Safe As Houses

My Project Supervisor popped his head around the partition and said in his casual but concise way – “There’s a suspicious package in the Mailroom, the Bomb squad is going to move it into the loading dock area and deal with it. If you don’t feel comfortable staying at your desk, feel free to evacuate the building.” His task complete, he strode off, no doubt to impart, in his matter-of-fact-just-another-day-at-the-office way, the same news on other unsuspecting workers.

Hmmm, Toto, I don’t think we’re in Kansas anymore.

Truth be told, I’ve realised how “far removed from Kansas” I truly am in my work-a-day world on several occasions.

I often find myself surrounded by uniformed men with guns – no, I am not being escorted away in handcuffs and no, it’s not some midnight fantasy of mine (hmmm, handcuffs…errr, where was I?).

Ah, yes, work; I work in at the City Police Headquarters (PHQ) so it has become commonplace for me to see Members of the Local Force replete with sidearm and handcuffs strapped to their waists; in the elevator, in line in the canteen, sitting in meeting rooms. It’s just another day at the office.

I have gotten used to being “M’am’d” in the halls by the recruits (who are instructed to acknowledge everyone they meet in PHQ with “Sir or “M’am”) which had been very off putting; especially the time when there were about 30 recruits heading up a staircase while I was heading down – every on every stair I was met with “M’am”, “M’am”, “M’am”, “M’am” – by the time I had descended three flights I felt about 30 years older.

I am not surprised to see the plain clothes or gang squad members with their holstered guns and their detective badges hung around their necks in NYPD Blue fashion. Though admittedly I was a little taken aback the day the riot squad was using the hall outside my office area as a staging area as they prepared to go on some advanced training. Decked out in their full body armour, helmets with face shields and carrying their body shields they were a bit intimidating (I think medieval knights would have been hard pressed to look as daunting).

And I have to admit to doing a double take the other day when I walked by an office and saw what appeared to me, the uninitiated civilian, as some sort of automatic rifle mounted on the wall – home décor ala Rambo, anyone?

But after being here for over 18 months and getting used to most of it, I have to admit to being a bit put out the day of the bomb scare.

My Project Sponsor's almost casual attitude was a bit disconcerting - I'm sure his training taught him to be calm when facing imminent death in order to avoid creating unnecessary alarm. So for me, being situated relatively close to where the loading dock area was, and not having the years of maintain-your-calm training, I began to wonder, should I leave?

I’m sure we have all experienced the unexpected fire alarm and have had the “I can't smell smoke, is it just a false alarm, or should I get the heck out?” reaction – do you heed the warning or just ignore the alarm and carry on?

The optional evacuation aspect of his comment perplexed me; should I be alarmed? Or should I only worry when he comes back shouting - "Get out! Get out now and save yourselves!", would he have time? Is the building truly built to resist bombing, as all outward appearances would lead one to believe? Yes, I work in a building that looks like to could resist the blast of a disgruntled pipe bomb, but really, I'd rather not have a "looks are deceiving" moment – thanks very much.

I wonder if my reaction would have been different if I was living somewhere else. Certainly, there are many places in the world where a potential bomb threat would elicit more than a calm “leave if you like” response. In this day and age of Al Qaeda and Anthrax is anyone immune from the paranoia around personal safety? I am, apparently. I sat at my desk and kept working, not honestly believing there was a bomb; why would anyone bomb PHQ in this small city.

I guess I feel relatively safe here in my quiet, non-threatening part of the world. I leave my apartment door unlocked when I go downstairs to do laundry; I’ve even accidently left it unlocked overnight. Also, given that I live on the 12 floor of a high rise, I leave my balcony doors open in the summer. Though my sense of security was shaken last summer when two apartment across the hall were broken into and vandalized, after about a month of extreme security paranoia, I reverted to my old, can’t-happen-to-me self and chose to think that what happened was a random act perpetrated by a disgruntled former resident who had keys to one of the two apartments in the first place. I was not in any danger.

But I don’t put myself in danger either, well at least not knowingly. I don’t wander around the rough parts of town; I’m not out alone late at night. When I travel I take along a healthy dose of travellers paranoia just to heighten my senses and if I start feeling uneasy as I slide off the beaten path, I hightail it back to where I feel safe again. As they say, I don’t borrow trouble.

Who knows though, maybe the next bomb scare will not just be a scare, but it’s not very likely.

I guess I’m lucky that I live in a city and country in which I feel as safe as houses. I know I’m fortunate and sometimes it’s good to remember and be grateful.