Show Me Your Papers

I LIKE THAT Frank and I manage an apartment complex that is designated a Crime-Free building,  which means that the property has undergone three levels of security supervised by representatives of the Royal Canadian Mounted Police and that they have certified us as solid citizens.

Today, as part of my daily duties, I was pulling out cleaning supplies to use for the job, and I could sense a person standing behind me. I turned and saw a large man wearing a black t-shirt with a small company logo on the left hand corner. He was grinning.

“Are you looking for someone?” I asked.

“I’m looking for the telephone room,” he said.

“Who are you?”

“I’m from Telus,” he said. “I’m here to work on a telephone for apartment 203.” He asked me to let him into the locked room.

“Suite 203 is empty. Who are you here to do work for?”

“I think it’s 204 or 304, I’m not sure,” he said.

“I’m not sure who you are. Please show me your ID and papers.”

“What? Are you kidding me? I don’t have it on me. But, here, I’ll show you my driver’s license.” And then he pointed to the name on his shirt. “Can’t you tell I’m from Telus?”

“I could be wearing a Hooters t-shirt and I’m not from there. You’ll have to leave.” I waived my arm toward the exit door.

“Let me go to my truck and get my ID and the work order. OK?”

“That would be great.”

He performed as promised and returned with the proper credentials and paperwork. I recognized our tenant’s name and suite number.

“Wow! I’ve never been challenged like that before. Never in my fourteen years of working as a repairman. I’m a big guy but you had me jumping to attention,” he said.

“We love our crime-free building and we protect the people in it – including ourselves.”

Stand our ground, ladies. Stand your ground.

Show me your papers