Election season was in full swing and it was taking its toll on me and the rest of the SWAT team. We had to work security for these events every time a big-time presidential candidate came to our city. This often meant we would have to alter our schedules or take something dumb like “time coming” to avoid paying overtime, which is code for, “ruin your plans and be miserable now so that maybe, if you’re lucky, you can take a day off later.” We were putting in a lot of hours and it was getting old, fast.
A Poop Ton
Truth be told, the Secret Service agents had it a lot worse than we did. Those guys traveled all over the country at a moment’s notice and put in a poop-ton more hours than we did. (For you math nerds out there, a “poop ton” is a fictional number somewhere in the neighborhood of 739,000). They have families, honey-do lists, birthdays and anniversaries, soccer games, and everything else pulling at them, just like we do. And after spending time with a variety of agents at these kind of events over the years, I can say they don’t get paid enough. Oh, and neither do we.
My Counterpart
The event was being held at our city’s 10,000 seat arena and I had been paired up with a Secret Service agent who had started his day long before I had. He was a veteran agent with many years of experience. He had a humble, even temperament, and wasn’t the stuck-up pencil pusher I had imagined.
After introductions and hand shakes, he made a confession to me. I guess he thought it was the elephant in the room, but to tell you the truth, I hadn’t noticed. He went on to tell me he had been up super early that morning to make it to the event site on time. Because he wanted to avoid waking his wife while getting ready for work, he didn’t turn on the bedroom lights. (Who said chivalry was dead?) He had rummaged around in his close and grabbed his suit, shirt, tie, and shoes in the dark. He stuffed them in a garment bag and drove up to the event site and got dressed. That’s when he was faced with the ice cold consequences of grabbing his clothes in the dark: two left shoes. They were even the same color.
Sucking It Up
There was no shoe or clothing store open at that time of morning, so he did the American thing: he sucked it up, took one for the team, and got the job done.
This agent spent over 16 hours wearing two left shoes. He walked miles and miles around that arena and checked on security concerns throughout the night; one of which included a guy who had dropped his pants to make some kind of political statement, albeit a small one if you now what I mean, and another guy who had brought a gun to the event. He worked the chaotic rope line at the end of the night and saw the VIP safely off in their motorcade.
There’s No Medal For That
This guy never complained, never shirked a duty, and was kind to a lowly little local cop like me. He even bought me dinner. He could have been otherwise, I’m sure, and who could really have blamed him? But if he had, he would have made a miserable partner and it would have been an even longer event than it already was.
There’s no plaque, no medal, and no certificate of appreciation for doing what he did. I bet his boss had no idea, and I’m sure the VIP he was protecting didn’t have one either. There will be no ceremony lauding his grit or singing his praise, no parade, no recognition, no cheering crowd. He quietly did his job and helped me do mine.
To him I say, “Thank you Secret Service agent guy who must remain nameless! Johnny Tactical salutes you!”
America!
_____________________________
- Have you had a day like this Secret Service agent had?
- Were you a complainer or a trouper?
- How did your response affect those around you?
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