Orange Is the New Black

world. On the other hand, the town driver was widely held to be the designated Camp snitch. I was no snitch, no way, and clearly no good could come from coziness with prison staff, which the town driver position required. The uncomfortable privilege and collaborator subtext was more than I could stomach. Plus, after my screwdriver misadventure, I didn’t have the stomach for illicit activities, even assignations, no matter how much I lusted for Larry. The next week in Butorsky’s office I quietly turned the job down, much to his surprise.
    ·  ·  ·  
    W HEN I first arrived at the Camp, Pop, the ruler of the kitchen, would watch the prison-screened movie-of-the-week flanked by Minetta and Nina, Pop’s bunkie. They would sit in a prime spot in the back of the room and kibitz and enjoy contraband delicacies, courtesy of Pop. When Minetta left for the halfway house, her movie seat was briefly taken by a tall, imposing, and largely silent white girl who was a prolific crocheter and was also leaving soon. Nina was also preparing to depart, but she was going “down the hill” to a nine-month residential drug program. It was for prisoners with documented drug and alcohol addictions who had been fortunate enough to be flagged for the program by their sentencing judge. It was the only serious rehabilitative program at Danbury (other than the puppies), and it is currently the only way in the federal system to significantly reduce your sentence. Campers headed to the drug program were always scared, as it took place not in the Camp but in the “real” prison: high security, lockdown, and twelve hundred women serving serious time, some with life sentences.
    Nina had the added concern of finding an acceptable replacement for herself at Pop’s side. After my initial faux pas in the dining room, it didn’t even occur to me that I was a candidate, but one Saturday night in the common room Nina beckoned to me. She and the quiet girl were sitting with Pop. “Piper, come have some food!” Contraband food was irresistible—one did not readily pass up the simple novelty of eating something other than institutional food, cooked with a measure of love. I was pretty damn shy, though, after Pop’s veiled threat in the chow hall.
    They had guacamole and chips. I knew the avocados had been purchased from commissary and were not really contraband. I took a little bite but didn’t want to seem greedy. “It’s soooooo good! Thank you!” Pop was looking at me sidelong.
    “Go on, have some more!” Nina said.
    “I’m okay, I’m kind of full, but thank you!” I started to edge away.
    “C’mon, Piper, sit down for a minute.”
    Now I was nervous. But I trusted Nina. I pulled up an extra chair and perched on it, ready to flee at any sign of Pop’s displeasure. I madesmall talk about the other woman’s imminent return to the outside world, how great it would be for her to be reunited with her teenage son, and whether she would find work with the carpenter’s union. When the movie started I excused myself.
    They made the same advance the next week. That night they offered me burgers, fat and juicy compared to the ones in the dining hall. I wolfed one down without prodding, tasting oregano and thyme. Pop seemed entertained by my relish and leaned over to confide: “I use extra spices.”
    A day or two later Nina posed a question to me: “Whaddaya think about watching the movie with Pop when I go to the drug program?” she asked.
    What?
    “She needs someone to keep her company when I leave, and get her ice and soda for her, you know?”
    Did Pop really want my company?
    “Well… you’re not a wacko, you know? That’s why we’re friends, ’Cause I can really talk to you about things.”
    The invitation seemed like the ultimate endorsement… and not one to be turned down lightly. When I saw Pop, I tried to be charming, and perhaps I was somewhat successful. The nonwacko contingent must have been thin on the ground at that time in the Camp, because a week or so later Nina asked me if I wanted to take her place as Pop’s bunkie in A Dorm, “the Suburbs.”
    I was perplexed. “But I’m already in B Dorm—I can’t move.”
    Nina rolled her eyes. “Piper, Pop gets whatever bunkie she wants.”
    I was stunned by this revelation that a prisoner could get what she wanted. Of course, if that inmate is the prime reason that your institutional kitchen runs in an orderly fashion… “You mean, they’ll move me?”