Rockefeller Center Security Guard -- Drunk on Holiday Power?

They say absolute power corrupts absolutely -- but petty authority is far more dangerous, in that it is pervasive, insidious and wreaks its damage not as the single blow that brings down the house; rather it's the nibbling vermin that shreds the structure from within.

And a verminous mouth nibbled me today.

Now, bear in mind, I'm no fan of security guards.

Often underpaid and desperately underqualified -- especially after the post-9-11security frenzy -- they manage to make me feel safe and threatened at the same time.

In the wake of 9-11, as security in one form or another was ubiquitous, stories of abuses were rampant, as guards made a sport of fondling, bullying and otherwise victimizing air travellers.

In the past few years, thankfully, this has abated.

But every once in a while, in a high-profile, high-volume situation -- like Rockefeller Center at Christmastime -- security gets a tad overzealous. And I start to wonder if we're heading back down that slippery slope.

So today, as I headed back from a lunchtime gig at the United Nations, I trudged through the 4pm crowd around the Rockefeller Center ice skating rink.

I had done a sword routine for the show, and carried the prop in a shoulder bag that is too short, so the hilt sticks out of the top corner.

Bear in mind, I had passed through UN Security without even a nod, and weaved my way through gaggles of NYPD without a second look.

According to my pal in the NYPD, "Legally, under NYC Admin Code, section 10-133, possession of a knife with a blade longer than 4 inches is illegal. No intent, no recklessness, not even not having knowledge that you possessed it. Up to 15 days in jail."

And, if indeed, this item were a "blade" it would have had a sharp edge and a point.

But it doesn't.

This "blade" is a clumsy, blunt, bronze scimitar -- perfect for balancing on my head...



... and not much else.

It's less threatening as a golf club -- a fact obvious to the NYPD and UN Security.

(It is refreshing to know that SOME people in authority can recognize a theatrical prop when they see one.)

But not so at Rockefeller Center.

Somewhere along the northern path above the rink I became aware of a tall, wiry, middle-aged black man walking next to me.

"Hey, is that real?" he asked with a hint of a chuckle, in the way that men do when they are hitting on me.

I ignored him.

"Is that real?" he asked again as we walked up the staircase in front of 30 Rock.

"It depends on what you mean by real," I finally answered.

"No, seriously. Is it plastic or something?"

I made a "WTF?" face and turned away.

"It's bronze," I said, flatly.

Then he grabbed the handle of the sword, trying to pull it from my bag.

I snatched it away. "Please don't touch that!" I spat and yanked it and myself back.

He didn't say anything else, but held up a walkie talkie and said, "Person of suspect is heading... "

I moved quickly across 50th Street, heading in a panic towards the Swarowski booth.

So.

Not the most terrifying encounter; but enough to scare me with images of being hauled off to some security desk, made to wait, bullied, harassed, whatever.

And then what do I say when I finally make it back to work?

(OK, they're pretty nice at my job, so it probably wouldn't have been an issue -- but still...!)

Then I thought about the incident, and how completely inappropriate his behavior was, for two striking reasons:

(1) He did not identify himself to me as a guard; indeed if he had touched my person rather than my prop, I would have socked him one in the jaw;

(2) He should never have touched my person or my prop at all!

So. How to handle this?

Well, I fumed about it at first.... posted it in my facebook, gnashed my teeth at a few tolerant friends.

And finally I decided to do something about it.

I found the concierge number on the Rockefeller Center website and asked to speak to security, explaining that I'd had an incident with a security guard.

The receptionist apologized and forwarded my call.

I repeated the story to a guard who seemed genuinely surprised by the offending guard's behavior. "Yeah," he said, "He definitely should not have done that."

He alerted the supervisor of my call and took details -- time, location, events, physical description. "Hmm.." he said as I described the guard, "That doesn't sound like one of our team."

He explained, "It's not just our guys out there... there's Fifth Avenue security, some NYPD..."

The supervisor became available and took the call.

I repeated many of the details and he, too, asked for a more detailed physical description.

I did my best: taller than me (about 6'3"?), late 40s to 50s, caramel skin, glasses, dark jacket and pants, dark hat, walkie talkie.

He had some kind of badge on his left side, but he had grabbed me with his right hand, so the left side was away from me. And I wanted to get away from him.

The supervisor expressed his apologies and said he would do his best to address the issue.

I thanked him for his time and hung up feeling not entirely resolved.

Perhaps I should have asked the supervisor the best way to have handled that situation.

Should I have stopped and faced him dead-on? Would that have left me more vulnerable?

Probably. Yes, I think so.

And that is the biggest problem here.

The petty authoritarians have their tiny taste of power, and are chomping at the bit to use it. And if you are on the receiving end of their unwanted attentions, it will rarely turn out well for you.

If you decide to stand your ground and fight back, then occasionally you can help ferret some bad ones out (if, indeed, the higher-ups are even interested in doing any ferreting -- and making such an assumption is in itself extremely risky).

And if I had been not been running late, I might have done that.

But in this case -- and in the case of many of us who are confronted with petty authority bullshit -- we just want to get on with our lives, make whatever obeisance these assholes want to let us be on our way.

And perhaps that is precisely what gets them off.....

My guess was that this scumbag knew very well that the sword was not a problem, and that he was, indeed, using its presence as an excuse to hit on me.

So.

To be continued.

Maybe.