Across my desk

She hears the knock and looks across the office at the wall of windows. There is Olson from the dish room. The large man does not look directly at her as he waits unlike the rudely impatient ones, but stares off across the kitchen.
Most offenders who are upset will knock repeatedly and stare in at her, expecting her to drop her work immediately to answer their trivial questions. Some try to yell from the door. The more demanding ones do not know the rules, or do not bother to play by them and they try to tell her what they want. You do not tell this lady anything if you are a prisoner, you ask. Often they will make up any question they can think up to get her attention and a minuet of her time alone. Some of these men only encounter a handful of women on a daily basis.
Olson stands, the glass of her door window only reaching up to his temple, swinging his flexed right arm in a wild circle as he holds his shoulder, his face red.
The lady smiles and gladly drops her pen. She thinks she knows what this is about. She has heard through the prison grape vine.
"C'mon in Olson", she chirps throwing open the door for the giant.
Majority of the men are screened at her door and she does not allow into her office.
Being Native Olson's face turn redder as he fills her office, still swinging his clenched fist in a circular motion.
"You gonna work for me for free today?" she teases. A part of her knows this man would do anything she asked of him. One of the only times the man worked up his courage to speak with the lady was when he came to her to apologise after he tipped the silver ware cart nervously when she walked by.
"Think nothing of it ", she had told him to stop his stammering, "I do that move myself just for fun sometimes."

"Umm about that Miss Munkay" he starts the rehearsed speech he came to her office door to deliver.

The week before he had managed to maneuver his big self past the security at break time when everyone was ushered out of the kitchen into the dining room to get counted and surprised her by the cooler when she had reached in for her daily yogurt.
"Miss Munkay?" he had startled her appearing out of nowhere from behind the stainless steel door.
"Hey", she replied not remembering his name then, and not really caring because she was hungry and just wanted to eat, knowing the camera were pointed on them and rolling just in case his intent bad.
"I need to ask you a favor."
"Mmm." she grunted non committal.
"I am scheduled to work on Labor Day and I am wondering if I can have it off?" Olson was holding the cooler door open for her with a dinner plate sized hand that draped over the top of the door as he held it from his hidding spot behind and his huge face peered around the side. The shy behemoth never looked directly at her, but stared at the little plastic container in her hands. The lady knew with the facility serving only two meals on a holiday she would have plenty of workers, but her curiosity got her and he had to ask.
"Why?"
"My unit has it's play off softball game and I need to pitch it."
She was glad that was his reason. She did not want to be lied to again. Every one's mothers die, lawyers call, or cousin visit on the week end.
"Sure. You can have Labor day off."
"Miss Munkay?"
"Your keeping my from my food," she tells Olson and looks pointedly towards the kitchen door. They both knew the security officers would burst through it once they realize a kitchen offender is unaccounted for.
"Can Tabor, Baker, and Ellis from my team have it off too?"
This game must mean a lot for this man who was too shy to approach her in front of the others to her to ask for his more boisterous team mates.
"Mmmm" she stringed him along for effect. "Ok. But you guys have to win. You lose, you work for me for free."
"Thank you, Miss Munkay. For you, we'll win."

"No Miss Munkay, we won. I wanted to thank you on behalf of my unit. It was the first time ever K4 has won the championship."
"Did you mean mug them for me then? Who did you play?"
Olsen sneaks a look from the floor up to her face. "We played the south unit, (sexual predator unit) so I had to torment them, ma'am. Every time I wound up..", Olson pantomimes a pitcher pose swinging his long tree trunk of an arm, "I would say, this is for the babies and the women you rapers."
Laughter pealed out of the lady who was not supposed to comment on any one's past or crime as not to show favoritism or distaste even though the residents of the south unit disgust her and if it were her call she would torture them herself.
"Bad enough I have to work along side them..." Olson stopped then, hesitant he may have crossed the line by criticizing his co workers and his job.
Most of the sexual predators are good employees in her kitchen. They have to be. On the outside world most hold down real job, they try their hardest to blend into society. They try not to stand out in prison, for fear of a beating. And on the most part in front of authority they portray a submissive personality. But it doesn't make up for who they are. Everyone knows the men from the south unit are the most hatted perverts in the place.
The lady walks around Olson still laughing at the image of the strong man whipping balls at the deviants and holds the door open for him, "Careful now Olson. That could be taken as inappropriate."