Stick-em-up

One day after eating lunch in the staff dining room at NWCX  I picked up my glass of tea and walked back into the kitchen. There were about fifteen-hundred men incarcerated there and probably fifty of the prisoners were employed in the kitchen. 

Where my two-way radio rode on my right hip the short antennae was irritating where it hit my ribs. The other correctional staff knew how to tuck its tip into a small ring on the side of the radio. Being a new employee, I was thankful for any tips. 

At corrections academy we were taught that you never let down your guard when working in a prison. And as  a new employee, my nerves were on constant alert whether I was supervising the cleaning, organizing and rotating of stockrooms, freezers, or coolers, the unloading of trucks, doing the inventory or placing orders. 

With my tea in hand the kitchen door swung shut behind me as I strode toward the stockrooms. Someone called my name and when turning to reply my antennae came loose and sharply popped me in the back. With tea still in hand my arm instantly shot up and the tea was tossed heavenward and drenched my head. Laughter erupted from every side at the spectacle I made of myself that day.