One winter I worked security at a big music festival’s final evening performance. It was a volunteer gig, and our team comprised of a fairly laughable security squad. Of the nine of us three were underage, none over six foot or 160 pounds, and only two prepared to deal with a potentially violent altercation. Since this was a goodwill event attended mostly by a crowd of professionally connected couples and singles in their late thirties and forties, violence seemed unlikely. At most we would have to bounce a drunk, and I’d done that before.
The heads of security were a pair of senior citizens who were content to sit at the front desk, and asked us to cover the rest of the lobby, hall, and auditorium. By the time we’d been assigned badges and yellow SECURITY T-shirts and begun taking up stations in the halls I needed a cigarette, so I nipped outside and found a quiet place to smoke.
On re-entry I noticed my teammates were mostly clumped in pairs and trios in the lobby and hall close to the reception desk. I walked the perimeter and identified potential danger zones and then retraced my steps and spoke with each member of the team individually. Within a half hour I had them on individual stations set in a zig-zag pattern that covered the lobby, the hall, and the auditorium, and enabled each yellow-shirted youngster to see at least two others at all times. After that I set them on a fifteen minute rotation to keep them alert and incorporate regular bathroom checks.
The guests arrived dressed to impress and flowed past the reception desk, mingled through the lobby and hall, and eventually found seats in the auditorium. I took off my badge and yellow shirt and walked among them alert for threats and detecting none. Once the majority of the attendees had settled in seats the speeches began, and shortly afterwards the band took the stage.
Seeing nothing but responsible adults having a good time, I checked on my teammates and then returned to the reception desk. I asked the heads of security if they needed anything and they told me guests had been exiting and re-entering the auditorium through the side door, which was supposed to be reserved for staff and emergency purposes. They asked me to stand inside the auditorium and deter guests from using the side doors, which sounded good to me because the band rocked around the lead of a charismatic stand-up bass player.
I stationed myself in front of the side doors and listened to the music and watched the band and apologetically turned away the occasional guest and pointed them to the back doors. After an hour or so a man approached carrying a small child in his arms.
“I need to get through here,” he informed me.
“Sorry sir,” I responded as I had to all the other guests, “the side doors are reserved for emergency purposes, if you could please proceed to the main exits at the back I hope you enjoy the rest of your evening.”
The man took a good look at me, and then a good look at himself. I was wearing cargo shorts and a cheap yellow SECURITY T-shirt and army green crocs. He wore a three piece suit that probably cost as many thousands of dollars and fine leather shoes, and he was taller than me, and heavier, and broader across the shoulders.
“Look buddy,” he told me, “I own this building. I’m the one who paid for this whole event, and I could have you fired in a snap. So you’re going to let me through those doors.”
I chuckled and took a deep breath.
“Listen buddy,” I said, catching his eyes and not looking away. “I’m a volunteer so I’m not sure you can fire me, and even if you do I’m the head of security, so no one will escort me from the premises for you. Also, these doors are reserved for emergency purposes. Unless there’s a fire, you’re not going through them.”
The man took a surprised step back, staring at me and then looking away and then checking his very expensive watch. Even with a few drinks in his system he didn’t have the courage to respond.
The little girl in his arms wriggled and whispered something in his ear.
“She has to go to the bathroom,” the man said blankly.
“You should have started with that,” I informed him, stepping aside and holding the door open for them to pass. I smiled at the child. “Bathroom emergencies count.”