Noah Cicero: Go to work and do your job. Care for your children. Pay your bills. Obey the law. Buy products.

“A person who manipulates and steals.”

“Yes, and America needs good citizens.”

“Yes, that’s true.”

“Good, then you agree with us.”

“Of course.”

I didn’t know what I was agreeing with. According to her, people commit crimes because they want to commit crimes. They don’t steal because they want an X-Box and can’t afford it. They steal because they want to steal. They don’t do drugs because they want to escape reality or repress something, but because they have such little regard for other people that it’s criminal.

The interview was over.

I hoped I got the job.

I needed money.

I needed health care.

Rachel Heidelberg brought me to another large, glass-walled office. Rachel showed me a giant computer screen displaying fifty images at a time, rotating every ten seconds or so, each image from a different security camera. There were cameras everywhere. Every inch of the facility was covered with cameras. Some of the cameras could even move with a click of the mouse.

“These cameras keep us safe,” Rachel said. “These criminals can’t do anything without us watching. We can see their every move and every employee’s every move. I have a computer in my office. I can look at this at any time. I can also watch it from home. I can wake up at two in the morning and access these cameras. Everyone at NEOTAP knows they are being watched, but it works both ways. I’m being watched too. Surveillance is essential to a successful correctional institution. A surveillance system is pervasive like God. We have recreated God watching over us, judging us every second. The criminal cannot be left alone to behave how they want. They know the whole time they are being watched and judged and that they could receive a write-up, or WU as we call them. The surveillance system and the WU is our greatest weapon against the residents. We don’t carry weapons, we don’t carry mace or Tasers. The residents live in a constant state of fear and nakedness. They are naked before these cameras. They don’t have their drugs, they don’t have their women, they don’t have anything. We have basically stripped them of everything they ever knew. They have no history, no identity in NEOTAP. We take away their ghetto or trailer park, we take away their ability to be a big-time drug dealer, we take away their talents. If they can play music, it doesn’t matter here. If they depended on their mothers to supply them with money and love, well here, they get none of that. They don’t get money or love or a mother. No one in here has parents. NEOTAP replaces God and parents. We have surveillance to replace God and we feed them and shelter them and direct their behaviors, replacing their parents. We don’t allow any gang behavior in here. If we see two residents hanging out with each other for too long, we separate them. We don’t want them to become friends. We don’t want them to have conversations about drugs and women. We want them to have appropriate conversations. They need to live appropriate lives. We are guarding against all inappropriate ideas and thoughts that may arise inside their criminal minds. They are reborn here, they are like little fetuses, and we must raise these fetuses. Everything is gone. They are psychologically stripped naked before everyone. Do you understand the importance of surveillance in that process, Mike?”

“Yes.”

“Do you have any questions about surveillance?”

“Yes—”

“Hold on, you can’t ask any questions.”

“Huh, I thought you said if I had any questions, I should ask them.”

“You are only allowed to ask questions if I give you questions to ask.”

“Are there any questions concerning surveillance that you think I should ask?”

“Yes.”

I got extremely confused and didn’t want to make her mad so I said, “Okay.”

She replied, “Good.”

It occurred to me while walking away that they could also watch employees. That I would also be watched constantly. That there was also a surveillance god watching me. That I wouldn’t be able to play around or daydream or engage in anything fun while at work. I was going to be as paranoid as the residents.

I didn’t understand why they called them “residents.” They were trapped there, the doors were locked. If they escaped there would be a police hunt for them. Why didn’t they call them “inmates” or “prisoners” or “convicts.” They weren’t “residents.” A resident implies a person or even a plant or animal that lives in the same place for a long time, by choice. They weren’t here by choice. They were placed here by the court system. They were closer to slaves or serfs than residents. They did not live in NEOTAP but were detained in NEOTAP.

I called my parents and told them I got the job. They were excited for me. They told me to come over and they would get pizza and cake. My parents were very big into positive reinforcement. When I scored my first goal in soccer when I was seven, they bought me pizza and cake. When I was in the eighth grade talent show, playing guitar very badly, they bought me pizza and cake. When I got straight A’s on my report card, I was for sure going to get pizza and cake. Pizza and cake are the ways Americans celebrate triumphs.

I drove into Deer Valley Estates. My parents lived in a beautiful suburban development. Which means I grew up in a suburban development. All the houses were relatively new and clean-looking. The yards were perfectly mowed and the hedges were trimmed. There was no crime except for teenage boy vandalism. There were no broken-down cars in the driveways, not a single shingle was missing. It was perfect. There was even a cul-de-sac.

I went into my parents’ house. I had spent the last five years living in a dorm and then in an apartment right off campus, then recently, after college, I had moved in with my grandpa. Going back to my childhood home was not exciting to me. I walked into the house and it looked “nice.” Everything in the house was ordered and clean and boring. We didn’t live in an old country farmhouse or a mansion with paintings on the walls or spiral staircases. I really liked the old apartment I lived in by campus, with its old sinks and flaking paint. There was something human about it. You could tell that humans lived there. You couldn’t tell that humans lived in my parents’ house. They had the house remodeled once every five years. They would redo the kitchen and living room and bathroom, so people would think they were normal and up to date.

There were ceramic plates with pictures of horses on the walls and cabinets with strange teapots and figurines in them. My father was into photography. His nature pictures of hawks, the Grand Canyon, and bull moose running through the Rockies were all over the house.

My dad worked as a cameraman for a local television station. He stood behind a camera and filmed local news anchors for money. It provided good money and made him happy. My mother worked as a second grade teacher. It provided good money and made her happy. They had enough money to pay for things like remodeling their house, new cars, and vacations. They had worked the same jobs my whole life. They were determined people. They were determined to work the same jobs and be the same people from the day of my birth to the day they retired.

My father got up at four in the morning, put on his clothes and drove to work at the television studio. He had been waking up at four in the morning for so long that he didn’t even set his alarm anymore. When my father got home he went straight to his bedroom and took a nap for an hour and a half and then got up to start his day. My mother woke at six, took a shower, put on her makeup, and drove to teach little kids cursive and times tables. When she got home, she would exercise on a treadmill for an hour and then cook dinner. After dinner, she would work on the next day’s lesson plans. This routine was repeated every day.