Always four sides to a story.
Wednesday, 11 April 2007
Yesterday, this guy comes to the main gates without a pass. We don't let anybody in without a pass. He's a bit aggressive from the offset, and when I won't budge, starts getting a bit funny. "My missus is inside with me pass," he says, as they inevitably do.
Call her then, I say.
"I don't have a phone."
"I can't let you in, mate. Wait a bit and the other security guy will be back and he'll walk you up."
"You get him on the phone now."
"He'll be back in a minute mate."
"You're telling me I can't go in; I want him here now."
"Yeah, in a minute."
Then he storms off. I never saw him again.
Tonight, at about 7pm, he showed up again. Except amongst the thousand people I'd seen pass since, I didn't recognise him. Still, he came up to me to shake my hand. "Sorry about last night mate," he said, "I'd had a bit of a shit day."
"Er..." I said, "What happened last night?"
He laughed and I shook his hand anyway. Why fight it? At least three times a day somebody apologises to me about something that I have no memory of whatsoever. Just accept it. Usually, when I go home, it'll come rushing back to me, but this job's a hell of a lot fucking easier if you let the people come to you.
And indeed, around 9pm he came back out of the complex and by then I'd remembered who he was, told him, and shook his hand again. End of.
We were massively understaffed tonight, of course. Only four turned up, and two of them - The Lodge and Bilbo who, despite the odds, returned to work - went down to the lower bar. This left Edmonson and myself doing the entire complex by ourselves. We did four hours on the gates that keep out/allow in the riff-raff from/to the main complex. What this meant was that if anything kicked off in one of the bars, we'd be at least two minutes away from doing anything about it.
Fine. At ten, we moved up to the main doors, which kept us about ten seconds away. However, because it was so busy and because we were only two, most of our time was being taken up right at those doors. Every so often one of us would have a quick walk around and it's really just a massive stroke of luck that the bars never really got too full otherwise we could have had a major problem on our hands.
However, all that said, around midnight we get a call over the radio from one of the park security guys, who we'll call Johnson. He's a nice enough guy who (a) really wants to be on the doors instead of park and (b) comes down to the complex all the time anyway, using the excuse that he's "helping out the guys", because his missus works down the lower bar and, post-11pm, moves up to the top to have a few drinks. By all accounts, it gives them a bit of quality time, even if this is to the chagrin of the other chaps on park.
Anyway, back to his message: "ALL DOORS TO THE SHOWBAR. ALL DOORS TO THE SHOWBAR." Well, we go rushing in, and I'm there first. The lights have been switched on on the dancefloor and there's a bunch of people there. I quickly single out two blokes, probably 19-20 years old, and two younger girls that they're with. I ask Johnson what happened and he tells me that a fight was about to break out between these lads and another chap at the other side of the bar.
I look over ther, and see a woman, seated with a baby in a pram, gesturing wildly to this man. And guess who it is? That's right, Mr Sorry from earlier. Well, I walk over, and catch the end of the conversation. They're both fucked out of their skulls, and the gist of it was that he was asking her if he did anything wrong, and she was telling him that he had not. That it was them. It's always them. I asked her what had happened and she said the two 19-20 year olds had started dancing 'aggressively' near her baby.
By now, the two other blokes and their girls had gone outside and Mr Sorry disappeared somewhere. I went outside to get a bit more information and was informed that the girls had stated that while they'd all been dancing Mr Sorry had been touching them up on the dancefloor. That puts another spin on it, I thought. They also told me that Mr Sorry's wife had rushed off outside. I went to find her, and lo and behold, there she was. Pissed, of course. I asked her what had happened, and then let it slip what her bloke had been accused of. "We've been married for 17 years," she said, as if that was some kind of alibi, "As far as I know he's only been with me." So that's two strikes, basically. She was, however, quite adamant that he was only dancing, and that what actually happened was the two other blokes got aggressive with him because he was moving around a bit too much for their liking. So, I went back inside and informed the complex manager of what I'd been told. I figured while I was chatting to his missus the rest of the door team was talking to Mr Sorry, but they didn't actually know who he was. I spotted him outside the main bar and took him outside to his wife. As they walked off, it dawned on me that, in, I'm sorry, that typical woman's way, she probably said those things to me in some kind of automatic defense of her man, but on the way back to their caravan probably starting breaking down in tears and accusing him of fondling some young girls. "The doorman said he saw you," she probably said. Great.
I went back inside to speak to the complex manager in his office. I wanted his verdict on what action needed to be taken, but he'd had a quick review on the security cameras and his opinion was that all it looked like was a bunch of pissheads dancing a bit too close together and getting the wrong idea; Mr Sorry, dancing and moving/staggering backwards, had brushed his extended arms against the two girls while facing the opposite way. The girls' reaction tipped off their men, and etc, etc, blah blah fucking blah.
This story had four sides:
1. The mother thought the two blokes were dancing too aggressively near her child; she sided with Mr Sorry.
2. The two girls accused Mr Sorry of feeling them up.
3. Mr Sorry's wife stated that the two blokes had been aggressive towards him.
4. The complex manager, and the camera, told us it was just a bunch of pissheads.
Everybody thinks their version is the truth.
Thank fuck tomorrow is my last day of the week.
posted by Sheamus @ 3:30 am
