We seem to have a new security guard in
the dormitory. He is small and unassuming, and seems to still be
getting used to the job. Other than that I don't a thing about him,
but really, I'm not exactly a fountain of knowledge on the original
three, either.
It's amazing, actually, how they can be
such a constant fixture of our everyday lives while being completely
detached from them. My housemates, I've developed friendships and
rivalries with; the relationship I have with the staff is similar to
the one I have with the furniture. I don't mean to sound like a
bourgeoisie twit failing to treat the blue-collar workers around me
like human beings, but they are so omnipresent, and yet so quiet,
that my consciousness just sort of scans past them whenever they are
around. I once, just once, heard
one of the guards say his own name when answering the phone.
Unfortunately, I forgot it immediately. Even so, after seeing this
little crew almost every single day for months, I've picked up little
observations and attached vague personality traits to them.
They seem to understand quite well that
although this is indeed their workplace, it is our living
space first and foremost, and I truly appreciate that they treat it
with the same respect as you would a friend's bedroom. This is quite
easy to accomplish, as the security guards' main task is to walk up
and down the various halls of each floor once every couple of hours,
and to otherwise be available at the front office, where they fill
the hours doing security guard things, mainly watching a lot of
dramas. They also pull the worst split shifts ever, seemingly working
all afternoon and evening, sleeping for six hours, and then carrying
on for much of the morning before finally being relieved. This means,
of course, that there is no guard posted during the nighttime, nor is
there on weekends, which is strange to me, because those seem like
the times when you would most want one to be keeping an eye out. The
only thing they have in common with each other is their job and the
fact that they are all extremely old.
The first one I like to call the Overly
Happy Guy, because I have not once seen him in anything but the
highest of spirits. He greets us with great enthusiasm every time he
enters the room, and takes the trouble to bid goodnight to each floor
every time he signs off. If his countenance and body language are
anything to go by, he finds every day to be as physically and
spiritually satisfying as Thanksgiving dinner. That really ought to
be assuring, but it is actually quite worrisome. No normal person can
be that happy all the time. There must be something terrible going on
up there that he isn't telling us about. He's actually kind of
annoying, as well, as it's best to do away with any engagement
whatsoever; if he catches on that you possess even a smattering of
Japanese skill, you risk being drawn into a protracted conversation
on the most mundane topics imaginable. He is also quite weak and
frail-looking, and I fear that if this place ever actually
encountered an emergency of any kind he would quickly be vanquished,
so I do not find his presence in any way reassuring at all.
Still, I much prefer him to his
counterpart, who looks at any given time like he is fighting within
himself a deep desire to murder us all. He possesses a glare that
would reduce a Viking to a cowering jumble of steel and furs, which
he wears at all times. On the other hand, it does seem like if we
were ever to fall afoul of a robber or escaped convict while he was
on duty, he would deliver a swift blow to the head with the heavy
orange flashlight he carries, ending the situation in moments. In the
end, I'd rather a stone cold get-off-my-lawn type had my back than a
gladhander, though I will never repeal his nickname of the Terrifying
Guy. That said, Cough Medicine refers to him as a the Secretly Happy
Guy, citing his habit of playing with the little kid from the Indian
family that lives on the first floor, and sometimes – reportedly,
though I have never seen it – laugh uncontrollably in the French
girl's face, evidently enjoying some private joke.
Our final defender, the Bald Guy, sits
somewhere between these two extremes of Woody Allen and Conan the
Barbarian. Though diminutive and not shy about flashing a kind smile
when appropriate, he also looks to me as though beneath his heavy
overcoat ripple the muscles of a trained fighter, and he could easily
dismantle bodily the first person who made a hint of trouble for us
or university property. He appears eminently collected wherever he
is, suggesting the easy comfort of a man who has seen it all by now
and is now left with neither anything to fear nor to prove. From time
to time I like to invent outrageous backstories for him, like that in
his younger days he was a Special Forces captain or an enforcer for
the mob, and has come here to supplement his retirement with a modest
income and a little something to structure his days around. For
obvious reasons, this is by far my favourite of the three, and I
think he would make an excellent comic book character or soft drink
spokesman.
Amazingly, I find it very difficult to
envision any one of them at home or on his day off.
