The security camera overhead in the elevator of the fancy building was annoying. Who wants to be videotaped picking their nose or cleaning food from their teeth? It’s just a residential building, we already answered the security guy when we were buzzed in and he asked which residence was our destination.
The idea of taking a picture of the security camera seemed worthy for this blog. A bigger surprise was that the security guard also wanted to be in the blog. He stopped me when the elevator opened.
“What were you doing?” he ordered.
“You mean in the elevator?” I asked like seeking directions.
“You’re not allowed to take any pictures here anywhere.”
“That’s not true,” I calmly explained, “you can take a picture with your phone anywhere. It’s public space. It’s an elevator.”
“You aren’t allowed to do that! What apartment were you in? Who were you seeing? How did you enter the building?” He was turning red. I remembered this from shattered substitute teachers failing to control our class when I was in junior high school.
“Look guy, I’m leaving. This is stupid.”
There were two doors necessary to open to get to the street and I imagined he might automatically lock them from behind his desk with 20 monitors of other suspects in elevators or stairwells. Did he also have a switch to make the floor open and drop me into a waiting tank of killer sharks?
But the doors worked. I made my escape.
I had a horrible thought later. What if he had a taser? I bet he would have shot me because I had the nerve to not be on my knees acting ashamed of taking a picture of a camera taking a picture of me.