I successfully applied for my new social security card. To celebrate I’m trying one of the downtown eateries that has a $$ rating. It’s a swanky joint with reasonable prices and a heavy business lunch crowd. It must fit snugly into the petty cash budget. I ordered a hard cider served in a wine glass. The bar is separate, dark and quiet. Perfect for me. The dining area of 2 and 4-tops is bright and airy with floor-to-ceiling windows. There’s an upscale feeling to the place that leads me to believe I won’t get out of here for less than $35. I did say I was splurging.
On my second attempt at entering a federal building in Seattle I passed security check cleanly. There was a young girl standing at the same couch I was on the first time. A mess of bags spread out and 3 officers questioning her. He posture read contrite, maybe defeated, but as I walked by I heard hints of the same liberating speech the officer had given me. She was going to be fine as long as she didn’t give any lip.
Once on the ninth floor a whole different security issue arose. The buddy cops monitoring the front entrance were the classic mix of middle-aged blowhard and overly tense rookie. The practiced speech the kid used when people approached the door has just the right mix of polite and “respect my authority”. From there people mostly interact with the automated check-in system. Anyone that needs more help than that gets it from the pot-bellied supervisor. Whenever not giving his speech, junior spent his time trying not to nod off.
The head officer, and he made sure everyone knew that’s what he was, was constantly surveying the room looking for “threats”. Like I said before, security officers have a tough gig some of the time. That said, this guy is on a lifelong quest to make his job harder than it has to be. His voice is permanently intoned with condescension, almost like he’s winded by the effort of pretending to care. I made it a point not to draw his attention. Not all other patrons were so discriminating. One woman was very upset that security had confiscated her screwdriver. When my number was called, she was talking to the coach about it quite defensively. I almost wish my turn had taken longer.