My Life as a Smurf.

My Life as a Smurf.

            “The people come and go, this way and that; all passing through my panoramic view of the world. My job is forced voyeurism, non-participant always expectant. I sit within hearing of this world’s footfalls of the pedestrian traffic, the clicking heels on the marble amidst the rustle of clothing in friction. I am yet isolated to their nervous smiles from the women as they notice me and the stares of the men who happen to look in my direction. They don’t want me here but are secretly grateful I am.

            Almost no one talks to me except for civility’s sake or for directions to classes, study rooms, bathrooms and elevators. Most simply offer a polite nod, a forced smile or some stupid attempt to show off that they don’t fear me. They fear what I represent. Observing this they skirt my area, not knowing what to say. I let them slip by not knowing how to reply to what they would say. They are almost always surprised to see this sign of acceptance and intelligence as I am dumbfounded by their lack thereof.”

                                                                                                Michael van Dudekof

                                                                                                Library Security Guard.

            We sit there at the desk in the entrance hall of the monumental main floor of the university library. We are the boys in blue, the unarmed security guards, with our clip on ties and big name tags that identify us as such. We sit and observe all the day long only holding conversations among ourselves, our radio bricks on our belts popping with occasional static. A pen in a palid blue uniform shirt nestled next to a notepad that contains our police call cheat sheet. We have police belts for our radio and small regulation flashlights instead of the billyclub flashlights the real cops are expected to have. A pager for the circulation desk rests beside the flashlight. Our black pants scratchy and our black sneakers dull.          

            The desk is our shield against the students and homeless vagrants who come wandering in and out. Its broad wood surface contains a couple of newspapers, a report book, and a telephone that is supposed to be kept inside a locked drawer in the desk.

The library staff hate the desk, one day they will get rid of it and probably make us stand but for now we guards can hide behind its wall from this weird world.

            Today is Thursday, nothing special, save that it is the end of the week for us, the last night that the library stays open all night. Tonight is when we get the freaks and weirdos jumping out of everyone of the racks. Tonight is when the desperate lovers want to make mooky in the study cubicles and the perverts go hunting late night sleepers and bring optical zoom lens cameras to catch a quickie of the women’s dorm across the way. I am with the pervs on that last one sometimes it is quite entertaining to remind the young woman that striping in front of dorm windows without blinds is unwise. We flash our torches at them and they shriek when it dawns on them where we are.

            What gets me is that the library admins hate us but cannot live without us. They give us no respect and take every opportunity to boss us around and tell us what we are not supposed to do all day long. Night-shift is the only time for us to relax into our jobs and not have to look over our shoulders. Night shift we get call our own shots and go where we like- not that we don’t anyway but we don’t have to look like we aren’t trying on the late shift.

The question of the day, is should I keep writing on this one?