I’m a new intern for the state prison. Weird things are already happening.

I’m in my senior year of college as a criminology major, and one of the classes I need to take for my undergrad is an internship class. One of my professors coordinates with us and secures us an internship at a relevant organization in the hopes that we gain some field experience on top of all the boring (and borderline useless) theory we learn. I happened to land an internship with the central state prison, which I was ecstatic about. I was thrilled to be able to learn from real people working in the field and to pick the brain of whatever behavioral analyst or psychologist they had on board, as that’s another one of my career interests.

I’m wishing I could say I was still as excited about it as I was then. I’m only three days into the position and more shit has gone down than I thought would. Admittedly, part of me had wanted crazy things to happen going into this so I could live out my Brooklyn 99 dreams, but I think whatever god that had answered my prayers took too many liberties in their interpretation.

The weird shit started happening as early as the first day. My supervisor, Mr. Haile introduced me to all of the staff. I was the only intern they hired this semester so I didn’t really have the freedom to slip into the background. I was then given a tour of the huge facility. It was well-lit, spacious, and cleaner than I assumed it would be. It still had the dingy, sweaty smell fit for a place with a thousand men all crammed together, but it certainly didn’t seem to violate any health codes. 

My footsteps along with Mr. Haile’s echoed as we walked the halls of the building. As we walked and talked, he explained the history and relevance of the little details within each sector. I didn’t realize then how strange it was that the only voice I could hear was his. He eventually led me down one of the cell hallways. Most, if not all of the cells were filled with men of varying ages in groups of two. I was led to an empty cell in the middle of the lengthy hallway. Haile took his time opening the cell door to show me the inside. It was probably a 10 foot square with two beds on the opposing walls with a toilet in the corner. It seemed fairly standard for a prison cell, but it was surprisingly clean, too; I assumed there hadn’t been a resident in this specific cell for a while. 

On the way back out of the cell hallway, I didn’t get so much as a glance in my direction from the inmates, which I thought was a little odd but ultimately a relief. I figured the wardens just ran a tight ship. Because I had expressed my interest to speak with the mental health professional on board, my supervisor also introduced me to her. She was an older woman named Diane Kendrick, or Dr. Kendrick. Haile let me speak with her while he went on his lunch break.

I sat down in an ugly red patterned chair across from her desk and looked around the room. There was hardly any decoration on the walls except for her diplomas and certificates proudly displayed behind her, everything else was covered in bookshelves housing all kinds of mental health and self-help books. She had a “Keep Calm and Practice CBT” mug holding all of her writing utensils, which looked like it was taken straight from someone’s Etsy cart in 2013. Also on her desk were a few picture frames with figures I couldn’t make out standing together in a wide open field. The room was filled with a suffocating floral scent, something awfully fitting for a woman her age. 

“So, Dr. Kendrick, what does a typical day look like for you?” I asked after all the usual small talk about my major and interests.

“Well, I usually only work the day shift since our night shift is covered by nursing staff. I begin my workday around 7 o’clock, I do some paperwork then take some patients and work with them on whatever treatment plan they’ve been assigned. That takes up a majority of the day, then I typically go home around 6,” she said, closing her eyes and putting a finger to her chin as she recounted a typical day’s events. “It’s a long workday but I like to make sure I get everything done and leave it all here before going home. You will quickly learn that a healthy work-life balance is very important with this kind of job. Some things can haunt you if you don’t take proper care of yourself.”

I nodded despite my sudden discomfort. Why the fuck would she say that? Dr. Kendrick kept talking but I was still hung up on what she told me, only because of how out of place it was. I understood the intense nature of the field, but saying it was haunting caused my stomach to turn. I continued to ask about whatever information she was able to share with me: the kind of schooling she did to get to her position, her favorite aspect of the job, etc. Eventually, the conversation shifted to what kind of therapies she practices and what she believes works best, in her experience.

“I have somewhat eccentric beliefs that many people in my field might disagree with. I have just found that these methods work best for my clients. I like to practice psychodynamic therapy through hypnosis,” Dr. Kendrick said. I was somewhat confused by this, as that’s a pretty outdated practice used in the time of Freud and all those other quacks. On the other hand though, I didn’t see why others should judge if it was actually working for people.

“I find that it’s really helpful if I can get into the minds of my patients without any roadblocks getting in the way,” she added, probably at the sight of my confused expression.

Mr. Haile returned and after expressing my gratitude, I was ushered out of Dr. Kendrick’s office into the cafeteria for lunch. I was hesitant of the idea of dining with all of the inmates once they were out of their cells but to my disbelief, it was more orderly than even an elementary school cafeteria. No one said a word to each other as they were served their food (though it only vaguely resembled food), then moved in a single file line to their seemingly designated seats at the rows of tables. They ate in complete silence. I had never seen anything like it before. I stared at them all, utterly transfixed. 

Figuring I wouldn’t be spoken to or approached, I chose any random seat to eat my meal at. A young, mousy-looking inmate was next to me. He didn’t seem suited for prison so I wondered what landed him here, though I didn’t dare to ask. At the obnoxious, repeated sound of him banging his metal spoon against plastic (way louder than necessary to eat the slop they served), I looked up at the man in slight irritation then down at his plate. In his runny mashed potatoes, he had written something that vaguely resembled “HELP.” I looked up at him again to find him already staring at me with poorly-veiled terror and tears in his eyes. Before I could ask him anything, he turned back to his tray and disturbed his mashed potato note as he began shoveling them in his mouth; tears dripped into his food but he didn’t seem to notice. 

I didn’t know what to make of this bizarre encounter. I thought I was prepared for dealing with potentially disorderly or insane criminals, but I wasn’t ready for this kind of behavior. They had posed no inherent threat to me despite being prisoners, but something still stirred in the pit of my stomach at how subdued and orderly they were. It had to be some sick prank they were pulling on the poor, young intern. I didn’t want to think about what an alternative would be. Out of fear of getting in trouble for disrupting the inmates on my first day, I gathered my tray and went to meet back up with Mr. Haile.

I scanned the room as I stood next to him for the remainder of the lunch period, and I met the eyes of another inmate sitting across from where I stood. His head was shaved with tattoos where his hair would have been. The tattoos continued down his face and body, as far as the black jumpsuit he wore allowed me to see. There was a strange glint in his eyes. They turned wide at the sight of me– inhumanly wide. I didn’t think someone could do that without their eyes popping out of their skull. I grew incredibly uneasy at the sight but I didn’t look away. He signaled with his eyes towards Mr. Haile standing next to me. The only response I could muster was a nod despite not understanding what he was trying to say.

He maintained this extreme eye contact, unblinking, for the rest of his lunch time, never pausing the continuous, mindless shoveling of food into his mouth. Blood blossomed in his scleras, replacing the tears that had formed and quickly dried up. I don’t know why I maintained his gaze for so long– I don’t think I could’ve looked away even if I wanted to. The only thing that took me out of that moment was the sound of shuffling feet, walkie-talkies beeping and hissing their unintelligible stream of speech, and trays being scraped and stacked. Soon after, the inmate blinked as he was disrupted from his trance. Bloody tears ran out of the corner of his eyes which he couldn’t wipe off with his tray still in his hands. How nobody noticed was completely beyond me.

“Why don’t I show you to my office?” Mr. Haile asked from beside me, disrupting me from my own trance. I could only respond with a nod, my throat too tight to let out a proper response. We turned to leave and walked down another set of hallways to his office, which looked to be close to where Dr. Kendrick’s was. I stood and looked around at the similarly blank walls of his office while he explained the nature of his work as the head warden of the facility. I could hardly listen to what he was saying, my mind was still racing trying to make sense of what happened earlier. To say it merely disturbed me was an understatement (clearly, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it). He then gave me a menial task to complete as he did some work that urgently required his attention. I made my way to the small desk in the corner of his office, which looked like it was hastily put together prior to my arrival.

I absentmindedly clicked on my computer after finishing what he told me to do, then out of boredom I decided to look up the history of this facility. There was nothing out of place or remotely interesting about its past, just that it was opened in December of 1884, and Mr. Haile became the head warden in 2022. I desperately wanted to find out some reasoning or explanation as to why all the prisoners had been behaving so strangely. I chalked it up to those guys being some of the facility’s mental health patients and decided to forget about it. I just needed to make it through the next ten weeks, I couldn’t lose my mind before then.

That wrapped up my first day on the job. The longer I’m here, the more I learn things that simple Google searches weren’t able to tell me about this place. I really just needed to share and see if other people found my experience as strange as I did. I’ll keep updating with whatever else I happen to see or find out.