"A hierarchy among my friends emerges in the dining room. I choose my friends–my eating partners–on the basis of their eating habits: not their table manners or conversation; certainly not their personality. My best eating partners are those with finicky tastes who don’t like anything, who curl their lip up at anything starchy, crunchy-burnt, boiled, artificially sweetened, processed or served in a non-traditional manner or combination (boiled eggplant in its skin; rice with pizza). I love these friends because they give me their food.

The hierarchy of friendship becomes evident over hot-ticket items. For example, when it comes to the fat free, sugar free, carb-less ice cream (in a non ice cream world this ice cream is the best gelato in the universe), there will be any number of people vying for an extra morsel. It requires serious premeditation to win the affection of people sufficiently to be the one they choose to bestow their ice cream. I make puppy dog eyes while my inside voice screams, “Pick me! Me! Pick me pleeeaze!”

Unfortunately many of the people I like outside the chow hall are fellow hogs. Inside the chow hall our hackles rise and we glower at each other as bitter rivals. Occasionally we work together spreading ourselves throughout the chow line so we each get a territory. More commonly, however, it’s every woman for herself. We suddenly befriend, discover long lost buddies, those we remember don’t eat cheese or nuts or drink the juice. We sit through monotonous, monotone stories we know by rote just for that extra treat. In the chow hall my attention never falters. I am rife with anxiety as I inch closer and closer to the perfect moment to say casually, “Are you going to eat that?”

If you wait too late someone will get it or there can be the hierarchy wrangle when the person with the food turns to you and says, “Would you like this potato or can I give it to her?” I look up and see the rival’s plaintive expression. Should I be magnanimous and let them have it? Do a trade? Keep it for myself? It’s a moment of delicate power that always leaves me either feeling greedy, selfish and petty, or really, really stupid.

However, if you ask for the food too quickly, too early in the game, it may offend the friend and their food away [sic] or give them ideas about trying it themselves. Sometimes it is useful (if you don’t overplay your hand and end up with some rude vulture trying to pressure you out of your food) to act as if the item in question is not interesting. When they relax their guard and become complacent, the moment before they get up to leave, a quick, “Well if you’re not going to eat that …” wins the goodie.

I have had moments of desperation (mostly over fruit. I’m a passionate binger of fruit), when I have bellowed across the dining room, “Is anyone not eating their orange?” I have, for strawberries, stalked the window where we turn in our dirty trays and snagged fruit from strangers.

There are food alliances. I get so-and-so’s salad. So-and-so gets my butter. I get her dessert. She gets my juice. To disrupt these fair trade agreements causes personal injury. I, for one, had some powerful feelings when at dinner this evening, my dessert partner didn’t show up (she was sick. I say unless you are in four-point restraints, you have to get up and give me your ice cream cake. I’ll probably never see ice cream cake again. She can be sick anytime). My dessert partner is a beautiful person. I’m not sure what her name is, but she is on a diet. I say if the Department of Corrections is going to pay a hefty salary to a nutritionist with a master’s degree to create a balanced menu for me to eat–who am I to quibble? Besides I always balance my starches, fats and sugars.

I enjoy my food. Like my life, the food may not be perfect, but nonetheless I derive much pleasure form both of them. Whatever is laid before me I try to appreciate its value, find satisfaction and be grateful. That’s the key: Enjoy what is present and joy will follow presently." (Elizabeth Haysom, Fluvanna Review, November 16, 2006).

Elizabeth Haysom is presently incarcerated at the Fluvanna Correctional Center for Women in Troy, Virginia. This column is one of a series, published under the general heading 'Glimpses from Inside.'