I have learned not to wear an underwire bra on teaching days. Shoes, coats, and class materials are searched by hand and stamped with invisible ink. A metal door slides open, and we pass through to a small vestibule. My co-teacher, Linda, and I hold our stamped hands under a purple light while pressing our IDs up to the window, where another guard sits.
A new building, more screening. We get passes to display on our shirts, and sign in: time in, time out, purpose –teaching memoir writing to the prisoners. Eventually, we are picked up by yet another officer, who escorts us to J-block.