frazetta's princess
The security guards here at work are a unique breed - they have to wear suits every day, but have even more downtime than me. There are two regulars for our building: the guy who knows everyone's name and the guy who doesn't check your ID. The guy who doesn't check your ID is my favorite. Having your ID scanned by a hand-held device every time you re-enter the building is really annoying, especially since all of the company's other buildings have electronic, ID-reading turnstiles. It's the forced interaction that's so bothersome, especially when it's with the guy who knows everyone's name (I should probably figure out his name one of these days). But the guy who doesn't check your ID just smiles and nods, like it's our little secret. Sometimes he extends his hand to show the way and steps to the side, as if I'm a celebrity at some posh club.
When we moved to the building I wondered why they didn't just install the turnstiles and save the money on the security guards. Now, a year and a half later, they finally figured it out - the installation is in progress in the lobby. I'll definitely enjoy entering the building anonymously, but man, I feel for those guys. They look a little nervous these days. It's got to suck, being replaced by a machine.
I think a good way to assess any job is by figuring out who or what could do it in your place. For instance, a sixteen year-old could probably do my job, which is one of the main reasons I'm seeking alternative employment options. I used to work as a bus boy, which you could train a dog to do. And once I stood by the road holding a sign for a jewelry store that was going out of business - you could position a corpse to do that.
On the opposite side of our floor there's a security desk that is manned for a few hours a day by one of the security guards, why I'm not sure. Yesterday morning as I was walking by, the guy who doesn't check your ID said, "Do you want to see my new toy?"
Mind you, I've never had a conversation with this man that lasted longer than three sentences and didn't involve the weather or the fact that it was Friday. Before I had the time to say "sure" I realized that I know absolutely nothing about this guy. Would the toy be a gun? A new ID-checking gadget?
"Check her out," he said, pulling out a small dusty box with a clear plastic front containing a scantily clad, muscled female action figure, "Frazetta's Princess. Isn't she great?"
"Yeah," I replied, still recovering from the absurdity of it all, "did you get her on eBay?" He nodded, smiling.
"Who's Frazetta?" I asked.
"You know, Frazetta, he does the Conan movies and stuff." He said, seemingly shocked that I didn't know.
So the guy who doesn't check your ID is now the guy who has an action figure/doll fetish. I'm fine with that. I'm going to miss him either way.
(Apparently Frank Frazetta is an important guy. And here’s the princess.)
When we moved to the building I wondered why they didn't just install the turnstiles and save the money on the security guards. Now, a year and a half later, they finally figured it out - the installation is in progress in the lobby. I'll definitely enjoy entering the building anonymously, but man, I feel for those guys. They look a little nervous these days. It's got to suck, being replaced by a machine.
I think a good way to assess any job is by figuring out who or what could do it in your place. For instance, a sixteen year-old could probably do my job, which is one of the main reasons I'm seeking alternative employment options. I used to work as a bus boy, which you could train a dog to do. And once I stood by the road holding a sign for a jewelry store that was going out of business - you could position a corpse to do that.
On the opposite side of our floor there's a security desk that is manned for a few hours a day by one of the security guards, why I'm not sure. Yesterday morning as I was walking by, the guy who doesn't check your ID said, "Do you want to see my new toy?"
Mind you, I've never had a conversation with this man that lasted longer than three sentences and didn't involve the weather or the fact that it was Friday. Before I had the time to say "sure" I realized that I know absolutely nothing about this guy. Would the toy be a gun? A new ID-checking gadget?
"Check her out," he said, pulling out a small dusty box with a clear plastic front containing a scantily clad, muscled female action figure, "Frazetta's Princess. Isn't she great?"
"Yeah," I replied, still recovering from the absurdity of it all, "did you get her on eBay?" He nodded, smiling.
"Who's Frazetta?" I asked.
"You know, Frazetta, he does the Conan movies and stuff." He said, seemingly shocked that I didn't know.
So the guy who doesn't check your ID is now the guy who has an action figure/doll fetish. I'm fine with that. I'm going to miss him either way.
(Apparently Frank Frazetta is an important guy. And here’s the princess.)
posted by Justin at 3:38 PM
2 Comments:
There's nothing more life-affirming than happening on a little "world" you never imagined existed. This is the very reason why I love New York. Everyone - even the seemingly bland security guard you pass every day (the one you don't even bother to introduce yourself to), the people you see on the subway (the yuppie mom with a panther tattooed across her calf, the ancient Chinese man wearing a honeymooners t-shirt, the suit that gets on at Wall Street reading The Communist Manifesto, the guy in drag studying from a fat LSAT book)) has some secret detail lurking very close to the surface that makes them unique from everyone else. The unexpected obsession that surprises people when they happen upon it.
And this detail - and I think it is part of our job as humans to look for it in everyone, and , hey, it makes life a helluva a lot more interesting - makes it harder to dismiss someone as a type. It makes the world a better place.
For you, Justin, it's your obsession with ultimate fighting. For the anonymous security guard it is Frazetta, for me... I have to think about that.
My fascination with poorly made cop shows? Serial killers? The fact that I know nothing about popular music post 1750? Why can't we ever notice these things about ourselves?
Julia
I used to be really into drawing when I was a kid. Well, I was really into comic books, so I would try to draw superheros. That didn't work out so well at first because I just didn't have teh skill, so I started using tracing paper to figure out how to do it. My favorite was to use those old "Marvel Universe" comic books that had the near full page drawings of each character with a little synopsis of their strengths and weaknesses and back story. I got good enough at some point where I didn't have to trace so much. Somewhere along the line I started keying in on the hot female characters, and if you know anything about comic books, you know that the female characters are super hot in this sort of weird way. I started drawing them with less and less clothes, then when that didn't work out, I started tracing them again.... with less and less clothes. You get the picture. Anyhow, at that point I was in a junior high Christian youth group led by this married couple. One day the wife came over to my house to pick me up to go to some function and I invited her and this other kid into my room forgetting I had tacked up a tracing of a (fully clothed) hot super girl of some sort. The youth group leader asked if I had done the drawing and I lied and said yes, then fantastically, ridiculously, I stammered " I could draw them without their clothes on too, but I don't." I will never forget that.
Every time I see a Frazetta, I think of that day.
Right now I am working on a documentary about a man from Ivory Coast who was a world kick boxing champion before nearly his whole family was slaughtered in local unrest. Now he works as an anonymous security guard in some high rise in midtown, sending nearly all his money back to Africa to care for all of his orphaned neices and nephews and cousins.
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