After one short, uneventful shift walking back and forth on Franklin Street, my job doing movie security has temporarily come to an end. Apparently the Teamster who drives the movie trucks told the movie people they had to use his buddy's security instead of us. And if they didn't, he wouldn't drive their trucks.
This doesn't surprise me at all. This is how "The City That Works" really works. See, a guy in the union knows a guy, and that guy is golden. If you're not that guy, then you're fucked.
There was one memorable incident during my inadvertently shortened (long story) shift. The guy in charge (not the guy who hired me) asked me if I had handcuffs. I told him that I did not because I'm not a cop, and if I did, I wouldn't even know how to use them.
"Well, you might want to bring some. Just in case."
Obviously, this guy vastly overestimated what I was willing to do for $16 an hour. I'll walk around and keep my eyes open. If somebody is a little too nosy, I'll talk to them. If some skinny little punk kid tries to steal something, I'll knock him on his ass just for fun. But if it's someone who requires mechanical restraint, I am going to put out a call on the radio and stay out of the way. I am not going to be one of those poor bastards you see on TV -- the security guy at the beginning of C.S.I. or N.C.I.S. who dies before the opening credits.