Posts tagged ‘security Guards’

January 29, 2012

Imminent Insanity

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

My car is six months old and has done around 20000 miles, it is known as the ‘Marie Celeste’ and is almost legendary where I live. People say that they have seen it pass their window in the dead of night without a driver at the wheel. I tell them, no, that’s not true, it is just that I have fallen asleep and slid so far down the flamin’ driving seat they can no longer see me.

I am in a routine now, where I drop my daughter off at the interview, park the car, then read a book or sleep for the one and a half to two hours that it takes. This does sometimes have to be modified as in a recent example that comes to mind. We arrived at the headquarters of a large, internationally known company, and I stopped in the car park directly opposite the security guard’s booth.

My daughter went over to speak to the guard who raised his head up from his newspaper long enough to tell her how to find reception. At reception the smartly dressed girl told her to take the lift to the fourth floor and the concierge would show her to the office of the director who she was to meet with.

She entered the lift thinking that the concierge would meet her, and with London in mind, imagined a straight-backed ex-military man with a smartly pressed uniform and a row of medal ribbons. At the fourth floor she hunted around until she found an eighteen-years-old girl in a crumpled blouse and skirt, with a row of used tissues and a bad cold, slumped over a desk.

‘Can you tell me where I can find the office of the projects director please,’ she asked.

‘gruffle, sniffle, snort, glumph, me dose, der, downd der,’ the girl said through a snotty tissue as she pointed down the corridor.

Meanwhile, in the car park, half an hour had gone by and the security guard, having finished his newspaper, was staring at me. Being obviously very bored, he thought that he would amuse himself for a few moments by making my life difficult. He got up out of his seat, hoisted his belly up to where it would not interfere with the movement of his knees, opened the door of the booth and headed over to me.

Giving me the very best of his famous ‘Dirty Harry’- ‘Clint Eastwood’ impression, he leaned on the car and muttered through the corner of his mouth, ‘you’re not planning on staying there; are you, sir?’

‘Well,’ I said, ‘as my daughter is only going to be about an hour or so, I didn’t think it worth my while to book into an hotel.’

‘Very funny sir, I’m sure. No, I’m afraid you can’t stay there.’

‘Who says?’ I asked, naively.

He sucked his teeth and pressed more heavily on the car as he leaned down to bring his face level with the window.

I must admit that at this point I was expecting him to say something along the lines of  ‘are you feeling lucky, punk?’ However, he didn’t. What he did say was…

‘I’m the head of security for this building and car park and I make the rules – I say you can’t stay there.’

‘So despite this letter saying that we can park in the company car park; you are saying that I can’t park here?’

‘No, I am not saying that you can’t park here, I’m saying that you can’t stay here.’

‘Let me get this right – the car can stay here in the car park but I can’t stay in the car?’

‘That’s right, sir. ‘It’s a question of security.

‘*******, I said, ‘it’s a question of boredom, your boredom. You have bugger all better to do.’

‘Bad language isn’t going to help, sir. I can always call the police, you know.’

Knowing how quickly the police were likely to respond to that particular request for assistance, I invited him to do just that.

To cut a long story short – some time later, after much argy-bargy, my daughter interrupted us as I was about to get out of the car and introduce myself properly. She jumped in alongside of me, looked hard for a couple of seconds and said.

‘What’s wrong with you, why are you in a temper.’

‘Not in a temper.’

‘Yes you are, that little nerve in your face is twitching.’

‘That fat, lazy, jobs-worth of a guard was being a prat.’ I said.

‘Oh, so while I am trying to get these jobs, you are in the car parks trying to lose them for me..?’

I have decided now to call it quits, give up and finally go nuts.

I could use the company, so, if any of you chaps feel like joining me, just put a pair of your wife’s, or girlfriend’s, pants on your head, stick a couple of drinking straws up your nose, put a feather in your ear and roll up one leg of your trousers. I will be waiting for you out at the egg-custard fountain under the purple onion tree. That’s the one on the trail that leads up to the old Molasses mines…

Advertisements