In July, without any advance notice, the 60 men housed on my cellblock were on the receiving end of an unconventional yet life-changing announcement: “Netflixs” had arrived at our Texas prison and was now live.
Unlike apps for streaming services, this Netflixs stood about 5-foot-5, had a huge round belly and spoke with a Southern country-boy twang.
Previously known to us all as “Hustle Man,” a name he had earned for his ceaseless fervor to accumulate dollars, Netflixs wanted everyone to know that his newest business adventure required a name change.
In the dayroom, Netflixs said he had a very important announcement. People stopped what they were doing — even the janitor — and gave Netflixs their undivided attention.
“I am rebranding, guys,” he said. “Today is a new day and I am pleased to present my new movie streaming services at a price that will make Securus jealous.”
The guys were initially skeptical. Netflixs, during his Hustle Man days, had come up with all types of gimmicks to establish himself as this prison’s commerce king. Some of his creations were memorable — not always for good reasons. No one will forget the summer he launched his homemade fragrance sunscreen line that landed everyone in the prison’s medical unit with body rashes.
“That product almost put me out of business,” Netflixs admitted.
He was able to rebound the following Christmas, this time by making gift baskets for guys to mail home to their families. He took candy bars, cinnamon rolls and other random items from the commissary, added a nice holiday card, and sold each at a marked-up price.
Entrepreneurship comes in all forms at our prison. Some guys create barbershops outside their cells. Others create “restaurants.” There was even one dude who created his own personal fitness company. For a monthly fee, he would take you out to the recreation yard and train you to become “the hottest man in any room,” according to the promotional ad that hung on the cellblock’s bulletin board.
Netflixs basically moonwalked into his latest moneymaking scheme.
A couple years ago, the prison administration issued us tablets that enabled us to stream movies from the service provider Securus. The cost for each movie ranges from $5 to $12 depending on its popularity, and is available for streaming as many times as possible within a 48-hour time frame.
Most incarcerated people cannot afford to pay that enormous price. Ten dollars can fetch you an entire week’s worth of snacks, which for many is a more attractive option.
Then Securus made the new Michael Jackson biopic “Michael” available for streaming on our tablets.
The people who had funds were willing to sacrifice a week’s worth of snacks to watch the King of Pop dance to “Billie Jean.” The entire prison was talking about how great the film was. Some even enthusiastically attempted their best Jackson impersonations.
The popularity of Jackson had divided our prison into two distinct categories: the haves and the have-nots. Those who had been fortunate enough to see the biopic felt privileged and enriched. The have-nots, who could not afford to pay for the streaming service, felt incomplete and sad.
Netflixs saw a market that had high demand and no supply. With a basic cost-benefit analysis, Netflixs determined if he paid the roughly $10 streaming fee (with taxes) for the two-hour film, he could rent out his tablet for $3 worth of commissary items during the 48-hour rental period so others could watch the popular movie.
If he rented out the movie at least 10 times over 48 hours, that would result in $30 worth of revenue.
“They say successful entrepreneurship is all about opportunity recognition,” Netflixs told me during an interview about a week later. “Michael Jackson is the highest-grossing solo musical artist ever!”
To give his idea a test run, Netflixs created a sign-up log to gauge the film’s demand. The list filled up quickly. Word started spreading that anyone who had $3 worth of commissary could watch the movie, and Netflixs’ venture expanded.
He enlisted an associate to add his tablet to this service. Netflixs would have his wife place the $10 onto the friend’s tablet account to rent the movie. That friend would get to watch the movie first, at no charge, in exchange for Netflixs being able to rent it out.
Business became so lucrative, Netflixs had to enlist a third friend. Forecasting to the future, Netflixs figured if he created a poll of what movies people were willing to pay $3 to watch, his days of making homemade sunscreen were over for good.
“Today is your lucky day, my brothers,” Netflixs announced, back on that first day with us all gathered around. “We, the people, fight back against corporate corruption. You can now watch the highest-grossing biopic, ‘Michael,’ for the low price of $2.99!”
This announcement changed the streaming game. Those who previously were willing to pay the regular fees were now opting for Netflixs’ cost-efficient service. Since then, Netflixs has become a prison sensation.
“This guy epitomizes that prison can lock up your body, but not your brain,” said Jason, one of Netflixs’ satisfied customers. “I mean, hey, a guy don’t just wake up one day and change his name to Netflixs. That takes some real creativity.”