Friday, October 20, 2006

Non-NFL Security Guarding



Wherein I protect the ladies of the Bethel Baptist Institutional Church. Another email to Pablo from a little while back. Fear not, brave readers -- pretty soon I'll be caught up, writing about things right after they happen, and actually expanding my efforts into realms beyond my work as a part-time security guard.


Last night, I had my first non-pro-football security guarding
experience, as I worked the Bethel Baptist Institutional Church's
Eighth Annual "Ladies Night Out" at the Veterans' Memorial Auditorium.
A good time was had by all.

And, as a licensed and highly-trained security guard, I believe I can
largely take credit for the fact that none of the several thousand
Baptist ladies in attendance were knifed or engaged in fisticuffs.
Damn, I'm good.

The sponsor for the event was Jacksonville's oldest and largest
African-American congregation, which has well over 10,000 members (see
http://www.bethelite.org). The leader of the church is Reverend
Rudolph McKissack, Sr., who has been the pastor for 40 years. His son,
the Rev. Rudolph McKissack, Jr., (known as "Reverend Junior") is
second in charge, and others members of the family also serve as
members of the clergy there (e.g., Reverend Junior's sister Jasmine,
known as "Reverend Jazz").

My involvement did not get off to an auspicious beginning. First,
being still pretty new to town, I got lost on the way to the venue.
This caused me to (a) arrive late for my scheduled reporting time of
2:30; and (b) wind up parking in the wrong parking lot. As soon as I
got in, I was bragging to my co-workers how even though I was late,
I'd managed to snag a primo parking spot right in front of the loading
dock. Their eyes got wide, and they informed me in no uncertain terms
that "they gonna tow your white ass." So, armed with directions from
my co-workers, I hustled my white ass back to the loading dock and
moved my car two blocks away, where we were supposed to park. Then,
as soon as I'd walked all the way back, I realized I'd left my
security guard license in the car. Because the state conducts spot
checks and fines guards $500 if they are caught without their license
on them (which is more than I'm likely to net from working all
football season), I had to hike the two blocks back to my car to get
it, then those same two blocks back to the auditorium. By then, my
white ass was safe from being towed, but kind of tired.

I was angry at myself for being so clueless and now so very, very
late, but when I got back inside the auditorium, my co-workers were
even angrier. It turned out that the event planners had changed the
time we were requested to report and informed someone at CSC, but that
CSC person had never passed the news on to us lowly workers. As a
result, our actual reporting time was set for 4:15, instead of 2:30,
which is what we;d been told when we were scheduled to work. My
fellow workers were furious that they'd thus reported nearly two hours
early, which meant two hours of sitting around without being paid.
The staff was in open revolt, to such an extent thatthe on-site CSC
supervisor had essentially locked himself in the CSC satellite
office at the auditorium, and was not coming out. Thus,
ironically, the greatest threat of violence of the entire evening's
event would originate within the security guards.

After about half an hour of bitching and moaning (and occasional
pounding on the CSC office door), one of the CSC higher-ups from the
main office showed up, apologized to us profusely, and told us we'd be
paid from 3:00 onward. This mollified the workers somewhat, but just
to be sure, an even higher-up from the main office also came by and
apologized. The knowledge that we were at least getting paid didn't
make the next hour and a half of sitting around doing nothing go by
any faster, but it did keep everyone from any additional assaults on
the office door as the event supervisors arrived.

Finally, at about 4:30, it was actually time for us to get suited up
and do our jobs. I was pleased that the main supervisor at the event
was "Big John," who is also the guy who supervises the on-field CSC
security team at Alltel, and to whom I decided to desperately suck up,
in order to get back on the field for future Jags games.

Just before our deployment throughout the building, Big John gave us his
version of a pre-event pep talk. Evidently aware of the earlier
dissension in the ranks, he kept it short and sweet and specific to
this event, saying something like: "Alright everybody -- you're going to get
paid from 3, even though you haven't done any work yet. Now tonight's crowd is a
nice crowd. This is a nice church. This arena is going to be full of
classy Christian ladies. And if I hear any b-----t from any of you
motherf------s, I will send your f-----g ass straight home! Got that?"

Yes, sir!

Then we were all split up amongst the supervisors ranking below Big
John. I was assigned to a team led by Roger, a tall later-middle-aged
white guy who looked around alot and appeared as if he were something of an ex-surfer dude. Roger pulled his team
aside, and told us very frankly that it wasn't really clear what we were supposed to do, so he would find a
spot for each of us to "hang out."

I was then dispatched with one other woman to the door reserved for
use by the preachers. There, we stood with a woman from the church,
who's job it was to greet the preachers and direct them to the room
where they were going for pre-event prayers. The woman from the
church was exceptionally sweet, and also exceptionally short. Even in
very high stilleto heels, she only came up about to my shoulders. I
instantly took a liking to her because she was so vivacious, but she
did have one somewhat annoying speaking habit. I know I'm risking
being consigned straightaway to eternal damnation upon my death for
complaining about this, but here goes...

She said "Amen" way too much.

That is, where other people might say "ummm," or "you know," she said
"Amen." As in, "Amen, when all the preachers get here, Amen, we're
going to have prayers before we, Amen, have a light meal and start the
program, Amen." Now although I found that verbal affectation to be
mildly irritating, I have to respect the discipline it must have taken
to condition herself to say that every time, instead of saying
something like "umm" or "you know." It made me ponder whether I could
train myself to say some sort of word like that in place of just
saying "umm" all the time as I formulate sentences out loud. (I've
settled on using the word "scrump-dilly-icious" -- listen for it next
time you talk with me).

Anyway, I figured I'd get bored just "hanging out" as per my
instructions, so I tried to make myself useful by opening the door for
and greeting everyone who came in. I found that job to be perfectly
acceptable, and everyone coming in was very, very nice.

After about 20 minutes, Roger reappeared and said he had a post for
us. He took the woman I was with and posted her at one entrance to
the backstage area, and me at the entrance to the other side. That is
to say, we were guarding the access to the dressing rooms and
backstage areas. Ordinarily, that would be a somewhat challenging
job, involving checking credentials to ensure only those truly
permitted to could enter the backstage area. However, at this event,
there were no credentials issued, and we were never told who was
permitted to go backstage and who wasn't. As a result, there was no
real "guarding" to be done. So, my supervisor Roger told me to just
"hang out... and... ummmm... (I thought -- "scrump-dilly-icious")...
observe the situation."

For the next five or six hours, I did just that. To make myself
useful, I took it upon myself to serve as the doorman for all of the
people going in and out of the backstage area. They were all very
nice and gracious, as I tried to smile and be helpful and charming
without being too obsequious. I gave innumerable women directions to
the ladies' room, the concession stands, and the water fountain. I
spent several minutes blocking people from entering the family
restroom when the toilet in it got blocked up. And, I went into the
men's room at one point to check on a little boy whose grandmother
became worried when he took a very, very long time.

I did get to deal regularly with the church staff and volunteers as
they passed in and out of the backstage area. They were uniformly
wonderful people, so great in fact, that I would say they were
wonderful even if the church chef didn't come out periodically and
offer me food and drink from the backstage catering (which I declined
-- eating and drinking is prohibited on duty). My favorite was
"Deacon Lou," a short, older, hyperkinetic black guy who appeared to
be in charge of the volunteers. Much of his running around seemed to
be directed at finding the volunteers, who perhaps because he was so
hyper, must have been constantly running away from him. Periodically,
Deacon Lou would whiz by me, saying things I couldn't quite
understand. I'd open the door, and he'd thank me and mumble something
like "(mumble mumble mumble mumble) ...boy must have been
Shanghai'd.. (mumble mumble)."

During slow periods (and there were many), I was pleased that Big John
and Roger would come and hang out with me. They got a kick out of
learning that I was a lawyer. In turn, I learned that Big John had
retired after spending 30 years as a Navy Seal, and Roger was an
electrician who'd been working concert and event security for over 30
years. Big John had some good Seal stories, and surprised me by
responding to my "what should we do about Iraq" question by saying
"get the hell out of there." Roger had some great stories about his
past security guarding experiences, which included lifting up Elvis
and pushing him out a bathroom window to help him surreptitiously get
out of an arena away from the mobs of fans looking for him after a
1970's concert. (Yes, Pablo, that means I shook a hand that had
actually touched Elvis's ass.) Anyway, we had a great time talking
and joking, which I hope Big John will remember when he puts together
the on-field team for the next Jaguars game.

From my station, I could see a little portion of the arena and hear
most of what was going on, so I had my first exposure to an
African-American evangelical stadium religious service. It was quite
a show, with several thousand black women in attendance. It was part
tent-revival and part Christian rock concert. The music was
outstanding, with the featured performer being a guy named Tye
Tribbett (see http://www.tyetribbettandga.com/).

Needless to say, this represented quite a different sort of religious
experience than I am used to. The preaching all borrowed heavily from
the hip-hop vernacular. I specifically heard exhortations to "make
your haters into your elevators," and to avoid "fakin' frontin' and
stuntin'." I can't say I've ever heard theological concepts expressed
quite that way in any of my previous church experiences.

I do, however, think it would be great to try to bring some of that
into more WASPy traditions, and Pablo, I desperately want you to try to
arrange an opportunity for me to introduce your father-in-law at some
church event. If I ever do get such an opportunity, I promise to copy
last night's introduction of the main preacher, essentially verbatim. I look
forward to introducing your father-in-law by shouting, "NOW SISTAHS,
Y'ALL PUT YOUR HANDS TOGETHER AND GET STOOPID FOR A MAN WHOSE CRAZY
WITH JESUS, REVEREND T-- S------!!!!!" (The thumping bass riff
accompaniment will be optional, however.)

Pastor Junior was announced that way last night, then preached for
well over an hour, and really was great. His message tied a gospel
reading on Christ's transformation together with the need for personal
transformations in all of our lives. I'm not in the least bit ashamed
to admit that his message resonated with me.

And then, it was over. The crowd streamed out, we cleared the arena,
an then it was a two block walk and ten minute drive back to my
hacienda, where I flopped into bed a bit after midnight. All in all,
a reasonably fun and intersting night.

I don't know when I'll guard next. The Jags don't play at home again
until October 8, when they meet the New York Jets. It's possible I
won't guard anything again until then. However, I will have some warm
feelings to carry me through to that point. A few days back, while
looking at a Jaguars blog, I came across a thread devoted to fans'
experiences entering the Monday Night Football game against the
Steelers. As you may recall, I was doing pat-downs at Gate 1, and for
most of the time, I was the only guy there. With that in mind, check
out the thread, and particularly the posts of the guy named "Patriots
Fan," located here -- http://mb.jaguars.com/Topic73050-11-1.aspx

In all likelihood, I am the "pat-down guy" that Patriots Fan refers to
in his second post. Ahhhh, when you're me, you've got to cling
tenaciously to whatever little scraps of praise fall from the table of
life onto the floor.

Or something like that.

Amen.

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