Approaching the outer doors leading into the medical building, I noticed a scruffy, unkempt, bedraggled corrections officer (with a scraggly beard). He was standing outside, near the red trash container, smokin' a choke (cigarette). As I advanced, the officer inquired, "What. are you here for?" "A shot," I replied. (I'd been receiving Interferon injection since the beginning of August). "I'm the one that'll be a' takin' ya back to get your shot," informed the officer. Gesturing somewhat idiotically with his cigarette, he added, "Why don't ya smoke one and when we're done, I'll take ya back for your shot?" Being from the "Old School" it's not an instinctive reaction for me to accept an invitation from an adversary to socialize, hobnob, consort or smoke a'choke with. Nonetheless, against my better judgement, and the fact that this guy had just fired-up, I figured, "What the hell!" Advancing, nearing the officer, I noticed a strong, pungent, offensive odor. "This guy," I thought, "hasn't showered since Hitler's army crossed the Vistula River and invaded Warsaw!" Fringing the red trash container as timber wolves might fringe the perimeter of a roaring campfire on a cold, snowy night, the officer continued puffin' his choke, and I fire-up a Kite, a mistake I'll regret for eternity! Though there was an initial uncomfortable atmosphere, and the conversation was more than a bit s-l-o-w in the beginning, the officer began with, "It's a' snowin'. I likes da snow." It was then, when he opened his mouth, I realized the full extent of the trouble I was in. Spewing from his mouth were not only elementary school-like pronunciations but, also; an indescribable foul, offensive odor that sparked the mental image of green flies buzzing around a putrid apple. "Gadzooks!" I thought, "this guy's not only NOT been wet since Hitler's invasion of Warsaw, he hasn't had a toothbrush near those grinders since Noah boarded the Ark!" Trapped, nothing to do except respond as cordially as possible, I responded, "me, too. It makes everything look cleaner, fresher." The officer injected, "I likes snow cause it's easier to track da deer. Y'knows ya can see their feet prints in da snow?" Though his oservation of "tracking deer in the snow" wasn't what I refer to as a stunning revelation, and I, personally, am not much of a hunter, I mean, where's the toss-down-the-gaunlet, fair-play challenge in laying-in-ambush waiting for Bambi to come happily prancing along, then blow its heart out with a large-bore, 7mm magnum Winchester? Sorry!, but I just don't get it! Feeling free to express those (personal) beliefs, The officer countered with, "deer are tricky!" I followed up with, "yeah, they'd have to be to outwit an armed to the teeth species with the insight and ability to hide behind a bush." Right off the bat, I could see that didn't sit too well with the officer. Distancing himself from me a bit, he said (to my complete surprise) "y'know lighters are contraband. I'm gonna have to confiscate yours." Knowing fu11 well, had this officer and I been standing outside one of those rough-neck bars in the Philadelphia Badlands, or on a serene mountain top in Skeeter Flats, Arkansas, his chances of confiscating anything from me were equal to odds Vagas would give on a 10 round, heavy-weight fight between Mike Tyson and Ray Charles. However, not in a position to accuately express myself, and honestly THUNDERSTRUCK! by such blatant betraya1, I simply opted to go with my initial, knee jerk response, "you got to be kidding! I don't believe it. You're gonna invite me to smoke a cigarette, force me to listen to how smart and witty you are with your "uncanny" ability to "track deer in the snow," then you wanna confiscate my lighter!" "Well," voiced the officer, "it is a rule." "A rule," I thought. I clearly understood I was up against an individual (with an IQ probably teetering dangerously somewhere between that of a bad-tempered common house cat and a rottweiler that can perform three e-a-s-y tricks) whom I had ABSOLUTELY NO chance of emerging victorious over, thus, to my regret I, again, expressed my feelings about the situation. Hurling my choke up against the wa11, I handed over my beloved BIC. I then stormed-off thinking, "where! where in the world do they find these guys! Is there a sign hanging outside the prison wall that reads:" FOOTNOTES: Place - Smithfield state prison Date - Novernher 30, 2002 Time - Approximately 8:00 pm Weather Condition - Cold/Snowy Scraggly bearded Officer - CO Seiler, a rookie not yet beyond his probation period!