The Crucial First Two Minutes

When I worked at the county jail, I was assigned as the second Booking Officer. At some point during the shift, I was told to feed an inmate being housed in the detox cell.

The detox cell wasn’t directly inside Booking. It was separated from us by a hallway, a secure sallyport, and the Intoxilyzer room. Booking could see part of that area through a tinted observation window, but visibility was limited. Once I entered the room, I was effectively alone.

The food tray was too large to fit through the tray port, so I had to open the cell door and hand it to the inmate.

That was the plan, anyway.

The inmate came through the door, quickly overpowered me, and threw me to the floor. Somewhere during the struggle, he took my radio. I couldn’t call for backup, and the primary Booking Officer couldn’t clearly see what was happening through the tinted window.

Unbeknownst to me, the inmate was high on PCP.

I fought alone for what felt like an eternity before the primary Booking Officer finally realized something was wrong. Even then, help wasn’t standing outside the door. Officers had to respond from other areas, run down a hallway, pass through several secure doors controlled only by an officer at the front of the facility, cross the sallyport, and enter the Intoxilyzer room.

Eventually, seven Correctional Officers came pouring through the doorway.

It took all eight of us to get that wire-thin, 120-pound inmate back into the detox cell. He fought continuously and never showed any noticeable sign of weakness or exhaustion.

That incident taught me something every Correctional Officer needs to understand: calling for backup does not immediately place backup beside you.

Even when somebody hears the call, those officers may be several locked doors, stairwells, gates, and even buildings away. Depending on staffing and the size of the institution, you may be on your own for the longest two minutes of your life.

You need a plan for surviving them.

1. Stack the odds before you open the door. The best way to survive a violent encounter is to prevent yourself from being trapped in one.

Before opening a cell, entering a confined area, or approaching an agitated inmate, find out what you’re dealing with. Ask why the inmate is being housed there. Review whatever information is available. Look through the window and observe his behavior before you step inside.

If something feels wrong, slow down.

Tell another officer where you’re going. Request a second officer if the task requires opening a secure cell or entering an isolated area. Make sure somebody is actually watching, not sitting behind tinted glass assuming everything is fine. Position yourself so you aren’t trapped between the inmate and your exit. Keep enough room to react, and avoid standing directly in front of the opening when the door moves.

None of that guarantees safety. But walking into an unknown situation alone, with no clear line of sight and no officer actively monitoring you, gives the inmate every advantage before the encounter even begins. I know because I did exactly that.

2. Make the call while you still can. Officers sometimes wait too long to call for assistance because they don’t want to appear weak, create unnecessary radio traffic, or turn a minor problem into a major response.

Fuck that. If the situation is deteriorating, make the call early. Give your location first, then explain what is happening. Nobody can help you if they don’t know where the hell you are.

Keep the transmission short. This is not the time to deliver a documentary.

“Officer needs assistance, Detox, one combative inmate.” That gives responding staff what they need: who needs help, where to go, and what they’re running into.

Protect your radio whenever possible. If it gets knocked away or taken, use whatever other communication options are available: a body alarm, emergency button, intercom, direct shouting, or movement toward an area where another officer can see you. Knock on doors or windows. Do something. 

My radio became useless the moment the inmate took it. From that point forward, my survival depended on somebody noticing that I was in trouble. Turns out hope is a shitty emergency-communication plan.

3. Create distance, barriers, and time. Distance gives you options. Confined spaces take them away.

If the inmate hasn’t physically engaged you, don’t rush forward just because he’s yelling. Maintain space, keep your hands visible and ready, and position solid objects between you whenever possible. A table, bench, doorframe, or other barrier may slow his movement long enough for backup to arrive.

Avoid allowing yourself to be cornered. Know where the exit is, but don’t fixate on it so completely that you lose sight of the threat. Stay on your feet if you can. Going to the ground limits movement, blocks your view, and places your equipment within reach. Sometimes you don’t get a choice — I certainly didn’t — but your goal should be to regain a stable position and create space whenever the opportunity appears. The objective isn’t to win a championship fight in the day room. It’s to remain functional until help reaches you. Every second you slow the encounter is another second backup has to get through the next locked door.

4. De-escalate without surrendering control. De-escalation is not weakness, and it does not require giving the inmate what he wants.

Use a calm voice. Give clear, simple directions. Avoid stacking five commands into one sentence while screaming loud enough to make every word unintelligible.

“Stop.”

“Back up.”

“Return to the cell.”

Give the inmate an action he can understand and enough time to comply. If he begins talking, let him talk while you maintain distance and continue watching his hands. 

Don’t insult him. Don’t challenge his masculinity. Don’t threaten consequences you cannot immediately deliver. And don’t let your ego turn a survivable standoff into a physical fight because you needed to have the last word. At the same time, don’t allow calm speech to become uncertainty. Your instructions should be clear and your boundaries should remain firm. 

The goal is to lower the temperature without giving up control of the room. That strategy may not work on someone who is intoxicated, mentally unstable, or already committed to violence. The inmate I fought wasn’t responding like a rational person. But even then, a calm voice, controlled movement, and physical distance are more useful than screaming insults and exhausting yourself before backup arrives.

5. Conserve energy and protect what matters. A real fight is nothing like training. It is ugly, exhausting, confusing, and usually happening in a space that was never designed for two people to fight in.

If physical contact becomes unavoidable, use the defensive tactics you were trained to use and follow your agency’s use of force policy. Protect your head, neck, airway, keys, radio, and any weapon or restraint equipment you carry. 

Don’t waste energy trying to punish the inmate. Don’t throw wild strikes because you’re angry. Don’t attempt something flashy you watched online at three in the morning. Your job is to survive, maintain control of your equipment, and keep the situation from becoming worse.

Breathe. Stay aware of your surroundings. Look for opportunities to disengage, create distance, or move toward visibility. If you’re pinned or trapped, continue working toward a safer position without burning every ounce of energy in the first thirty seconds.

When backup arrives, communicate. Tell them about weapons, injuries, chemical exposure, or anything else they cannot immediately see. A doorway full of officers charging into a confined room can become its own kind of clusterfuck if nobody knows what is happening.

Two minutes doesn’t sound like much until you’re fighting alone. Inside a correctional institution, backup may have to travel hundreds of yards and pass through several controlled doors before reaching you. Until then, your survival depends on preparation, communication, positioning, emotional control, and your ability to keep functioning under pressure.

Don’t assume someone can see you. Don’t assume the radio call went through. Don’t assume the inmate will tire before you do. Think ahead. Maintain your equipment. Know your exits. Make the call early, and remember that the goal isn’t to prove how tough you are. The goal is to still be standing when the cavalry finally gets through the door.

Until next time, watch your positioning, protect your radio, and try not to become tomorrow’s Daily Cluster.

– D. Mathena