My Day in Prison

I can't believe it's Thursday and I'm writing my first blog post for the week. Shameful, but par for the course these days. I've been extraordinarily busy ... and in lock up.

It's one of the interesting factors of my job and the marketing of precast concrete. When a job is completed, we're often invited to an open house ceremony (they always have these since taxpayer money is involved). And this time the job just happened to be a 40-bed prison in Central Arkansas.

Prison is an interesting place, even without the prisoners. Glad to say I've never been before and fingers crossed things stay that way.

I did see a few prisoners on my tour. I suppose they were bussed over from the old prison to help clean up after our catered lunch (yes, I ate lunch at the prison, too!), which brings me to the most interesting part of my trip. The prisoners don't wear hunter's orange ... they wear hot pink. I've heard of this practice that originated at Sheriff Joe Arpaio's Arizona prison, but I've never actually seen prisoners wearing pink before.

My day did get progressively better after leaving the prison. As you would imagine!

Before our drive home, we couldn't leave Little Rock without going to eat at Doe's Eat Place. You drive past ... and see this:

And, naturally, part of you wonders if you really want to eat here. But I'm a fan of the dive. Perfect example, Herby K's. It's what's on the inside that counts, right?

The place will not dazzle you with her looks, but once that plate, piled with a dozen hot tamales, arrives at your table. Her persuasion begins.

You have two and restrain yourself from having three since your entree hasn't arrived yet. But it's a spicy, seductive, tempting offer.

And within minutes, your patience is rewarded with the largest, most-tender, well-seasoned porterhouse you've ever tasted. Homemade fries accompany, and if your table mates aren't looking, you attempt to do a little sopping with them. And maybe if you were eating this steak at home, alone, in complete privacy, you'd gnaw on the bone. This is heaven for steaks. So blissful, in fact, that it brings you to a state of mind where gnawing on a bone doesn't seem so grotesque and uncivil. I regret not packing it for the ride home!

It appears I've had a love affair with steak. ... Perhaps my time in prison may have given me a greater thirst for life on the outside. Truly, crime doesn't pay.