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Locked up for the 13th time over child support he couldn’t pay, Robert Bulka starts his morning shift in jail… and nearly triggers a full-blown riot over a box of cereal.

This is Chapter 1 — raw, shocking, and 100% true.

Cereal Killers: Breakfast Behind Bars

There I was, locked up for the thirteenth time, facing off against a prosecutor since I couldn’t hire a child support lawyer. Perhaps my situation seemed doomed, yet I stood no shot at defending myself in family court.

I steeled my mind for the road ahead—enduring the intake process, taking on a job inside, and falling into a steady rhythm that carried me through each endless day. Things could have turned uglier; I might have ended up on the medical unit, where those jailed for unpaid child support are housed to keep them protected.

The day should have started like any other in the workers’ tier but I was on high alert. My cellmate Diggs and I were woken at 4:00 a.m. by Corrections Officer Rodriguez for Diggs’s insulin shot. Diggs had enough of a severe case of diabetes that demanded daily injections—you’d think that would land him in the medical tier, not among the workers.

Whatever the reason, my sleep got interrupted every morning at that ungodly hour, and again thirty minutes later when he returned. By 6:25 a.m., I dragged myself awake to start my shift in Receiving, where my glamorous duties included handing out sandwiches and drinks to newly arriving inmates, cleaning the holding pens, and tackling whatever paperwork the sergeant tossed my way.

I’d been locked up almost six weeks this time, all for non-payment of child support. How the hell do they expect me to pay when I’m rotting in here? If I’d had a steady 9-to-5 and an apartment, this arrest would’ve stripped me of both, leaving me homeless and jobless—on top of owing $800 a week in child support arrears. And get this: the future payments don’t budge. So yeah, there’s no light at the end of this tunnel.

Enough self-pity. I just wanted out of this endless loop. This was my thirteenth arrest in less than 5 years, and I saw no end in sight.

I kicked off my shift prepping sandwiches and juices for inmates heading to court, but Officer Jones interrupted: “Drop what you’re doing, Bulka, and head to Holding Pen 150. Hand out cereal and milk to the 75 guys going out to court.”

What could be simpler? Wrong.

I positioned myself strategically in a chair in the hallway outside the pen, with a box of cereals and milks wedged between my legs. One by one, I handed each inmate a carton of milk and a single-serve cereal box.

To avoid any accusations of favoritism, I kept things discreet—turning my head away from each approaching inmate. Hand off made, I’d grab the next set without glancing back.

I’d just passed out the last breakfast when a voice erupted: “Yo, white boy, why you give that cracker Cocoa Pebbles and I get Fruity Pebbles? I know—take care of the white man and fuck us nigg***, right?”

It was a dreadlocked guy, seething with rage. I ignored him. So did most in the bullpen. But he amped up the volume: “I wanted Cocoa Pebbles, and I want it now!”

CO Jones heard the commotion and barked, “What’s going on over there, Bulka?”

The accuser cuts me off: “That motherfucker's a racist! He did it on purpose!”

“So you think he did it on purpose?” Jones shot back. “Look, the man wasn’t even facing you when he handed it over. This ain’t your first stunt, and it’s gonna be your last.”

Jones wheeled on the crowd: “Who has Cocoa Pebbles? Bring it up here and toss it in the garbage—now!”

Groans erupted. Then Jones said, “Okay, fine. Everyone with Fruity Pebbles, bring ’em up and trash ’em too. You all have these two idiots to thank.”

Chaos ensued—inmates screaming at the pair—as the commotion drew the sergeant. “Quiet down, all of you!”

Officer Jones approached me: “Don’t sweat it, Bulka. You did nothing wrong. Go load the bus with sandwiches.”

Word count: 682 (perfect Amazon Look Inside length)

End of Page (paste at the bottom)

This is just the beginning.

From cereal riots to turning rap into a jailhouse shield (“White Cheddar”), Robert’s fight for survival inside America’s modern debtors’ prison will keep you up at night.

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