I learned a new lesson at work today.
I guess we haven’t touched on my employment yet. I am, are you ready for it? I am a security guard. I am NOT a rent a cop. What’s the difference? A rent a cop wholeheartedly believes he/she has every right to harass you and be a beligerent prick whereas a security guard just goes to work, does his/her job and goes home. A rent a cop has wet dreams about arresting people. I have dreams about my family and vacations.
In my line of business I have interacted with psychos, vagrants, drunks and morons. And those are just my coworkers! My line of work is really not all that glorious. The funniest stories I could possibly tell are about my fellow coworkers. Like the guy who was so plastered at work (yep, drunk on the job), he leaned back in an office chair and went a little too far. BAM! backwards he goes and lands on the floor.
We still laugh over that one.
I have had no scary moments. The closest moment I had that could possibly be deemed slightly scary was I was at a building at 2 in the morning on a Friday. Across the street is construction. My building is the only one on the block. In the middle of the street in front of the building is a large statue surrounded by flowers and fountains. Very pretty. Until there was a suspicious bag found. And the police were notified. And they blocked off my block. And I had to let all the tenants out of the building through the loading dock. And I had to remain on site. Yeah that was awesome. Just me, myself and I, hanging out in a bomb zone.
And then, after notifying all the proper people, the company I work for sends the biggest goober on the planet. James W. Goo. Ber. He’s a rent a cop. He wouldn’t hesitate to tackle an old lady in a mall for suspected theft.
And sadly I’m not kidding when I say that, because he’s actually done it.
Anyway, it was nothing more than a bag filled with some homeless guy’s clothes. Awesome. Not a bomb.
Back to the beginning.
I learned a valuable lesson today. I was on my way downstairs where I take my break and, since my access card was in my back pocket and my hands were full, I decided, instead of putting something down to take my access card out, I’d just do a little butt swivel in front of the card reader, swipe the card and then go through the door.
Except it didn’t quite work out that way. Hands still full, stubborn and hungry, I started giving this card reader the lap dance of its life! Finally the card reader registers my card and I turn to go through the door. As I’m turning around, don’t I turn and see a contractor standing there with a cup of coffee in his hand, jaw on the floor, wondering what the hell I’m doing.
How do I explain to him that, rather than pull my card out of my ass, I’d rather give the card reader a lap dance?
I can’t imagine what he must have been thinking. I kept going with nary a beat missed.
Moral: put your shit down, stop rubbing your ass all over the place, card readers don’t pay well. Whatever you want to take from this, go ahead.