I work on the east side of Vancouver’s Gastown. It isn’t quite the Downtown Eastside, but it’s close. My office is near the new Woodward’s Building, the statue of Gassy Jack, and an ever-increasing number of coffee shops, restaurants, and furniture stores that have opened in the last while.
A couple of floors in the building are being renovated for a high-tech movie company; fibre-optic cable is being pulled and the old warehouse space is being updated. During the work, a security guard has been hired to watch the front door of the building. He’s about five-six and may weigh 140 pounds on a good day. He wears a black-and-white uniform that hangs on him and military-style black leather shoes that are always polished and proper.
It’s a little unclear to me what form of security he provides. The door to the building is locked and people either get in with a security swipe card or they’re buzzed in by a tenant in the building. I guess he was hired to watch out for people who may sneak in after others swipe or get buzzed.
Our security guard soon became a welcome addition. He brightened up those moments as you rush to get out of the rain and into the warm. He offered a smile, commented on the weather, and wished you a good day.
After a few weeks, he took it upon himself to open the door for people. I think he liked this progression from security guard to doorman. He took to it as though this was really what he was there to do. He started by opening the door for people who were getting their swipe card out of their pocket. And then he started opening the door for people he recognized. And then he started opening the door for the construction workers, or the people who looked like they may be construction workers.
Before long there were complaints that people were being let into the building willy-nilly, people who were just trying to get warm.
Someone spoke to our security guard. I don’t know who it was, but it became obvious when I came to work this morning that something had changed. Instead of standing by the door, he was back on his stool. And he didn’t get up to open the door for me. He still gave me a smile, but it was clear that things weren’t the same.
He seemed slightly hardened. He carried himself in a way that said he now knew what was and wasn’t expected of him. And that he’d lost something he was looking for.
North Vancouver, British Columbia