Travis

I spent close to six months in jail last year. In one of the housing units that housed me, I met a man named Travis. Travis was white. I am of a darker shade of skin. My first day in the housing unit, he introduced himself. The unit was a dorm (not a place of cells). It being a dorm means there was about seventy guys all in an extremely large, oversize, living room that happened to have bunkbeds on one side. So Travis saw me, greeted me, and we kept on talking.

I liked Travis and continued enjoying his company because he didn't ask questions about why I was in jail. He wasn't interested in jail politics or race. He wasn't interested in fighting. He was peaceful. He had a temper (regarding certain topics), but towards me he was always gentle.

While I was still new, he helped me fill out my commissary bubblesheet. This was a signficant favor. He asked me what I wanted to order. We walked over to where the commissary menu was, and I told him what I wanted and pointed to the items. There were two options for toothpaste so he confirmed I wanted the Colgate brand. I don't remember exactly who was stocking my money account with the jail but it was probably my Dad. Travis went on to fill in my bubblesheet for me. I didn't have to sit down, take a pencil, and fill in the many small bubbles to communicate to the jail what I wanted to purchase. The bubblesheets are normal sizes of paper but they have dozens of items crammed into them, with empty bubbles waiting to be filled in to indicate a request. Bubblesheets are collected once a week and you're given what you wanted, assuming you had a sufficient balance, the next day.

Later on in my time in the dorms, there was a man who made an announcement to the dorm that he would fill in anyone's bubblesheet in return for a small compensation (probably some item from the commissary). It was his hustle. It sounded like a credible exchange to me, since filling out your bubblesheets is a bit of a nuisance.