"Security Noir:
Tales of a Security Guard"
by Stephen A. Schrum
It was a dark and cloudy night. No moon or stars. I couldn't even see my favorite planet: Venus. And it was cold. I was bundled up tight in my heavy coat, my winter hat-earflaps down against the frigid wind-and thick, polyester fur-lined gloves. The gloves got in the way of me writing these nightly notes, my meem-oirs, but they kept my hands warm in the bitter cold. It must have been around 52 degrees.
I took up my usual spot for writing: the heater just inside the front door. I sat on the "Don't sit on the heater" sign so no would know I wasn't supposed to. I had to take a load off; my dogs were barking me. I had been on duty what seemed like forever. I squinted at my watch. I'd come on at seven; almost two hours had gone by. And another long stretch was ahead of me, making this a long, long workday. Another three hours till I could go home, back to my snug and warm trailer.
After a few minutes, my backside warmed to a comfort level I could live with, and I had to stretch my legs anyway, and check out the back door. I rattled the doorknob to the main office. Locked. Not sure if I had checked it before, but then I like to check it every time I go by, just in case.
As I walked to the back door, I saw a woman coming into the lobby. She had a key so I knew she belonged here. I stopped though-we're not allowed to let anyone in, so I didn't want to get her hopes up.
I watched her come in and slowly approach me. All her attention was focused on me, and me alone. She didn't look right or left. Just at me. She couldn't take her eyes off me.
I walked over to her then. She was breathing heavily, like she'd run a marathon. I glanced outside and saw a Caddy pull away. You know, those are safe cars. Huge; you get in an accident in one of them and the shock of the impact never even gets to you. But just getting out of one of them things and coming in the door's enough to play you out.
I looked back at her, standing there in front of me. She seemed closer; how could she have moved toward me without me noticing, all my security guard instincts at the ready? She looked me right in the face. Heighth-wise, we were eye to eye-she leaning on her walker, me, hunched over from years of writing down my life story, for publication someday, like those detective novels I read in my spare time, or sometimes on duty on a really, really slow night.
She blinked once, but she was still staring at me. It looked like she was staring right through me, as if I wasn't really there. Maybe it was cataracts; maybe it was a detached retina that made me think so.
She spoke without warning, in a deep, husky, smoky manly voice, colored by too many cigarettes and too many bouts of bronchitis. "Do you live here?" she asked. No, she demanded. I said, "No, I'm the guard."
"The what?"
"The security guard." I pointed to the patch on my vinyl leather-like jacket, but she didn't stop staring into my eyes. Maybe it was macular degeneration. She kept staring.
"I'm the security guard," I repeated. "I don't live here." I said that a little louder, to get some kind of reaction from her. She kept staring.
"You're the guard here?" she said, after another moment.
"Yes, ma'am. The security guard here at the high rise."
"High rise?"
"Yes, ma'am. This is the senior citizen high rise. You have a key. You live here, right?"
She snorted in disgust. "'Course I live here." And she clucked a hen-like cluck and moved off to the elevator. I watched her go, amazed. It was like two cats fighting in a bag of potato chips. Those walkers'll make their hips go wild, and sway like an expensive five-dollar hooker. Just so she don't fall and break a hip. Not on my watch. Too many forms to fill out. And I never got the hang of this walkie-talkie. Not sure how I'd call 911.
"Goodnight," I said to her, as the elevator doors started to close. She continued to stare at me, as if we'd never even talked.
I still hadn't checked the back door. I looked at my watch as I walked. 9:30. Yep. Pretty slow time of the night. And my backside's cold again. But lucky me, there's a heater to sit on at the back door too. And there's no sign to say not to sit on it.
