Blowing the whistle on overzealous security guards
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Blowing the whistle on overzealous security guards

The shrill, senseless blare that has become part of the background noise we're all accustomed to living with has Andrew Biggs thankful for his digs in the boondocks

SOCIAL & LIFESTYLE

Each time I get in my car to drive home from the fitness centre I sporadically visit, there is a pleasant middle-aged gentleman who sits in the car park.

Blowing the whistle on overzealous security guards

He's the centre's security guard, and his main task is to carefully record my licence plate number each time I arrive for reasons known only unto the Lord Buddha.

When it comes time to leave, he stands up and runs ahead of me to guide me out of the car park. As I reach the main road, he reaches for his whistle.

And he blows.

And blows and blows and blows and blows and blows and blows and blows. And blows and blows and blows and blows and blows and blows ... and blows.

No, dear reader. That was not a feeble attempt to fill up valuable space on my Brunch page. It was my inability to put into words the frantic, frenetic whistle-blowing this otherwise lovely gentlemen employs in his effort to get me out of the fitness centre and onto the main road.

He's into it, too. His eyes bulge like Marty Feldman's. His cheeks billow like a tempest. I'd love to sit and examine his face as he blows _ except the slightest indication I am slowing down results in even more frantic whistle-blowing, and that is something I am keen to avoid.

Open the file entitled "Fatal Combinations" and you'll find all sorts of examples such as ketchup and ice-cream. Nalinee Taveesin and a visiting American trade delegation. Celine Dion and a microphone.

Add another one to the list _ a Thai security guard and his whistle.

What is it that turns otherwise personable upcountry men into jittering break dancers blowing the hell out of that little metal instrument dangling on a rope from their shoulder?

These are the same guys who are willing to stand rigid for an entire 12 hours doing absolutely nothing. In my first year in Thailand I was intrigued by this ability to stand motionless for such a period of time.

I remember the young man who used to stand outside the school I was working at in my first year here.

One day he stood next to me at the urinal in the men's bathroom. Being unable to start casual talk about the latest Lakers' Game as we men do at urinals, I instead asked: "Do you enjoy your work?"

"Yes," he said with a big smile. "I have so much freedom."

According to this guy, standing still and alone in a uniform in the hot sun for 12 hours a day was his idea of freedom.

Put a whistle in the mouths of these guards, however, and that stillness is replaced by a sudden surge of energy; the same stuff Einstein said cannot be created or destroyed. Einstein clearly never holidayed in inner-city Bangkok.

"Why don't you move to Thong Lor or Ekamai like the rest of us?" my dear friend Niki asked me recently from behind her third glass of medium-priced white wine.

"I mean Samut Prakan _ you're so out in the boondocks."

Yes, Niki, I am boondockian, far far away from your beloved inner-city cafes serving "Asian fusion cuisine" (read "tasteless and overpriced" on the trendy boulevards of Thong Lor or Ekamai.

But at least it's quiet.

I had reason to, er, stay overnight at a new friend's studio apartment in Thong Lor recently. It was on the sixth floor of a trendy new apartment block, situated right next to another trendy new apartment block on a soi with so many other trendy new apartment blocks they looked like BTS commuters during peak hour.

Though the details are hazy, I fell asleep around 3am with a view to making the journey home to Samut Prakan late morning. Foolish thinking me.

The first whistle began around 5.30am. It was joined by another around 5.33am across the road. By 6am the number of participants in this ensemble from hell outnumbered Somtow Sucharitkul's famous Siam Sinfonietta Orchestra, which at last count had 60 performers.

What a noise _ a gaggle of Isan boys out-whistling one another, the screeches bouncing off the concrete walls of 100 condo car parks and ricocheting directly towards me on the Home Pro couch.

This is peaceful inner-city luxury living?

The security guards at my "boondock" housing village don't have whistles. Instead they salute me when I drive in, and salute me when I drive out. In silence.

(Actually, they are saluting my car, as I discovered recently when it went in for a service and I had to walk past the checkpoint. None of the guards saluted me while I was on foot.)

Meanwhile inner-city Bangkok drowns in the screeches of a million whistles, and I have a theory why it is so.

We humans are in a constant race to exert our authority. It is our pack mentality; we must have something that shows power over our fellow man.

I guess the impoverished country boy coming to the big smoke in search of work doesn't get much opportunity to exert influence. He is paid next to nothing to do a job the rest of us are loathe to touch.

I can't remember the last time I stood for 12 hours and got paid 300 baht for it. How do you pass the time? Hmmmm ... what's this little metallic object tied to my uniform?

If that can give him a small feeling of power then good luck to him, though I only wish flags created the illusion of power as much as whistles do.

My favourite security guard story comes from the year 2000, even though it has nothing to do with blowing _ well, not whistles anyway. I was a morning announcer for a cable news station. One morning we had the following story, every fact of which I swear is true.

It involved a 22-year-old Khon Kaen lad who for the purposes of this story we will call Somchai.

Somchai came to Bangkok looking for work. He went to a security guard firm on Sukhumvit and met the owner.

"Yes, I will give you a job," the owner said. "But only if you perform fellatio on me."

So Somchai did, indeed, perform the required task in order to secure gainful employment.

The next day he came back to start work, but the owner was nowhere to be seen. His second-in-command informed Somchai there was no work for him and to go look elsewhere.

Somchai went straight to the police and filed a complaint.

(Never once in this story was there a hint of anybody, be it the police or Somchai's family or even Somchai himself, being outraged over the act he had to perform to get the job.

The anger was directed towards the injustice of a man giving his word, and then reneging on it.)

Our news report showed Somchai standing outside the security guard firm, pointing to the company sign, with a look of displeasure on his lips (and thank goodness, after what he'd gone through, that was all that adorned that part of his visage).

"I call on all young men coming from rural areas to be extra careful in choosing where to apply for security guard jobs," announced the local police chief to the media, sagely adding: "Especially young men with good bodies and handsome faces."

I do hope Somchai found himself a job, just as much as I hope one day flags will supercede whistles as a security guard's accessory of choice. Then and only then can I move into Thong Lor.

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