I like to come up with creative catchphrases in prison.
I’ve found delight in cooking in prison. I’ve created a cookie called the “crazy choco loco,” and sometimes people will come up to me and ask when I’m going to make another batch.
For older, heavier white men that I am dear to, I call them my “Tio Rico,” which means “rich uncle” in Spanish.
I refer to my church friends, who are spiritual, as “beautiful people from heaven.” But some react better to the phrase “We love you, Messiah,” which makes them repeat the phrase with elevated hands.
And my hometown friends and I love to say “superb 831” to each other, referring to our area code in northern California. They do so with an affirmative head nod.
As soon as I step out of my prison cell each day, I encounter these sayings repeated by acquaintances. Each time I hear one I respond with a pleasing grin and enthusiastic fist pump.
I regularly play handball, so when me and my partner are losing, I constantly stare at my partner, smack my hands together and vigorously shout, “Come on, Championship!” to galvanize him. Now when I appear at the handball court, I am greeted with sporadic, drawn-out shouts of “Championship!” by handball companions.
To my surprise, people I’m not familiar with at times utter my catchwords at me.
One recent quiet morning, I was walking to eat with the rest of my prison unit, and there was an officer in front of the chow hall with colorful sunglasses on. I noticed him gazing at me, so I nodded at him. The officer responded to me by saying, “Crazy choco loco!”
