No ID, No Entry

All the armed forces live by a motto. It’s a simple creed to cling onto when you’re in the heat of battle and your faith has been put to the test. This varies from country to country, of course, but some of the more popular ones come to mind. For the marines, it’s: “No Pain, No Gain!” for the air force, it’s: “No Guts, No Glory!” For the navy, its: “No Valor, No Honor!” For our local security guards, its: “No ID, No Entry!”

I don’t know about you, but for me, encountering a power-tripping security guard ranks right up there with contracting genital warts. I’m not saying that all security guards behave like this, of course; I’m just talking about the frustrated-cop-type that never made the cut who gets high on the little power he or she is afforded. Those are the ones that really get under my skin. And when you do come across one like that, take my advice – do not argue with them. Because they will simply drag you down to their level of stupidity and then beat you with experience.

Take this situation in Alabang Hills Village a few months ago. My sister-in-law is out delivering invitations to her daughter’s 5th birthday party. So, she lines up patiently in the non-residents line, comes up to the guard house, takes her window down and hands over her license.

The guard asks, “Where are you going, ma’am? What is the purpose of your visit?” She cheerfully explains that she is just delivering some party invitations to her friend’s houses. Big mistake. That is too much information for him to absorb, and he doesn’t remember seeing that in his employee training manual. He only knows “OB”, the acronym for “Official Business”, which is like the generic secret password to entering buildings and villages all over the country.

He tells her to pull over to the side while he attempts to call each house to see if they are expecting this tall, foreign-looking, invitation-bearing woman as a visitor. You can imagine what happens next. The guard now needs to dig up the telephone numbers of each resident. He will not trust my sister-in-law’s cell phone directory for the numbers even if most of his records are, of course, outdated. Think about it – how many times have you informed the village guards of your change of phone numbers or contact details? Exactly. The defense rests your honor.

She stays idling on the side of the road for 15-minutes. Nothing happens.

Livid, she eventually walks up to him and demands to know why she is being detained so long. He explains that the he cannot get through to the numbers he has listed, and for the one number that did answer, the homeowner wasn’t home, so therefore could not possibly be expecting anyone, which in turn, in his own feeble mind, means that my sister-in-law is actually a terrorist and these envelopes, which look so convincingly similar to children’s-party invites, are actually anthrax letters that are designed to wipe out the entire association once they inhale the deadly spores.

The long and short of it all was that Manong Rumsfeld refused to allow my sister-in-law to enter the village, despite the fact that she had given her license, been honest about her purpose of visit, and, for whatever it was worth, was driving a new car with an Ayala Alabang village sticker on it. Benefit of the doubt would have been nice.

At first I thought that it was only foreign-looking women that fell victim to this. But apparently not. Our very own Business Motoring Editor, Dong Magsajo, got a good taste of this inconvenientitis while happily cruising up to his appointment with the Libyan embassy in Dasmariñas Village. As suspected, the guard says, “Park over on the side. I will call the embassy to ask if they are expecting you.” Ten minutes goes by. Nothing. Despite allowing himself a cushion of 15 minutes before his appointment, Dong is now running late.

Dong eventually walks out of his car, up to the guard house and asks what the hold up is. The guard tells him to go back to his car and wait. “For what? That’s all I’ve been doing for more than ten minutes. Waiting!” Dong replies. To think that after all this time, the guard had not even placed the call yet. He even had the gall to say, “We have a lot to do here. I’m busy. I will call when I get time.” Dong eventually calls the embassy from his cell phone in complete frustration.

The embassy personnel demanded to know why the guard was giving their guest such a hard time, especially since they had put Dong’s name on the list of expected visitors. It was quite obvious that the guard was put in his place and had now lost face. So, he does what all chastised guards would do. He kicks down. As the guard got off Dong’s phone, he tells him, “Okay. They are expecting you. But you need to use the Pasay road gate. All embassy visits must go through those gates.”

Now – anyone that has ever driven in Makati will know that to drive from one gate to another at the wrong time of day can take you anywhere from 15-30 minutes. I don’t know why Dong did, but he did. But when he gets to Pasay road gate, guess what happens? Exactly the same routine. He, like my sister-in-law, just turned around, missed their appointments and made a mental note avoid transacting any type of business within these villages. It’s just too much stress.

And if you think that is bad, spare a thought for Cory Aquino. One of our readers shared this story about the former president when she tried dropping something off at his house in Corinthian Gardens, when she, too, had a taste of the village people.

The house she intended to visit was in full view of the guard house, yet the guard, who in fairness may have just been doing his job, made them wait on the side of the road while he calls the resident. This would normally not be too bad, but let’s face it, it is highly unrealistic to expect the owner of the house (a person prominent enough to have Cory Aquino visiting his home) answer the phone and talk to this village guard.

So there they sat.

Eventually, Cory Aquino rolls down her window and said quite politely, “Hijo, kilala mo ba ako?” The guard stood up straight and saluted her and said with a big smile, “Oo po, ma’am President!” Yet he still made them wait. Eventually, just like Dong and my sister in law, she too turned around and left.

Rules may be rules, but it becomes redundant if it ends up painting people into a corner. You may say that it shouldn’t matter who the person is and that being the motoring editor of a newspaper or Cory Aquino doesn’t entitle you to preferential treatment, and everyone should follow the same rules. And I agree. So why doesn’t the guard call up each resident when the PLDT messenger comes through. Or the Meralco guy? Or the mailman? When will they finally understand that effective security is not just about double barrel shot guns, 38 caliber pistols and this useless checking of the trunk – its about having a sixth sense: common sense.

After all, if crime can be organized, why can’t our authorities?

In lieu of printing your Backseat Driver reactions this week, we’re printing a very supportive letter to our call for improved road safety measures (we’ll revert to the usual practice next week). This particular letter to the editor was sent by no less than Johnny Angeles, vice president of the Automobile Association of the Philippines and a staunch road safety advocate himself. Kindly turn to page C-3 to read the letter in full.

Speak out, be heard and keep those text messages coming in. To say your piece and become a “Backseat Driver”, text PHILSTAR<space>FB<space>MOTORING<space> YOUR MESSAGE and send to 2840 if you’re a Globe or Touch Mobile subscriber or 334 if you’re a Smart or Talk ’n Text subscriber or 2840 if you’re a Sun Cellular subscriber. Please keep your messages down to a manageable 160 characters. You may send a series of comments using the same parameters.)