that prison (employed or doing time) likely thinks white men are sniveling panzies, terrified of all the strong, virile black men. That sort of brainwashing is why her kind choose to race mix.

It seems like violence really is all savages understand. But her? She belongs to a people who, at least at one point, saw true Love and recognized it for what it was. Can the feminist be rescued by kind acts of chivalry?

…ought we even try?

That, dear readers, is up to each of you to decide. As for me, my heart decided and I acted accordingly, without much thought.

Now I’ll have to live with it.

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5 Responses to (12) Chivalry vs. The Mexican Mafia

  1. Junius Daniel says:

    Mr. Terry – You, being what you are, are either falling for a niggrified white woman, or will soon enough.

    God is a joker, and this is his particular play on you. Good luck.

    Lots of questions, from you, to you, coming your way.

    You can circumvent them by staying away from Raleigh women, and not appreciating the curves of female prison guards.

    Go find a country church, and attend it often. God will like this, and he will stop his conspiratorial punning, at your expence…

  2. Junius Daniel says:

    So, no — you ought not even try.

    Don’t try to make a pie with fruit that is not your fancy.

    You may make good sex, but, you will make a hell for yourself.

    Because of your peculiarities, you need a college educated country girl (or from a very small town – like Yanceyville) professional, from a strong ?Christian background and very very traditional rural Tarheel mores.

    If she was married once, and is divorcet with a child, it will go better for you, because she will have good principles, yet, solid relationship experience.

    In either case, you will have to have these thing,s if a longterm success at marriage, is your goal.

    • I’ve gotten pretty good at not falling for women based on their looks. I had to learn that the hard way.

      In this case, however, it could have been *any* woman and I’d have felt the same way. If we have to put to sleep our chivalrous natures just to live in our modern world, then what kind of life are we living? We may as well give up everything, turn on the TV and do drugs. What would be the point?

  3. Junius Daniel says:

    I’m glad to hear that your eyes are not much leading your astray, these days, though, from reading this account, it seemed that your eyes were doing that. Maybe it was your inner eyes.

    Sometimes the soul finds something intriguing about another, whilst disregarding the warning signs of incompatability.

    As to your chivalrous demonstrations, in this story, I loved it; was amused by it. I’m sorry I did not point that out. I was reacting to a continuing strand in your cyber journal, about yearning for the future Mrs. Terry; and, to that end, I was seized by your apparent fascination in this niggrified creature, yet, her elementary nature, which, never in a million year,s could grasp a lofty soul such as you.

    There is a peculiar kind of nobility in you, (something with which I sense you live uneasily) and, thus, you live on an intellectual, symbolick, and ideated diet, in your heart, mind, and soul, that is not common today. A primitive creature, such as you have described here, would be a disaster for you, as a partner. I am hoping for no disasters for you – that was ‘the point’:)))

    But that does not mean you ought not be a loyal comrade at work.

    By all means : chival away!

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