Sunday, October 03, 2004
For the third time of my guard duty experience I am a sentry again.
This time the job involves standing in a cramped little guardroom between the two gates at the entrance to the camp for two hours. It's so freaking boring that I resort to helping the guard commander open and close the gates, and copy down the registration numbers of the vehicles that enter or leave the compound.
During rest periods, I sleep on one of the beds inside the guardhouse. From the outside, the room looks quite decent, but inside, like all other guardrooms, the mattresses are dirty and badly-stained. Think of seven different people sleeping on it throughout the whole week. By right, the guards serving the Sunday-Monday morning shift are supposed to change the bed sheets; by left nobody tells us to do anything. So I suspect I've been sleeping on a fortnight or month-old bed sheet. Anyway flies frequently come in and harass us, like what the mosquitoes do to us outfield. They land on your body and clothes and refuse to leave unless you swipe them off - pretty daring creatures. Anyway, one afternoon spent there is sufficient to drive me away from that room for subsequent rest periods - eventually I sleep in the TV room, on those leather couches that have gigantic armrests and backrests.
At night I'm called to do body checks on "selected" people. It's not my business, really. I just have the misfortune to be eating my night snack and enjoying a cool gulp of iced lemon tea when the guard commander calls me. I realise I'm the only personnel on rest who is still awake. I am made to sit at a table outside the guardhouse. Every time somebody declares to the guard commander that he does not have a mobile phone, he will be directed to my station, where I will search his things and his pockets to ensure that he has not been lying. I hate doing this. Not only is it my rest period, but also I feel it is an intrusion of other people's privacy, for the sake of security. I don't like it myself if I am told to spread eagle and then my body patted and searched. Besides I feel uncomfortable touching other people's bodies. I usually do a quick search before the feeling of discomfort increases to the extent that I will probably claw the wire fence and scream.
I survive the crucial 2-4am shift (the twilight zone - and also what I call the deep-sleep zone) by singing the whole of Les Miserables - the Tenth Anniversary Concert to myself.
* * *
Day one of my former Parade Four.
¶ 10/03/2004 01:25:00 pm This time the job involves standing in a cramped little guardroom between the two gates at the entrance to the camp for two hours. It's so freaking boring that I resort to helping the guard commander open and close the gates, and copy down the registration numbers of the vehicles that enter or leave the compound.
During rest periods, I sleep on one of the beds inside the guardhouse. From the outside, the room looks quite decent, but inside, like all other guardrooms, the mattresses are dirty and badly-stained. Think of seven different people sleeping on it throughout the whole week. By right, the guards serving the Sunday-Monday morning shift are supposed to change the bed sheets; by left nobody tells us to do anything. So I suspect I've been sleeping on a fortnight or month-old bed sheet. Anyway flies frequently come in and harass us, like what the mosquitoes do to us outfield. They land on your body and clothes and refuse to leave unless you swipe them off - pretty daring creatures. Anyway, one afternoon spent there is sufficient to drive me away from that room for subsequent rest periods - eventually I sleep in the TV room, on those leather couches that have gigantic armrests and backrests.
At night I'm called to do body checks on "selected" people. It's not my business, really. I just have the misfortune to be eating my night snack and enjoying a cool gulp of iced lemon tea when the guard commander calls me. I realise I'm the only personnel on rest who is still awake. I am made to sit at a table outside the guardhouse. Every time somebody declares to the guard commander that he does not have a mobile phone, he will be directed to my station, where I will search his things and his pockets to ensure that he has not been lying. I hate doing this. Not only is it my rest period, but also I feel it is an intrusion of other people's privacy, for the sake of security. I don't like it myself if I am told to spread eagle and then my body patted and searched. Besides I feel uncomfortable touching other people's bodies. I usually do a quick search before the feeling of discomfort increases to the extent that I will probably claw the wire fence and scream.
I survive the crucial 2-4am shift (the twilight zone - and also what I call the deep-sleep zone) by singing the whole of Les Miserables - the Tenth Anniversary Concert to myself.
* * *
Day one of my former Parade Four.
