Strip Search
Another excerpt from Patty Prewitt's upcoming sequel to her first book, Trying to Catch Lightning in a Jar: Letters from Prison
October 13, 2012
Dear Marsha,
Sorry, I’m on the late freight. I missed your birthday!
So, you’re curious about strip searches. Let me inform you. Let me provide you with the naked truth. Nakedness is a requirement, of course. Thus, the term “strip.” But, removing every piece of clothing you are wearing and brazenly standing a foot or two from the prying eyes of a guard is just step one of a strip search. Once you’re in the buff, there’s a specific choreography to follow.
Its changed over the years—but this is the current method: First, bend over, shake your hair and mess it up. No braids allowed, and heaven forbid you arranged your hair to try to look cute or simply presentable for your visitor (strip searches are required before and after each visit).
The first time I was ordered to do that, I tried to joke to the guard that my hair won’t even hold a curl, so how could it hold contraband. . . but she was unmoved. Before you progress from step to step, the officer must give verbal approval. “Yes” and “OK” are the most popular positive reactions.
Now push the end of your nose to expose your nostrils. “Yes.” Open your mouth really wide and wiggle your tongue and press it to the roof of your mouth while the officer peers in. “OK.”
If you wear dentures or partials, they have to come out—no adhesive allowed. I’ll never forget the fear in Amy’s face when she realized her top plate was firmly buried in her vending machine hamburger. Her visitor wore the same expression.
Ears next—show both inside and behind. Good thing ears are rubbery.
Now we are moving south. No one has ever asked me to lift my breasts, but if you actually have breasts, you must pick them up to show that no contraband is pinned on the underside. Raise your arms to show your arm pits.
If you have any other skin folds that might need to be repositioned for a better view, now is the time for show and tell. While still facing front, open your legs to display the inner thighs. When this move was first implemented, I doggie-lifted my leg way high and was chastised for revealing too much. No points for exuberance or flexibility.
Now turn around, widen your stance, grab your butt cheeks and pull them apart, drop into a low squat and cough—all at the same time. This pull, drop, and cough must be accomplished simultaneously three times. Sometimes more if the guard believes you are not giving any of the components the proper enthusiasm. Their theory is that any wads of drugs you’ve stuffed up your “purse” will shoot out on the floor from the force of those motions. Don’t know if that’s ever happened, but at my age, I must do my best not to dribble!
While still spreading your butt cheeks, fold way over bottoms up to reveal as much of “down there” as possible without turning the routine into a full cavity search. And if you don’t know what a cavity search is, just think about it. Cavity. Search. Speculum.
You’re in the homestretch! Lift your feet, one at a time unless you’re exceptionally talented, to show the soles, wiggle your toes, and you’re done. . . IF your dance is deemed a success—every officer rates differently and can require a repeat. Some guards are really into it and seem to be checking every inch of me for melanoma. Others step farther back and hurry me along.
One guard told me she wanted at least three of the 12-inch floor tiles between my feet. I gave it my best shot but then couldn’t squat deep enough to suit her. I wanted to ask her who in this particular Hell Hole could do that, but I refrained. It’s prudent to keep most all questions and comments to yourself.
This striptease comes before and after visits, upon arrival to and exit from the prison, and any other random time we are ordered to. After a short time of incarceration, we lose any shred of modestly. I could strip IN the visiting room if that’s what it took to see my loved ones.
A guard once commented on how quickly I ran through the motions, so I remarked, “Yeh, I’m a professional stripper.”
Her eyes widened, “Really?”
While she grilled me about moves, Velcro, G-strings, and costumes, I kept trying to interrupt, “No, No, NO! I’m kidding! Look at this body. Would anyone PAY to see this?
One more tip—from personal experience. Strip humor is almost always lost on the stripping searching officer. “How many assholes have you seen today?” is not appreciated. Keep it to yourself.
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