A Convicted Felon Talks About Petty Theft

It is difficult to talk to Jim without forming your own theories about what's wrong with him; often phrased in the form of, "what that boy really needs is ___." At twenty-three, Jim is a year into what most agree is the first of his many prison sentences.

He is not the typical prisoner. Most prisoners have a 'hustle': the term encompasses any source of income generation, legitimate or otherwise. Many prisoners work jobs on the compound, earning from twenty to a hundred dollars a month. The pay is small, but more than sufficient for the few amenities not provided for free. Others wash laundry, cut hair or iron clothes for other prisoners on the side (the guards frown on this but largely look the other way). Still others do pencil sketches or make craft projects -- purses, models, rosary necklaces - and sell them to other inmates, who keep them or mail them home. Gambling on sporting events or poker games is a source or income for some and a sink for just as many. Jim has turned down job offers, legitimate or otherwise. He depends on his impoverished parents and sister for money, which he uses to pay back the many debts he has incurred. He confounds 'spending money' with 'having money,' and thinks the former is more desirable than, and should not be correlated with, the latter. Rather than eat the free cafeteria food, Jim goes into debt buying burritos and rice bowls that his cellmates prepare using commissary-bought ingredients and sell with a high markup.

As I said, Jim is not typical. But I find him to be a valuable window into the inmate's mind, for he is in many respects my opposite and I reason that most offenders will be somewhere on a spectrum between us in those regards. At the same time, he is affable, talkative, and generally agreeable, if occasionally maddeningly inconsistent and contradictory.

Jim and I spent what seems like an entire afternoon discussing our attitudes towards hustles, petty theft, and the best things to eat in prison. On the topic of oatmeal, I observed that this can be bought in packets from the commissary or stolen from the kitchen. (I had suspected, and Jim confirmed that the only "punishment" for being caught stealing food is to have to surrender the item in question - anything more severe would require that paperwork be filled out.) Why pay, he asked, for what you can get for free? But you don't get it for free, I pointed out, you pay other people to get some of what they've smuggled out. I'd rather give them my money than the government. (If the commissary makes any money, it is certainly more on volume than margin: the prices are cheaper than most grocery stores I've patronized.)

There is so much to discuss that I concede many points rather than argue. I find these conversations much less frustrating when I stop trying to convince Jim that he's wrong. Why, I ask, do you buy your items like Fritos from another inmate instead of from the commissary? This, too, is part of his plan to punish the government. "If I buy four bags of chips a week from the store man

Like most of us, he has constructed arguments that frame his behaviors as virtuous or at least morally neutral. He justifies sleeping until one in the afternoon by saying that there is nothing else to do, having prolonged shouted conversations across the unit by saying, 'everyone else does it,' and petty theft by saying that he's punishing the government the way that they punished him.

Unlike some, I can sympathize with him when he expresses a desire to exact some revenge on the people who put him here. But raising the prison's food expenses, breaking equipment that is only replaced as frequently as the budget allows, or appropriating items designated for communal use for one's exclusive use are hardly effective means of 'sticking it to the man.' I asked him where he supposes the government got the additional money to pay for the stolen food, and he looked at me as if I were the naïf. Granted, it is a debatable issue how much incentive we each have to curb corruption of which we are the partial beneficiaries. I have always approached the issue from a 'would my behavior be sustainable if everyone did it?' perspective, but I know that many consider things far more pragmatically.

Jim lays in bed as the other inmates trudge across the compound for chili-mac and cornbread, mixed vegetables, cake with frosting, and assorted beverages. Later he will emerge from his chrysalis with an insatiable hunger. He will find someone selling fried burritos for four stamps each and buy four of them on credit, a week's budget for many inmates. He will continue to do so until he has exhausted the good will and good faith of every inmate entrepreneur in the housing unit, then count the days until his mother's next social security check.

I'll tell you what that boy really needs.