CHAPTER ONE
Tonight I found out where the bad guests go: the ones who try to smack us around, swear long streams of colorful obscenities at us, and generally treat loyal service workers with disrespect.
They’re eaten.
And all this time we’d been complaining about security never backing us up out there. How were we to know? Whenever there was an incident, security was almost never there for the good parts, usually tending to arrive after the fact. We’d stand there trying to explain to our managers exactly what had gone down while the security guards stood nearby nodding their heads in agreement with our stories, throwing out androgynous comments while puffing their chests to make it appear they’d been in on the action and had “handled it.”
I work evenings at a theme park, by the way. My job is a watered down version of TSA. I, along with about a dozen other employees, screen guest’s bags and bodies for items that are prohibited in the theme park: firearms, pepper spray, pocket knives, anything sharp, drugs, flammables, booze, etc. I’m sure you can imagine why we’re treated shabbily. Many folks don’t tend to like people poking through their things, especially when they’ve been walking around for hours with sugar-filled children, aching feet, and have been carrying four backpacks full of junk they thought they’d need throughout the day, but never ended up using. It takes time to get through those bags, and they want to move on. When we find a prohibited item in their stuff, mostly they’re compliant, but every so often? All hell breaks loose. The guest is given the option to return the item to his or her car or hotel, or home, or surrender the item. Mostly they choose to HIDE the item, which is funny because they don’t realize we have cameras in the bushes, cameras that look like flowers, cameras masquerading as street lighting. Some of us even have cameras in our name tags, but don’t tell anyone.
TO BE CONTINUED….
Check back in a day or two!
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