By Shannon Poehlman
Winter 2017 Kaplan Award Winner
I’ll be the first to admit, this was not my most intellectually fueled moment. I had been working in the shoe store for about a month and was already sick of the job; touching people’s feet like a ghoulish scene out of Cinderella, getting glared at by customers as I bitterly cleared away their discarded shoes, and listening to the screams of unruly children while Use Somebody by the Kings of Leon wailed for the umpteenth time in the background. God, I hate that song.
It was 2008 and I had just turned 20. I was an artist putting myself through college doing freelance work, while struggling with my part-time job at Shoe Carnival in the mall. Like most poor art students, I was looking for a better source of income to afford classes, art supplies, bills, food, an apartment, a life. Unsurprisingly, I picked the job that made the most sense… I became a mall security guard.
***
Use Somebody was playing again over the mall radio system as I walked to the food court on my break. Maybe I was imagining it, but it felt like the whiny, melodramatic melody always groaned on in the background, following me wherever I went. It was break time, which usually involved me escaping the shoe store and using those sacred moments to reflect on my pitiable situation. Weekdays in the food court were also gloriously quiet. The only people around on those days were moms with little kids and the usual gang of aged mall walkers, wheezing from one end of the mall to the other in their neon colored track suits. A friend working at a kiosk nearby waved me over to socialize with her.
That’s when it happened.
A security guard appeared suddenly racing along on a shiny black Segway. I had never before seen mall security in person having only worked in the mall a month. The guard was mini, Asian, and slim, with a friendly face that contradicted every stereotype I knew. The Segway moved with surgical precision across the mall common area, gliding rhythmically to the beat of the music.
Awestruck, I watched him weave between chairs, wheels squealing as he rounded tables and people in the canteen at an almost alarming speed. He raced towards a digital display where an interactive game was being projected onto the floor. The flashy floor images surged to life as he gracefully rode into the projection. The Segway swayed back and forth bathing him in music, color, and energy, while a couple of kids watched him and laughed. With a flourish and a spin, the guard finished the game.
A small black Walkie-Talkie suddenly screamed to life on the guard’s shoulder in an unintelligible language. He grinned to himself and sped away from the display, giving me a sidelong glance as he rolled by.
“You know that I could use somebody… Someone like you”, the drone of Kings of Leon brought me back. My amazement must have been apparent as my friend told me that security guards made $10.00 an hour and that they were hiring. I couldn’t believe it. All that money to drift around on a Segway with freedom from the drudgery of retail. I was hooked in an instant.
***
It was the day after my encounter with the guard. The mall security office was small, dingy, and smelled faintly of old McDonalds and wet paint. Confidently, I walked over to a counter where a rotund guard in his 60’s was standing to meet me.
“What can I do for you, missy?” His voice was startlingly loud.
I plunked down my résumé and boldly stared at him. “I want to be a security guard. Are you guys hiring?”
A trace of amusement blossomed momentarily on his face, only to be quickly replaced by skepticism as he sized up all 125 pounds of me. I stood there, suddenly feeling self-conscious in my paisley dress, black boots, and a yellow neckerchief. My attire wasn’t conveying a message of toughness and reliability.
His loud voice echoed as he spoke, attracting the attention of the other guards within the office who craned their heads to look at me. “We aren’t hiring at the moment, little missy, but if you leave your résumé, we can give you a call if something opens up.”
I felt my entire body deflate with disappointment. Dejected, I left my résumé there and drove home.
***
Later that day, as I gloomily pulled into my parent’s driveway I received a phone call. It was the loud security guard from earlier with a request that I come in for an interview the following day.
I couldn’t believe it! For a brief moment, I couldn’t decide if being a girl had helped or hurt me… Or maybe the megaphone guard had felt sorry for me? Regardless, this was my chance!
I aced the interview, signed the paperwork, and got my uniforms-
And realized that I was an artist with no security experience and no idea what I was doing.
***
The first day of work arrived sunny and cloudless. Prior to this new beginning, I had abruptly quit the shoe store, pissing off the managers and effectively burning that bridge. I was committed 100% to my new security job.
I donned my security uniform; a crisp white button up shirt, black tie, black slacks, and a thick black duty belt. My mom warbled about how adorable I was and took lots of humiliating pictures of me to show her friends. My dad, a retired Naval Chief and Drill Instructor, was just happy to see me wearing some kind of uniform, even if it was just a rent-a-cop get up. I thought I looked fabulous and intimidating.
The one thing I was most excited for was the Segway. The idea of having an entire mall to roam was so tantalizing after being confined to a tiny shoe store. My mind swam with pride and excitement.
Content with my improved state of employment, I thought back to the loud guard whom explained the job to me days ago. As a security officer, I was to enforce mall policy, while observing and reporting anything that looked suspicious. I was to protect the mall’s image, property, and patrons. Likewise, I had the enormous burden of upholding the image of security guards everywhere. This responsibility was shared by all the guards.
As I walked towards the mall’s security office, I noticed something that hadn’t been there a few days ago. Suspended from the ceiling near an entrance to the common area was a colossal movie banner. My pride dissolved as I got closer. On the banner was a buffoonish caricature of a guard staring off into the distance. In my opinion, he looked entirely too heroic for a job that didn’t have a 401K or a bulletproof vest.
The movie being advertised was Paul Blart: Mall Cop. With growing anxiety and disbelief, I realized that the goofy guard on the poster was wearing the exact same uniform I was, while riding a Segway.
Giving myself an internal shake, I regained some of my swagger and sassiness. With a glare in the direction of the banner, I hurried away to start my new job.
***
By the time my training finished, I absolutely loathed the Segway. It was like being the main attraction on a rolling stage. Unexpectedly, I was thrust into the unwanted spotlight like an exotic animal or a sideshow temptation.
When I wasn’t on the Segway I was a walking anomaly, drawing stares from people in the mall. My training officer pointed this out to me while we were patrolling together, explaining with great amusement that every male within 30 feet of us was watching me. He also told me the story of another female that had worked security. She had always reported people for different types of harassment and ended up hated by everyone in security. The story and his observation left me uncomfortable and aware of how different I was.
Once I finished training, I was left to patrol alone. This revealed a seedier side of the mall to me that I was not initially prepared to handle. Men of all shapes, sizes, and ages followed me and catcalled me. Some remarked on what they would like to do to me as I passed by. Others worked at the different kiosks in the mall and felt obligated to tell me exactly what they thought of my body every time I wandered by. I didn’t know what to do in response to this unfamiliar attention. In the end, I didn’t want the other guards to think I couldn’t handle myself or to hate me. I kept these infractions to myself, remaining mobile and smiling.
To make matters worse, Paul Blart: Mall Cop had tarnished the image of security guards and Segway riders everywhere. You were expected to laugh and be laughed at regardless of how stupid, offensive, or repetitive the jokes were. If you didn’t, you were labeled sensitive and told you needed to develop a “thicker skin” or a “sense of humor”.
Needless to say, the honeymoon phase of my new job was short lived. Sure it paid more, but as the saying goes, “The grass is always greener” and my new field came with a new set of problems.
***
I was itching to prove myself to my fellow confederates. On my patrols, I drew a ridiculous amount of attention everywhere I went and became something of a smiling, adorable joke in the security office. As time went on, the hazing by my coworkers, the catcalls, and the stupid jokes had me wanting to show everyone that I was more than a pretty face on a Segway.
A couple weeks later, I got my chance.
I received a call from dispatch, instructing me to park and secure my Segway by the office. The dispatcher cawed that I was to head over to the Sears Department store immediately in response to a high-value retail theft of a big screen television. My heart pounded. This was my moment to prove myself.
As I arrived on scene, the loss prevention officer ran out of the store looking frazzled and angry.
“Come on!” she shouted. We dashed through the common area and back corridors into a parking lot by Circuit City. This was where the thief had last been seen according to my dispatcher. Adrenalin coursed through my veins as I twisted around, desperate to find the guy.
“There he is!!” The loss prevention officer stabbed an accusatory finger in the direction of a man about 40 feet from us. He stood next to a faded green minivan with a cart beside him. In the cart was the missing big screen TV.
We charged, startling the man. I radioed my dispatcher that we had found the subject and that Sears loss prevention was requesting immediate police assistance. The loss prevention officer got in the guy’s face, yelling that crime didn’t pay and he was in for it now. I silently loomed behind her, prowling and glaring in an intimidating way. A police officer arrived on scene.
With a deep breath, I realized I had done it! I had flawlessly executed my first mission successfully-
And yet I felt odd as I watched the suspect, as though there was something we had forgotten to do. The tiny man cowered while the loss prevention officer roared at him, never allowing him to speak.
The police officer got out his vehicle and spoke quickly with the loss prevention officer first. Her petty displeasure was evident in her retelling of what had happened. The police officer turned to the small man next. With a fearful glance at both the loss prevention officer and myself, the man presented a receipt.
I realized what was happening. Dread and mortification spread through my body.
It turned out the television had been paid for. The man had bought the TV over the phone a little while ago and asked the store associate to set it aside for him. He had wanted to get in and out of the store quickly because it was his son’s birthday and he couldn’t be late.
A small crowd gathered around us. The guy went from trembling with fear to quivering with rage. My neck felt red and hot as guilt washed over me, writhing like snakes in the pit of my stomach.
The loss prevention officer had just loudly and wrongfully accused an innocent man of theft. And I was her partner in crime.
***
After receiving a little more hazing and a stern warning that the loss prevention officer was a psycho, I was let off scot-free and turned loose to wreak havoc on the mall once again. Apparently, officers screwed up all the time and in worse ways, so my failure was no big deal.
Even so, I brooded on that incident. In a desperate effort to prove myself, I treated that man the way others had treated me. My mistake had very real consequences for me on a moral level and had ruined his day. After that event, I learned to always question authority, even if they seemed right – because sometimes they aren’t. More than once I thought back to Paul Blart, realizing that the uniform has an uncanny ability to mask an idiot.