Inside the Mind of a Night Security Guard

For six nights, from 8pm 'til 5 in the morning, I was assigned to work night security at the housing complex I live in here in Garmisch. There are approximately 200 Americans living here, mostly in their 20's. 


Working with me was a man by the name of John E. John is a 61-year-old Vietnam vet who has most definitely had a fascinating life. For the past 19 years, John has worked here off and on, as the night security guard. He has been fired and rehired twice. The stories he has, while I can't confirm them to be true or not, seem to be 100% real in his head.

As John would tell me these stories I would email them to myself, literally WHILE he would be talking to me. Here is a little behind-the-scenes insight on what these emails to myself would look like:

"girls laundry chichi blest w chest bras girl got i t goin sexist  i am"

and…

“inside into the division blacks native american blood jet ebony sleeping udner car . condoleeza rice blood”

The following quotes came straight from John’s mouth, more or less.

On getting better vending machines in the Abrams:

We used to have a cheeseburger machine in here, but some fucking idiot kept unplugging it, so all the cheeseburgers went bad….and then someone threw a rock through the Budweiser machine and stole them all. That’s when they cracked down on that.

On an old colleague:

I used to work with this Phil Varney guy in 1979 in the ghetto in Oakland. Good guy. He had a 12-year-old girlfriend. Other than that, he was a good guy. He was 36. He let me live in his RV there for awhile while I was on the streets, but that didn’t last long when he refused to get rid of the boa constrictor that he kept in a big glass jar in the kitchen.

On his computer abilities:

I’ve had three hours of computer training in the last 19 years of security duty. One hour in ’90 from Neil Moore and two hours back in 2003 when we got these new computers. I just don’t get it. The hardest part for me is trying to figure out the mouse.

On why people with Indian blood in them shouldn’t drink:

I worked with some Native Americans back in ’77 in San Diego. Crazy people. There are three things they loved, and this is serious…Orange Crush soda, Winchester Rifles, and Sears and Roebucks kitchen appliances. Oh, and rocking chairs too. One time this man with Indian in his blood tried to shove me into a dryer. So, that is why Native American people shouldn’t drink. And they kill people.

On fighting residents:

You know, Brad, I like this job here. Problem is, we aren’t allowed to fight people though. Back in October 1978 I worked undercover security detail at a ghetto high school in Oakland and I was the only white guy there. They would always tell me, “John, you’s a cool motherfucker, man, you lasted here longer than any other white motherfucker ever.” I was 6 foot, 210 lbs back then. I am still strong now, look at my muscles (shows me his muscles). Ocampo told me I have old man strength. I was pissed off ‘til someone explained to me that is a good thing. I think I am so strong because of all the bottles I throw in the recycling everyday. That is what I tell the cab drivers. At that high school when I was working undercover secret security, we were allowed to fight students. Cant do that here. 

On finding cheap liquor:

There is a liquor store about a 15-minute cab ride away that has the cheapest Scottish whiskey in Germany. Bushmill’s 20-years-aged for 20 euro, 5 cents. I stopped going though because all the money I spent on taxis and one time I fell and broke all the bottles.

On Morgan bringing a coffee to me at work:

You got girls that are givers and girls that are takers. Your girl is a giver. My girl is a fucking taker. It is ok to be a taker if she looks like your girl, but this girl I got is 68 years old and is fat. I haven’t seen here in 5 years either. She sent me a post card from Alcatraz last week. Crazy bitch, man.

On stealing the Krampus’ masks:

You got this weightlifter in Accounting, Zook, that said he wanted to body-slam Craig Stout. He wanted to smash his face through a wall for ruining Krampus for everyone.

On me getting in trouble for not shaving:

I have had this beard since August of ’72. They tell me to shave it and I’m gonna fucking retire.

On if he should get an “Excellent” on his yearly review this year:

I’ve only had to beat down one motherfucker here in my 19 years. This fool was drunk, acting crazy so I beat him down with my 6 D-Cell battery flashlight. But, I ughh, got into some trouble because his dad was an ex-marine and my boss’ friend. I think that’s why I didn’t get an “Excellent” on my review that year.

More insight on Native-Americans and their flaws:

I’ve always had problems with Native Indian-types. Back in early ‘80’s when I was living in Phoenix me and my friend Tyron would round up all the crack addict Navajo Indians in his Ford truck…you know, those Natives will only buy and ride in Ford. They say, “Ford. Good truck. Last long. Chevy. Bad truck. Piece of shit.” Just like that. I’m not good with that accent they got, but that’s what they said. But yeah, we would round up all these crack addicts and take them to this 24-hour Denny’s for Grand Slam breakfasts.

On dating Latina women:

I’ve always had a thing for Latina women. I’ve had three for girlfriends. I dated this prostitute in Tijuana for five months. Her name was LUZ. L-U-Z is how you spelled it. Good woman. I had a red motorcycle back then and would drive 59 miles from across the border like a bat outta hell to see her. I was driving that fucker 95-100 MPH to see her a few nights a week, man. When you got to Tijuana, you couldn’t stop though because of all the stray packs of dogs that would attack you, so I had to meet her out in the desert. I would get a coke and a taco for one dollar and a night with her for seven.

On his favorite city:

Vancouver is the most beautiful city in the world, man. I’ve been deported out of Canada once though. Great Britain, too. Everyone used to think I was related to Pablo Escobar and would create a fuss at Customs. I don’t know if I am allowed in Canada anymore.

On transvestites:

I got an old friend, Jim Coleman, from Alaska who won $150,000 in a boating accident. He got fucked up pretty good. But anyway, he went to Thailand and told me that you gotta be careful there, man. The lady-boys there may have been male at one time then had a sex change. Sex changes are only $25k there. Did you know that? Then I had this other friend up in England who met this prostitute who turned out to be a transvestite, but he fell in love with her and wanted to marry her, but the British Embassy wouldn't allow it. It was all fucked up. Transvestites, man. You gotta watch out. I'm not into that shit, but when I was in Dublin they had this club called Transformations. I didn't go in, but I went by on a bus to check it out.

On courting younger women:
You got Al (his 68-year-old coworker that I was working for) here who thinks he can fuck 24-year-old girls. I told him to look in the mirror, man. That is my saying. Like Michael Jackson, you know, the Man in the Mirror. I take a look at myself in the mirror and realize I got no chance with these girls. I am 68. Unless they are fat or something, then maybe. There is a lot of fat girls here. I told Al I'd give him $100 if one of these girls went on a date with him.

Insight into the life of an African-American:

I worked in the ghetto for awhile, I think I told you that. (He had. About 15 times). I got an inside look at the relationship between dark-skinned and light-skinned blacks. My best friend was black and he let me read his Ebony and Jet magazines. Learned a lot. Shoulda took a Black History class in college.  But, yeah,  I literally took this guy under my wing and taught him the streets. He was sleeping under a car when I found him in Tucson. Did you know Condoleeza Rice has 52% Indian blood in her, 9% European white blood, and 47% African? (That equals 108%).

On wine? I think. I don't even know what the topic of conversation was honestly:
Man, I used to get all fucked up drinking MD 20/20 back in the 70's under the trees in Santa Barbara. All day long, MD 20/20. Cheap ass wine. One time I snuck a bottle into the hospital so my black friend and I could drink it while we watched the Cowboys game in his room. (With no transition at all, he goes on...) This guy Sam Sebasty's dad owned a winery when I was in 8th grade. I beat the shit outta him, man. I accidentally kicked him in his balls, so he wanted to fight, so I fucked him up pretty good. Turns out the motherfucker got pretty big in high school and tried to stuff me in my gym locker.

On enforcing the No Drinking policy:
I'm not one of those 4-year college guys, or whatever you wanna call it. I went to community college for three years and flunked out. Where I shine though is street knowledge. Would you agree with that? But anyway, yeah, there is no way to enforce a no drinking policy in the RAC downstairs.

On knife-play:
You any good with knives, Brad? (Do I look like I would be good with knives?) I always carry one on me when I go into town. You know the trick to fighting with a knife? You got this technique I learned on the streets called a punch-slash. (He shows me the maneuver) Ive only had to attack with a knife once. I cant believe you aren't allowed to carry weapons while working at the hotel. At least a small knife. Even a taser. Fucking soldiers are crazy, man.

And my favorite one-liner; no explanation needed:

“The Pope is a faggot.”

And finally, on my way out the door after working with him for a week, he says:

Did you enjoy working with me? I hope so. I think I’m a pretty chilled out dude, wouldn't you say?

I don't want to get old.