July 16th, 2026
Let me begin by warning you that this entire essay is going to be one big bitch fest. If you decide at this point to click on something else, I will completely understand. Otherwise, here goes…
There is a young woman who is currently in prison. We care about her. She calls us frequently, mostly to speak with her little boy. She talks to me when she needs something, and she often needs help. Being incarcerated means that many of things that we take for granted are unavailable to her, like access to the internet. She is also unable to spend money, unless those funds have been deposited into a commissary account for her by an outside party. Name something that you do every day, and the odds are good that she can’t do it from prison.
This being the case, I spend a large amount of my time dealing with her wants and needs. Her requests are simple. She really doesn’t want much, but somehow it is often a struggle for me to take care of these things. It’s not her fault. It’s the prison system. I don’t know if it is by design, but nothing easy to do.
As an example, the young woman wanted me to set up an account with a telecommunications company so that she could share emails and video calls with us. We would be able to send her photos to her tablet. It sounded like a good thing, especially since it would help her and her son to maintain a close relationship. I followed through until I couldn’t anymore. I set up an account online and deposited $25 in it (I didn’t put in more than that because I we had never used this service before). Then I ran into an insurmountable obstacle. For some reason, I could not designate her as a contact. I don’t know why I couldn’t do that, but without her being named as a contact, we can’t communicate. I kept trying different ways to make the connection work, but I finally gave up.
The next morning, I called the vendor’s customer service, and I never got any service. I was led through a labyrinth of extension menus that never got me to a human who could help me. Actually, I talked briefly to a person once. He took my information, put me on hold, and then when he got back to me, he couldn’t hear me on the phone and hung up. I started the cycle again. Eventually, I got to the point where the recording said that I would be connected to a customer service rep. That didn’t happen. I was never connected to anybody. The recording of menu choices just started all over again. I gave up.
Admittedly, my hassle is not unique. You have probably gone through the same magical mystery tour with some business. My problem is that, although this particular experience was rather extreme, it is not at all atypical. Almost any interaction with vendors that operate with the prison system is like this episode to some degree. It is rare when a transaction goes smoothly. It doesn’t matter what service or merchandise the vendor is providing. It’s always a challenge.
Why is it like this? The vendors are those companies that have been approved by the Department of Corrections to sell to the public. The inmates can’t buy anything. The people on the outside that care about the prisoners are the actual customers. These vendors operate as near monopolies. For instance, there are three companies that can provides goods (clothes, art supplies, health and beauty supplies, etc.) to the folks incarcerated at the prison where the young woman resides. The variety of products is extremely limited. It’s like when Henry Ford was selling Model T’s: you can have the car in any color you want, as long as it’s black). It’s the same sort of thing with these vendors. You can buy from them or not buy at all. The prices are exorbitant because there is no real competition. There is no customer service because there is no incentive to serve the customers.
I suppose an argument could be made that the inmates don’t deserve any better than what I have just described. After all, they’re convicted felons. However, there is collateral damage. The people on the outside, like me, are trying to help folks who they love, and we are the ones getting screwed. The people who are just trying to help others to survive in prison and hopefully become rehabilitated during their stay suffer along with the inmates. We didn’t commit any crimes. We didn’t endanger the public. We are just trying to show some compassion to inmates who aren’t seeing much of that. We are trying to do the right thing, and it’s a bitch. It really is.
Frank is Emptiness 