Jobsworth

I leave the supermarket with two loaded bags of groceries. I’ve just spent fifteen minutes in a checkout queue and am glad to escape the noisy, chaotic, brightly lit environment. As I exit the store, the entrance door alarms are activated: lights flash and sirens sound.

A mother and her small child have stopped, and I pause to watch.

A squat-looking man wearing an ill-fitting uniform deactivates the alarm and starts talking to the woman. A few moments later, the contents of her plastic shopping bags are turfed out and lie strewn across the supermarket floor.

After a while, the security guard allows her to repack her purchases and leave the shop. The fault appears to be related to an oversensitive alarm system; it goes off again a few seconds later.

I leave the shopping mall and begin my short walk home.

I notice that the basement level of the shopping centre multi-storey car park is deserted. Unusually, there isn’t a person or car to be seen.

The concrete pillars that support the upper levels and the red parking lines catch my eye. Enticed by the space and geometry, I wander in to take a closer look.

I decide to take a couple of photos of the reinforced pillars and parking lines. I place my shopping bags on the floor and take out a Nikon SLR from my shoulder bag. I snap off a couple of random shots, particularly interested in the simple figurative instructions painted onto the walkways.

Within a few seconds, I hear a distant call. Someone is shouting, “Hello.”

Across the empty expanse of the car park, I see a middle-aged uniformed man purposefully striding towards me. I place the camera back into my bag and take a few steps towards him.

The man is sweating. He is unhealthily out of breath and has clearly rushed at speed to reach me. In his right hand, he carries a bulky two-way radio.

The security guard slows his pace and states, in a somewhat panicked voice, “You can’t take pictures here.”

I tell him there are no signs informing the public of this. He says that there are signs near the main entrance. I explain that I came in via the side gate and that there were no signs in evidence. This confuses him for a moment; he shifts from foot to foot and then states that this entrance is not a public thoroughfare.

The security guard goes on to inform me that if I wish to take photos, I would need authorisation from “the management.” I tell him that I am happy to do this and would arrange it if I decided to return.

The jobsworth seems perplexed by this and informs me that I should go with him now—this minute—to meet the management.

I explain that I am not willing to meet them now and that, if I do decide to return to take photos, it will be at a later date. The jobsworth reiterates that I should go with him now.

I ignore his request, and as I walk away his two-way radio crackles into life. A disjointed male voice can be heard saying, “It’s all right, we’ve got him now on CCTV.”

I leave the car park the way I entered it. There are no signs suggesting that the side entrance is closed to the general public.

I take with me a couple of “unauthorised” random photos of an empty car park—and they, the management, have one of me.