Security Robots

I've had some issues with security guards. Which is too bad, because I get the feeling that deep down inside, beneath the badges, buckles and BS they can be halfway decent human beings. It's hard to tell though. In the DC area being a security guard is the top of the GED food chain. The pay can be in the double digits per hour. Can I get a BLING BLING!? As a security guard, you don't have to read good. You don't have to look good. You don't have to be good. There's plenty of down time where you sit in your chair and stare mindlessly out the window, or dick around on your phone. You get to hassle couriers. You get to glare at the janitors. You can score the occasional discount fatty from the landscaping crew. You finally get the hot chick from accounting's phone number. (It's in the building directory you found in the can.) And the best part is that if you feel threatened, the real police are only a phone call away.

There is an older lady who works as a security guard at one of my regular delivery locations on Morse Code Rd. She's polite, efficient and friendly, which is an unusual combo in the world of private security. We've got a rapport, a comforting routine. I pull the delivery truck up to the Guard Station and open the driver's door. I lean out slightly and move my left arm so my ID badge is at guard's eye level. She walks up and taps the ID badge while I say something like "Hello", or "I'm back again." To which she replies, "All right."

If you need help imagining what her voice sounds like, try thinking what Morgan Freeman would sound like if he was at the dentist, drunk, after having been beaten in the face with a dead squirrel. I liked hearing her say "All Right" so much that I tried having a more in depth conversation.

"Hello, It certainly is a nice day out!" I said.

"All Right." She replied.

So the next day I did the delivery. I thought I'd change it up a bit.

"Good Morning. How are you today?" I asked her.

"All Right." She replied.

I think I outsmarted myself with that last one. I had to go back to the compound later that day so I pulled up to the guard station and put on my best smile.

"Hello again, anything exciting happen while I was gone?" I asked her.

"All Right." She answered.

This went on and on and on for at least a month and a half. I just couldn't get her to open up. I was beginning to sense somewhat of disconnect here. Could she not hear me? Had all her years as a security guard caused permanent hearing loss? The daily gunshots ringing in her ears as she brought unauthorized visitors to justice finally took out the fragile tiny hairs nestled in her cochlea.

Maybe she was just that good. She'd seen everything there is to see in the security guarding world. You can't surprise her; you can't pull one over on her. She was there when the rabid raccoon terrorized the south parking lot. She remembers the hailstorm of '98 that broke the facilities director's windshield. She trained the rookie to turn away the TastyKake delivery guy for forgetting his company ID badge. Her gun's not glued to its holster like all the other security guards down on Morse Code Rd.

I drove up to the guard station like always, but this time I was ready for her. I turned off the truck. There would be no distracting background noise. I leaned way out and pulled my ID badge back so she had stand right next to my open door. My lips were almost touching her ear as I took a deep breath and said.

"Good Morning, there are seven Iranians in the back of my truck today."

"All Right." She replied.