Monday, March 1, 1999
Pens pose deadly threat at concert
COLUMN: Without warning, explanation security bans
seemingly-innocent object to keep the peace
It was a cold evening and I was shivering, hanging outside the
Hollywood Palladium. The line to get in stretched way up Argyle
Avenue – fans as far as the eye could see, all the way into the
opened doors, policed by brawny security guards decked out with
walkie-talkies.
With this military-like presence, you’d think visiting royalty
was inside the ballroom. There was no one of this caliber, however,
just a couple of rock bands, a bunch of fans and even more security
guards.
I filed my way through the queue, dutifully flashing my ticket
upon command. As the line snaked back and forth toward the
entrance, I noticed that the bouncers were frisking people. That
seemed a little odd, but I didn’t think too much of it, and kept
plodding forward in line, like a cow being led to slaughter.
Eventually, I made my way to the front and proudly presented my
ticket, all the while thinking how clever I was to have made it
that far in a scant 30 minutes.
"Take everything out of your pockets," the first security guard
drawled, gesturing in my general direction with his metal
detector.
Oh yes, the security check.
I did, wondering why the big fuss was being made. He waved the
detector over me, then pointed to where I should go next. A huge
sign on the wall informed me that I could not bring in my camera,
cigarettes, lighter or gum. Not having any, I wasn’t worried. I was
there to hopefully hear some good music, not to smuggle anything
inside.
"Put your stuff on the table, raise your arms," came the next
order, still in that characteristic security guard tone.
This guy, apparently under the impression that he was guarding
the Pope, thoroughly patted me down, checking my pockets, legs,
waistband and the inside of my hat to see if I had any of the
aforementioned contraband. Once he was certain that I was clean, he
began to examine the contents of my pockets, which I’d left on the
table.
My car keys passed muster, as did my wallet, Chapstick, and
$0.53 in loose change. He seemed particularly interested in the
tissues I fished from my other pocket, poking at them and examining
them thoroughly. I wasn’t exactly sure why he found the tissues so
enthralling, but he grudgingly returned them after they proved to
be legit. I then began to gather my things to go inside, thinking
that every thing was cool and my night could begin.
"Hey, there are no pens allowed," my new security guard friend
grunted, indicating my ballpoint pen.
"Excuse me?" I asked, wondering why he was suddenly perturbed
about my pen, with its threatening five inches of plastic and small
metal tip.
"You can either return the pen to your vehicle or throw it away,
but I can’t let you take that in there," he said.
"You’ve got to be kidding me."
"Sir, there are no pens allowed," he said, scruffy face not
indicating any hint of humor. He looked like maybe the last time
he’d actually had any sort of funny thought was 1992, and that he
had already branded me as a "troublemaker" in his hard-driving,
crime fighting mind.
I considered my options. OK, choice No. 1: Give up my spot in
line, where I’d already waited for half an hour, hike back to my
car, four blocks away, carefully put this dangerous instrument in
the trunk, where it wouldn’t fall into the wrong hands, then wait
in line again, probably to miss the opening act. Or, choice No. 2:
play their game and throw away my pen.
I wasn’t really in the mood to wait in the freezing cold line
anymore, so I grudgingly tossed my pen into the mountain of
cigarettes and gum packages piling up in the can next to the table.
Now that I had squared myself with the local writing instrument
enforcement representative, I was able to proceed inside. At first,
I
wasn’t all that bothered. Now that I think about it, I see how
ridiculous this really was.
Why is the Palladium trying to get rid of pens? The only two
things that even vaguely made sense to me were graffiti problems
and violence. I suppose if you’re a really enterprising person with
a burning desire to hurt someone, maybe you could use a vaguely
sharp object like a pen to do some damage.
If you think about it, though, that doesn’t make too much sense.
If you’re clever enough to know how to hurt a person with a long
piece of plastic, and have the force of will to inflict pain on
someone with a tool like that, then you won’t be stopped by having
it taken away. You’ll figure out how to use your bare hands or
something that’s not on the banned list to wound them. Sickos
always seem to find a way to cause trouble.
With that in mind, I should point out that most places where
violence is more likely to occur don’t have any problem letting you
hang on to pens and other objects. Dance clubs, airports and even
the White House itself don’t make you toss out regular items.
Maybe that’s a little extreme and they’re just worried about
people marking up their walls. I could understand them being a
little cautious if you rolled up with a can of spray paint in your
pocket and a fat permanent marker in hand. That’s not the case
here. It’s a little, dinky, inconsequential ballpoint pen. If you
wanted to write your name on the wall, it would take you so long to
scratch it on there, the horde of guards would be on you before the
ink was dry.
It’s not even so much that they took my stuff from me. I’m not
saying that it’s my right to carry a pen or anything; it’s their
building, they’re free to make whatever rules they want, as
ridiculous and stupid as they might seem. The issue here is that
they’re enforcing rules without warning you of them ahead of
time.
If they’re going to post signs saying that you can’t have
cigarettes and candy, then they should also list everything else
you can’t bring in, not just magically expect you to know that it’s
against policy to have everyday items.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go buy a new pen, thank
you.
Hopkins is sickeningly attached to his Pilot Precise V5. Other
pen suggestions can be sent to afropic@hotmail.com.Brent
Hopkins
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