Episode 3, Sunday April 3, 2016

The Extraordinary Exploits of Mr. T. C. Mapweather IV, (The Delusional Daydreams of a Bored Security Guard)

It’s a cold and clear spring morning with temps in the mid forties. I’m first up for patrol. The key to the cart is in the Security Command Center, and roves start from the guardhouse.

I’m too sleepy to be driving it anyway. Groggy security guards have a tendency to try and run over things when they fall asleep at the wheel. So the first rove will be on foot.

The real and most important reason for this executive decision is the night shift didn’t bring the cart key to the guardhouse. So I’ve got a choice, walk to the SCC and get the key, and then walk back to get the cart. No I’ll just do the rove on foot.

Such are the weighty decisions of the security guard.

Mr. Lewis was still there shutting down the guardhouse for the rest of shift as I left. I still can't understand why we open it for sh

With a big yawn I start off, stumbling off the curb heading east toward the NE gate. I yawn several more times and drag my feet snagging a toe on the crack in the pavement of the North parking lot.

The umpteenth time I yawn I stumble and fall into the gaping maw of the vehicle ramp. I could have sworn that seconds before there had been no tunnel entrance cut into the parking lot.

I see a hundred high intensity LEDs bloom into white radiance as I fall. Tumbling forward I roll onto my back just as I impact the bed and roll over bars of the jet black Scout. The LEDs were on a bar mounted across the top of the windshield.

The back of my knees caught the roll over bar breaking my fall just enough to slam the back of my head into the bed of the old truck.

My knees feel like they’re being dislocated by the sudden acceleration of my body to catch up to the speed of the truck.

Hanging by the back of my knees and head bouncing in the short bed of the four wheel drive truck, I’m dimly aware of a string of foul mouthed and angry expletives being directed my way. Suddenly my feet are thrown up and I tumble backwards.

Scrabbling to find a hand hold my gut comes down hard on the short tail gate leaving the lower half of my body dangling behind the Scout. The back of my head is thankfully no longer bouncing but my chin is.

My left hand finally finds the rear diagonal brace for the roll bars and I painfully pull myself back into the truck. TC is still cursing a fiery streak as we top fifty miles an hour at the NE gate. It’s a manual gate, meaning I usually have to unlock and open it by hand whenever traffic needs through it.

I cringe as we approach it, anticipating the impact. The tall vehicle turns a sharp right around the hangar and Rescue 2. The giant fire truck dwarfs the Scout as it scrapes along it’s side.

Sparks fly and metal shrieks as the eight foot tall Scout tears the side of the ten foot tall truck.

I can’t believe my eyes as I see the gate rise up out of the ground behind us and the once immaculate fire truck is turned into just another junk yard heap.

I reach forward to pull myself toward the front passenger seat and am knocked back to the rear of the Scout. A second unbelievable sight appears as twin mini guns fold up and out on either side of the bed. They hadn’t been there moments before and I get a flashback to the last Transformers movie I saw.

The Scout rounds the front of the hangar and I see a pack of four or five stray dogs running across the flight line and the mini guns begin to rip the fabric of space time.

The sound is unbelievable the red hot brass raining on my face and hands is much more believable. The firing only lasted for three seconds and I have dozens of burns on my face and my hands. One casing is fused to my fingers and the pain is paralysing.

Glancing up again I see a trough cut across the constantly cared for grass between the landing pads. There isn’t any sign of the dogs.

The Scout bounces across the drainage ditch and I fly out of the back of the truck as it bounces on it’s suspension. I land on the asphalt of the flight line behind the old truck.

Dazed and confused with pain I find two technicians running toward me from the hangar. They’re laughing so hard they could have made better time crawling.

I start to lift my old, fat, frame from the ground and get a chance to look at my hands, Scrapes across the knuckles of my left hand are bleeding and a shallow cut with a small pebble imbedded under the skin of my right palm explain why my hands hurt.

“Are you hurt?” I hear but the man’s still thirty yards away.

I try to reply but my jaw doesn’t want to work. I reach up and touch my chin and flame erupts in my jaw. My hand comes away bloody.

My left knee feels cool and if find my khakis ripped across the knee and blood staining both knees.

Finally one of the techs arrive and he shouts back to the other man. “Call 1911. He’s going to need some stitches.” Turning back to me he says, “Your jaw looks like it might be broken.

“That was the most amazing face plant I’ve ever seen. What the hell did you trip over?”

Then I hear the radio. “Control to 220. 10-17 completions hangar. Someone’s been injured.”

I can’t reply, I can’t even get the radio off my belt.

“Is he calling you?” The tech ask.

I nod my head causing more agony to blossom in my face.

He sees my obvious injuries and makes a mighty effort, but still coughs out little peals of laughter every few seconds anyway.

Taking the radio off my belt he pushes the button and says. “Your security guard is the injured person. He can’t talk. It looks like he's got a broken jaw. Are the firefighters on their way.”

I hear Mr. Lewis trying to cover up his laughter now. “The firefighters don’t work on weekends. I’ve called Grand Prairie 911. I’m en route to open the North Central Gate for them. Can you stay with the victim? I’ll have to be in the guardhouse to let them in and out.” The only switch to operate the automatic gate is in guardhouse.

“Yeah we’ll stay with him.”

“I’ll need one of you to go out to the gate to direct the ambulance to your location.

The discussion goes on for a few minutes. I look out over the flight line and the landscaping is pristine. I try to look over my shoulder but the pain forces me to physically turn around. Aches and pains are appearing with every move I make.

When I get turned around Rescue 2 is as immaculate as ever. Clean and spotless, the red, black, and white paint job is spotless.

Waiting for the ambulance I couldn’t imagine how I forgot the last two or three hundreds yards I’d walked to get where I stood. Not to mention how I badged through a turnstile by the NE gate.

I desperately wanted to shake my head but that hurt too much.