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Redcon Rising
By Aaron Singerman
CEO of Redcon1
TURTLE SUIT
“I made it through, but not without my fair share of stories to tell about a time I’d like to forget but never will.”
My journey through the Federal Prison system began in county jail, not a place you want to be. This story will give you some perspective on how this is a place you don’t want to be. I made it through, but not without my fair share of stories to tell about a time I’d like to forget but never will.
January 2022
When I first arrived at Broward Main Jail, a nightmarish place, I was strip-searched then given tan pants and a shirt that was vaguely similar to surgical scrubs. The strip search, my first of many, went like this:
“Take off all your clothes. Yes, even your socks. Now, open your mouth and move your tongue all around. Lift up your nutsack so I can see under them. All right, turn around and squat down real deep and cough for me.”
It’s a dehumanizing experience that happens any time you leave a prison and enter a new one, see a visitor, or any time a guard sees fit. Then you put on, or put back on, the prison’s official garb. Every prison has a different color or style. Here in Pensacola, we wear green pants and a green button-up shirt with a belt.
After being humiliated and changed into new clothes, I was deposited into a small holding cell with entirely too many people. I’d estimate the cell was 120 square feet and had a few dozen generally pretty damn loud and extremely unruly people in it. Many still drunk, stoned or obviously hyped-up on some drug. Between the unnecessary shouting of the inmates and the acoustics of the confined cinder block space, it was hard to even think in there.
At about six hours in, a young gangbanger came up and asked, “You detoxing, bro?” to which I told him that I wasn’t. He somberly shook his head and said, “Wrong answer. You ain't going to get the good shit like that!” He cracked himself up with that comment and started laughing like it was the punch line to some hilarious joke. I had a deeply puzzled look on my face, so when he was able to contain himself, he continued: “Make some shit up if you want the good shit, Boy! It make the time flyyy by!” He went on to explain they give you Valium quite liberally here if you are detoxing. Five days’ worth.
At this point, six hours into a journey that might last a few years, Valium sounded pretty good. When a guard walked by and called my name to see the nurse, I had already decided … I was detoxing!
The nurse was curt, but polite, and ran through the standard dozen or so questions on my mind state like, “Are you thinking of killing yourself?” and “Have you sexually assaulted or assaulted others?” I said “no” a dozen or so times, all the while, waiting for my chance to say “yes” to the upcoming detox question.
During my questioning, I notice a very sad looking Spanish boy strapped to a wheelchair being rolled out the medical section wearing some green unusual dress. We made eye contact as he was being rolled out and he looked on the edge of tears. In my mind, I imagined him quietly mouthing the words, “help me.”
The dress he was wearing was forest green and looked very thick and inflexible. It went down to his knees and was held on by two thick straps that went over his shoulders. He had no sleeves on this green dress thing, and apparently they removed his socks and shoes.
I stopped my interview with the nurse to ask about this young man and his unusual outfit. The nurse said, “Oh, that’s the turtle suit. All the inmates that are going to detox or the psych department wear that till they get moved to the general population.” I was in shock, as I was apparently mere moments away from meeting my own personal turtle suit if I didn’t change my course of action! “What's the point of the turtle suit?” I asked.
“It’s to prevent them from killing themselves and because it’s easier to clean if the inmates throws up, urinates or defecates on themselves. All they get when they wear the suit is that suit and one sheet. Literally nothing else,” she explained. She continued to say, “It’s not comfortable and it’s a long few weeks for some, but the turtle suit has actually saved lives.”
Then she asked the question I was waiting on: “Are you detoxing off any drugs or alcohol?” and I said, “ABSOLUTELY NOT!”
redcon1.com
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Redcon Rising
By Aaron Singerman
CEO of Redcon1
TURTLE SUIT
“I made it through, but not without my fair share of stories to tell about a time I’d like to forget but never will.”
My journey through the Federal Prison system began in county jail, not a place you want to be. This story will give you some perspective on how this is a place you don’t want to be. I made it through, but not without my fair share of stories to tell about a time I’d like to forget but never will.
January 2022
When I first arrived at Broward Main Jail, a nightmarish place, I was strip-searched then given tan pants and a shirt that was vaguely similar to surgical scrubs. The strip search, my first of many, went like this:
“Take off all your clothes. Yes, even your socks. Now, open your mouth and move your tongue all around. Lift up your nutsack so I can see under them. All right, turn around and squat down real deep and cough for me.”
It’s a dehumanizing experience that happens any time you leave a prison and enter a new one, see a visitor, or any time a guard sees fit. Then you put on, or put back on, the prison’s official garb. Every prison has a different color or style. Here in Pensacola, we wear green pants and a green button-up shirt with a belt.
After being humiliated and changed into new clothes, I was deposited into a small holding cell with entirely too many people. I’d estimate the cell was 120 square feet and had a few dozen generally pretty damn loud and extremely unruly people in it. Many still drunk, stoned or obviously hyped-up on some drug. Between the unnecessary shouting of the inmates and the acoustics of the confined cinder block space, it was hard to even think in there.
At about six hours in, a young gangbanger came up and asked, “You detoxing, bro?” to which I told him that I wasn’t. He somberly shook his head and said, “Wrong answer. You ain't going to get the good shit like that!” He cracked himself up with that comment and started laughing like it was the punch line to some hilarious joke. I had a deeply puzzled look on my face, so when he was able to contain himself, he continued: “Make some shit up if you want the good shit, Boy! It make the time flyyy by!” He went on to explain they give you Valium quite liberally here if you are detoxing. Five days’ worth.
At this point, six hours into a journey that might last a few years, Valium sounded pretty good. When a guard walked by and called my name to see the nurse, I had already decided … I was detoxing!
The nurse was curt, but polite, and ran through the standard dozen or so questions on my mind state like, “Are you thinking of killing yourself?” and “Have you sexually assaulted or assaulted others?” I said “no” a dozen or so times, all the while, waiting for my chance to say “yes” to the upcoming detox question.
During my questioning, I notice a very sad looking Spanish boy strapped to a wheelchair being rolled out the medical section wearing some green unusual dress. We made eye contact as he was being rolled out and he looked on the edge of tears. In my mind, I imagined him quietly mouthing the words, “help me.”
The dress he was wearing was forest green and looked very thick and inflexible. It went down to his knees and was held on by two thick straps that went over his shoulders. He had no sleeves on this green dress thing, and apparently they removed his socks and shoes.
I stopped my interview with the nurse to ask about this young man and his unusual outfit. The nurse said, “Oh, that’s the turtle suit. All the inmates that are going to detox or the psych department wear that till they get moved to the general population.” I was in shock, as I was apparently mere moments away from meeting my own personal turtle suit if I didn’t change my course of action! “What's the point of the turtle suit?” I asked.
“It’s to prevent them from killing themselves and because it’s easier to clean if the inmates throws up, urinates or defecates on themselves. All they get when they wear the suit is that suit and one sheet. Literally nothing else,” she explained. She continued to say, “It’s not comfortable and it’s a long few weeks for some, but the turtle suit has actually saved lives.”
Then she asked the question I was waiting on: “Are you detoxing off any drugs or alcohol?” and I said, “ABSOLUTELY NOT!”
redcon1.com
DISCUSS ON OUR FORUMS
SUBSCRIBE TO MD TODAY
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VISIT OUR STORE
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YOUTUBE
Click here to view the article.
By Aaron Singerman
CEO of Redcon1
TURTLE SUIT
“I made it through, but not without my fair share of stories to tell about a time I’d like to forget but never will.”
My journey through the Federal Prison system began in county jail, not a place you want to be. This story will give you some perspective on how this is a place you don’t want to be. I made it through, but not without my fair share of stories to tell about a time I’d like to forget but never will.
January 2022
When I first arrived at Broward Main Jail, a nightmarish place, I was strip-searched then given tan pants and a shirt that was vaguely similar to surgical scrubs. The strip search, my first of many, went like this:
“Take off all your clothes. Yes, even your socks. Now, open your mouth and move your tongue all around. Lift up your nutsack so I can see under them. All right, turn around and squat down real deep and cough for me.”
It’s a dehumanizing experience that happens any time you leave a prison and enter a new one, see a visitor, or any time a guard sees fit. Then you put on, or put back on, the prison’s official garb. Every prison has a different color or style. Here in Pensacola, we wear green pants and a green button-up shirt with a belt.
After being humiliated and changed into new clothes, I was deposited into a small holding cell with entirely too many people. I’d estimate the cell was 120 square feet and had a few dozen generally pretty damn loud and extremely unruly people in it. Many still drunk, stoned or obviously hyped-up on some drug. Between the unnecessary shouting of the inmates and the acoustics of the confined cinder block space, it was hard to even think in there.
At about six hours in, a young gangbanger came up and asked, “You detoxing, bro?” to which I told him that I wasn’t. He somberly shook his head and said, “Wrong answer. You ain't going to get the good shit like that!” He cracked himself up with that comment and started laughing like it was the punch line to some hilarious joke. I had a deeply puzzled look on my face, so when he was able to contain himself, he continued: “Make some shit up if you want the good shit, Boy! It make the time flyyy by!” He went on to explain they give you Valium quite liberally here if you are detoxing. Five days’ worth.
At this point, six hours into a journey that might last a few years, Valium sounded pretty good. When a guard walked by and called my name to see the nurse, I had already decided … I was detoxing!
The nurse was curt, but polite, and ran through the standard dozen or so questions on my mind state like, “Are you thinking of killing yourself?” and “Have you sexually assaulted or assaulted others?” I said “no” a dozen or so times, all the while, waiting for my chance to say “yes” to the upcoming detox question.
During my questioning, I notice a very sad looking Spanish boy strapped to a wheelchair being rolled out the medical section wearing some green unusual dress. We made eye contact as he was being rolled out and he looked on the edge of tears. In my mind, I imagined him quietly mouthing the words, “help me.”
The dress he was wearing was forest green and looked very thick and inflexible. It went down to his knees and was held on by two thick straps that went over his shoulders. He had no sleeves on this green dress thing, and apparently they removed his socks and shoes.
I stopped my interview with the nurse to ask about this young man and his unusual outfit. The nurse said, “Oh, that’s the turtle suit. All the inmates that are going to detox or the psych department wear that till they get moved to the general population.” I was in shock, as I was apparently mere moments away from meeting my own personal turtle suit if I didn’t change my course of action! “What's the point of the turtle suit?” I asked.
“It’s to prevent them from killing themselves and because it’s easier to clean if the inmates throws up, urinates or defecates on themselves. All they get when they wear the suit is that suit and one sheet. Literally nothing else,” she explained. She continued to say, “It’s not comfortable and it’s a long few weeks for some, but the turtle suit has actually saved lives.”
Then she asked the question I was waiting on: “Are you detoxing off any drugs or alcohol?” and I said, “ABSOLUTELY NOT!”
redcon1.com
DISCUSS ON OUR FORUMSSUBSCRIBE TO MD TODAY
GET OFFICIAL MD STUFFVISIT OUR STORE
SUBSCRIBE TO OUR NEWSLETTER
ALSO, MAKE SURE TO FOLLOW US ON:
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Redcon Rising
By Aaron Singerman
CEO of Redcon1
TURTLE SUIT
“I made it through, but not without my fair share of stories to tell about a time I’d like to forget but never will.”
My journey through the Federal Prison system began in county jail, not a place you want to be. This story will give you some perspective on how this is a place you don’t want to be. I made it through, but not without my fair share of stories to tell about a time I’d like to forget but never will.
January 2022
When I first arrived at Broward Main Jail, a nightmarish place, I was strip-searched then given tan pants and a shirt that was vaguely similar to surgical scrubs. The strip search, my first of many, went like this:
“Take off all your clothes. Yes, even your socks. Now, open your mouth and move your tongue all around. Lift up your nutsack so I can see under them. All right, turn around and squat down real deep and cough for me.”
It’s a dehumanizing experience that happens any time you leave a prison and enter a new one, see a visitor, or any time a guard sees fit. Then you put on, or put back on, the prison’s official garb. Every prison has a different color or style. Here in Pensacola, we wear green pants and a green button-up shirt with a belt.
After being humiliated and changed into new clothes, I was deposited into a small holding cell with entirely too many people. I’d estimate the cell was 120 square feet and had a few dozen generally pretty damn loud and extremely unruly people in it. Many still drunk, stoned or obviously hyped-up on some drug. Between the unnecessary shouting of the inmates and the acoustics of the confined cinder block space, it was hard to even think in there.
At about six hours in, a young gangbanger came up and asked, “You detoxing, bro?” to which I told him that I wasn’t. He somberly shook his head and said, “Wrong answer. You ain't going to get the good shit like that!” He cracked himself up with that comment and started laughing like it was the punch line to some hilarious joke. I had a deeply puzzled look on my face, so when he was able to contain himself, he continued: “Make some shit up if you want the good shit, Boy! It make the time flyyy by!” He went on to explain they give you Valium quite liberally here if you are detoxing. Five days’ worth.
At this point, six hours into a journey that might last a few years, Valium sounded pretty good. When a guard walked by and called my name to see the nurse, I had already decided … I was detoxing!
The nurse was curt, but polite, and ran through the standard dozen or so questions on my mind state like, “Are you thinking of killing yourself?” and “Have you sexually assaulted or assaulted others?” I said “no” a dozen or so times, all the while, waiting for my chance to say “yes” to the upcoming detox question.
During my questioning, I notice a very sad looking Spanish boy strapped to a wheelchair being rolled out the medical section wearing some green unusual dress. We made eye contact as he was being rolled out and he looked on the edge of tears. In my mind, I imagined him quietly mouthing the words, “help me.”
The dress he was wearing was forest green and looked very thick and inflexible. It went down to his knees and was held on by two thick straps that went over his shoulders. He had no sleeves on this green dress thing, and apparently they removed his socks and shoes.
I stopped my interview with the nurse to ask about this young man and his unusual outfit. The nurse said, “Oh, that’s the turtle suit. All the inmates that are going to detox or the psych department wear that till they get moved to the general population.” I was in shock, as I was apparently mere moments away from meeting my own personal turtle suit if I didn’t change my course of action! “What's the point of the turtle suit?” I asked.
“It’s to prevent them from killing themselves and because it’s easier to clean if the inmates throws up, urinates or defecates on themselves. All they get when they wear the suit is that suit and one sheet. Literally nothing else,” she explained. She continued to say, “It’s not comfortable and it’s a long few weeks for some, but the turtle suit has actually saved lives.”
Then she asked the question I was waiting on: “Are you detoxing off any drugs or alcohol?” and I said, “ABSOLUTELY NOT!”
redcon1.com
DISCUSS ON OUR FORUMS
SUBSCRIBE TO MD TODAY
GET OFFICIAL MD STUFF
VISIT OUR STORE
SUBSCRIBE TO OUR NEWSLETTER
ALSO, MAKE SURE TO FOLLOW US ON:
YOUTUBE
Click here to view the article.
