The next day in the day room of my cell block, I needed to contact the warden so, I approached one of the guards guarding the door. Leaning in and saying, my voice confident and loud, "I need to see the warden."
The guard, a skinny fellow with a nervous expression, replied curtly, "If you don't have a good reason, you can't. He's a very busy man."
"Is that so?" I responded calmly, my frustration barely contained. In a sudden burst of aggression, I grabbed the guard's collar and pulled him closer, our faces inches apart. "Call the damn warden. He told me to contact him if I needed help, so do as I say."
"A-Alright." He hastily pushed me away, fumbling for his radio to inform the warden about my request.
Once he had conveyed my message, the guard turned apologetic and led me through the mazy prison corridors towards the warden's office. We arrived, and he opened the door for me, closing it swiftly behind me.
