Dangerous Contact With Security Guards and Parking Lot Attendants.

[byronius]

Everyone who knows me knows I reflexively and constantly talk to complete strangers. Particularly security guards and parking lot attendants, because I’ve worked a lot of jobs with guys like that, and I know how weird and secretly powerful they can be.

The parking lot attendant at B of A is named Bill. A greying longhair ex-biker type in a starched white shirt who stands outside all day, everyday, six days a week, fifty-two weeks of the year. Lived in a men’s hotel, just moved up to a studio. I based a character from my last screenplay, The Grave, on this guy. Immutable, silent, somewhat wise — he’ll talk to me, but he’ll never open up fully. After three years of trying, I still don’t really know anything about this guy. But I like him. He seems to tolerate my attempts. I always stop and talk to him for five minutes. He’s met my children.

The branch recently hired a security firm named Wackenhut (of private prison fame) , who rotates some very serious-ass armed guards through the post — the bank has been robbed three times, and that’s the magic number that gets you the armed guard. The first was very cool, the second pretty nice, but the third — let me tell you about the third.

He’s from Moldavia. A stocky, tanned man in his late fourties. He came to the United States in 1995, and is a veteran of three combat tours in three different Soviet conflicts. He has done terrible things to men, he says, but will not utter a single detail. He claims that after he left military service, he was at home in Moldavia when Russian soldiers kicked in his front door and raped his wife and daughter in front of him. They immigrated to the U.S. shortly after.

He asked me how I feel about George Bush. I was quite honest. He shook his head violently, as if shaking off bad karma. “You hate the Jews, then?” he asked. I denied it, and then told him my story about sticking my head inside an oven at Dachau, and how it made me a sorta semi-Zionist supporter of Israel. With reservations. I also told him of my many dangerous brushes with Saudi mullahs. He appeared utterly confused by this.

We started a back-and-forth discussion during which his voice rose higher and higher — people passing the branch were looking at us — and finally, I realized exactly who I was talking to. A combat-damaged ex-soldier who has joined several American Neo-Nazi organizations because, he said, he ‘enjoys the company of real men.’ He showed me the proper Klan/Nazi salute. He said that he only disagrees with them about the Jews — he’s a Christian, and his Russian Orthodox minister tells him to love the Jews. Hate the gays, hate the liberals, hate the blacks, hate the browns — but love the Jews. Because — they are required to rise to power, fall from power, and convert to Christianity before Judgement day can take place. That is what his church teaches.

At one point, he placed his hand threateningly on his firearm. “So — you are a Democrat, but you love the Jews?”, he asked. “Yes, but I think Israel is making terrible mistakes right now, because they are acting on the whim of conservatives — just like we are here,” I answered. He shook his head again. “I’m done talking to you. You love the Jews, we’re O.K. We’re done.” I bowed and left.

The next day, I was talking to Bill in the parking lot. The Security Guard approached me, and said loudly, “I don’t want to talk to you.” Then he started talking, very loudly.

“You said yesterday that you hated the Jews.”

“I did not. I said I loved them.”

“You said you hated them.” Loud, real loud.

I bristled, and retold my Dachau story. He shook his head, and then smiled. “Oh, yeah, that’s right,” he said. “Maybe you have Jewish blood in you, huh? Well, I don’t want to talk to you anymore,” he said, and started to walk away.

“Hey — mind if I make you a character in a movie?” I was being brave, and foolish.

“Sure — I don’t mind,” he replied.

He was gone the next day, replace with a pretty nice guy. Bill shrugged when I asked him what he thought about it. “Combat damage, you know — you just can’t tell. I think he was trying to shock you a little, to entertain. I wouldn’t believe all that stuff.”

“Naw. But it makes for a great story,” said I.

Bill just smiled.

[babylonsister]

1. He sounds like the kind of guy you DON'T want to meet in a

dark alley! :scared: Combat damage sounds right.

[gula]

2. The kind of guy or gal you will sooner or later meet on any

street corner. Maybe you should set up some help centres for returning soldiers right now? Many will come "home" and it seems clear that they will get no gouvernment support.

[babylonsister]

4. I should set up help centers for returning soldiers from Moldavia?

I don't think so!

[acmejack]

3. Never be too brave with the people with the gleam in their eye.

You know it when you see it. You never know quite where the edge is.