It’s 2:30 a.m. on Sunday morning, daylight savings time is inching closer. People stream through the doors of Johnson and Hardwick Hall, after departing
from parties, bars, nightclubs and nearby dorms.
Soon, a half-hour will pass, and as if by magic it will be four in the morning instead of three. Most students walk, skip, tumble or crawl through the main entrance without a thought- another incoherent weekend.
But there is a person, carried by the dark horse of coffee, Tasty Kake snack products, and cheap Chinese food, who works valiantly through the evening to ensure student safety. Some might say a front desk security guard, but this individual is truly a soldier of the night.
Who is this brave individual? Why, it is, ******* night time security guard of course. Because of a written, legally binding policy Specta Guard employees are prohibited from talking with reporters and Temple staff about their activities and from being photographed, so we’ve blanked out his/her name.
However, ******* was willing to be interviewed as long as there was no mention of Specta Guard- the main security services provider for Temple. Of course, this made ******* quite disappointed, unable to claim fame in this college paper. With that said, Specta Guard, Specta Guard, Specta Guard. Whoops.
Though the sun still had many dark hours till she could break free from the egg of night- lost hour madness fifteen minutes away. Gate revelers consistently tricked through the lobby door, and students were scattered in the breezeway, claiming the night just begins at four in the morning.
Maybe the freaks do come out at night, though it’s probably just a case of a bunch of drunken people frolicking about on a Sunday morning. Whatever the
case, the night people had to be found, or the nucleus which explained this madness- since the interview with ******* was useless, this seemed like a clever idea.
People were somewhat reluctant to talk about anything that might be written down, which goes to show; incoherence breeds paranoia. John Scaglione, a
freshman Sports Management major, coerced with payment of a Tootsie Pop, stayed in the breezeway to talk to the kids.
Although, two anonymous (a reasonable request, as stick-on nails and whipping extensions definitely hurt) female students pulled up a couple chairs and
vented their thoughts. As the shorter one said, “You two are the weirdest people I know. You people make me sick.” She went on to assertively complain
about a number of matters, “My hands smell. I don’t know. Go get me some food,” and when a man walked inside she went on, “That kid has had his hands down
his pants for the last hour.” There is some connection here, but who knows.
The night went on, and outside there was a woman in a leopard print bathrobe.
Asked about her attire she stated, “It’s a bathrobe. I’m wearing a bathrobe. Is that okay with you?”
A dirty old man walked by and asked, “Excuse me, can I get a penny?” What is going on here, a penny? They stay on the ground, and for good reason- they are useless to the max.
A nighttime cashier at Rite Aid added a little sense to the events. She, as all but five people in a mile vicinity of Temple, didn’t want to talk if anything was written down. What to do, what to do? Buy a pack of gum of course.
Ringing the purchase up she said, so happy to be there, “I’m beyond tired and you’re coming in here at four in the morning to buy something like this.”
So when John bought some soda she didn’t even put it in a bag, explaining, “You look like a big strong man,” and turned away to do who knows, probably sleep.
Outside, the short girl from the breezeway was making a similar trip with a small entourage. She warned her friends, “Don’t talk to them, they’ll write down everything you say!” Of course, then they all ran away.
Back at J&H, ******* was swiping ID cards and then came dawn.
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