The Life Of A Night Watchman Is Way Creepier Than You Think

"I recently had a new location added onto my route, downtown behind a bunch of seedy motels," says Dana. "I went down for my first check, armed only with a phone and a flashlight, and found a man standing in the alley with a pickax. The moment I rounded the corner, he holds the pickax up in the air like a sword and tells me not to come any closer."

If you're expecting to hear about an enthralling flashlight vs. pickax battle here, well, her employer would have frowned on that. So she called the cops and got the hell out of there. As for exactly how much force she can use, it all depends on the employer. Dana actually works two jobs for two different companies (security work isn't exactly "hump on a bed of hundos" lucrative):

"One is super hands-off. I'm not allowed to touch anyone unless they touch me first. I'm not allowed a weapon. I don't get a walkie-talkie. I even had to provide my own flashlight, and even then, it has to be below a certain size or it's considered a 'weapon.' So I'm approaching people in an abandoned area of town at 3 a.m. with the expectation that I can get them to fuck off using simply my words and charming smile."

Her other employer gives her a bit more leeway to get rough. "If someone isn't listening, I'm encouraged to get up close and personal," she says. "Just last week, me and another guard ended up throwing a guy down onto a table to pry a weapon out of his hands that he refused to drop. My boss was quite impressed, but I'd have been instantly fired if I had done that with my other company." In case you're wondering about the legalities of the situation, security guards are allowed by law to use reasonable force. If that sounds vague, that's because it is -- it's another reason they're not allowed to bring, say, a katana to work.

So what kind of shit do you have to deal with in this job, knowing it's going to come down to your bare hands and largely empty threats?

Just ask Dale Crangle, who's been on the job for 14 years. While working a parking garage near a bustling downtown bar scene, Dale was once startled by the sound of shouting at 1 a.m. on a weeknight. It was one of the "local nuts" stumbling up and down the street and randomly yelling at strangers. Dale watched as the guy accosted a young woman leaving one of the bars, a guitar case in one hand and beer bottle in the other. Already, you can see this is going to be trouble ... but it wasn't the kind you're probably expecting:

"He said something to her that I couldn't hear, and she said something back. He gave her a bit of a push, and she dropped her guitar and threw her beer bottle on the ground. She picked up the broken neck as he was walking away from her. She was all of 5'3'', but she was vicious. She ran up behind him, literally jumped on his back, wrapped one arm around his neck, and began hitting him in the head with the broken bottle neck."

Note: We realize some of you are already aroused by this story.

"By the time I ran up to help, she had already hit him four or five times. I grabbed her by the arm and pulled her off of him ... As I got her subdued and calmed down, he had gotten up and wandered off, bleeding profusely from the head ... By the time got there, the guy was long gone, but I told them they'd probably get a call about a guy bleeding from some major head wounds."

Likewise, Dana has plenty of similar stories of encountering humans at their lowest point (or at least, we're hoping this was their lowest). "I was recently called into a seedy motel for a noise complaint. When I arrived, I heard smashing and a couple screaming at each other. To be safe, I called the police and was waiting for them to arrive before going in. While I was waiting, the door swings open and a prostitute runs out sobbing. The guy behind her was massive ... probably 6'4'' and built like a brick shithouse. The room is destroyed ... the TV is smashed, the mattress is flipped, and cocaine is everywhere. Everywhere. On the floor, on the walls, on the tables ... when the police arrived, it took about six of them to hold him down. He got taken to the hospital for cocaine psychosis, and they found thousands of dollars hidden around the hotel room."

If we're unintentionally making this job seem fairly entertaining (if not hilarious), well ...

"Most (if not all) security guards are trained in first aid," says Dale. "They're usually the ones who are working in public places like casinos, malls, and hotels, and need to be able to respond quickly in an emergency. I've done first aid on a lot of people in my time in security." So, like, when a drunk cuts up his face trying to walk through a really clean glass door? Stuff like that?

Well, in one instance, a hotel's front desk alerted him that a guest was suffering a severe emphysema attack. "I didn't have oxygen in the hotel, so I couldn't do anything for her other than monitor her vitals. When I checked for a pulse, I couldn't find it, and when I tried to listen to her breathing, I couldn't hear anything anymore. She was beginning to turn that bluish color. I heard one last exhale, which sounded like when you blow through a tube that has some liquid in it -- a bubbly sigh. I later found out that was called the 'death rattle.'"

Dale began CPR, counting every millisecond until the ambulance arrived. "When you're in a high-pressure situation like that, time compresses for you and everything outside of the room takes forever to happen. I'm sure the ambulance didn't take more than seven minutes to get there, but it seemed like an absolute eternity. When they finally arrived, they took over CPR. They hooked her up to oxygen, injected her with drugs to try to revive her, and did everything they could to bring her back. It didn't happen."

That's when he heard rustling from one of the rooms. "I draw my Maglite and get ready to use it. I slowly peek into the room and discover that it's the wind blowing in from the river and moving a curtain. Now freaked, I start checking the other floors and find nothing, but I know someone is in the building. I make my way back down to the ground floor and go into the old ballroom." Picture a post-apocalyptic, pitch-black version of the ballroom from The Shining, and you'll get the gist. "Out of the corner of my eye, I see someone moving, so I spin and shine my light on them, ready to defend myself. It was my reflection in a broken mirror on the wall."

There are spots that, over time, gain a reputation among night watch crews. Dana's mother (who had worked security in the same town) told her of a residence that was simultaneously empty and overflowing with the heebie-jeebies. "At the beginning of her shifts, she would do a walkthrough and close all the doors ... she'd go back later and find the doors she'd closed open again. She passed it off as it being an old building, thinking maybe drafts blew open the doors, until she found a rose on a windowsill in the upstairs bedroom. The original owner of the house, who was long since deceased, was named Rose. My mom refused to go back."

Sounds like the kind of story parents tell their children to fuck with them, right? That's what Dana thought, too. "I always figured she was making shit up until another guard told me of this private residence where he would constantly find open doors. He once found footprints going up the staircase into the bedroom that he swore hadn't been there during his earlier check. He refused to go back, and the contract was eventually cancelled, as they couldn't find any guards willing to enter that house at night." Yep, it was the same house her mother had spoken of. Dun dun DUNNNN.

OK, you're probably thinking it was some vagrant sneaking around, intentionally creeping the place up so they could squat in peace. But try holding onto that logic when it's just you, alone, in a creaky dim house in the wee hours of the morning.

Dana has her own site -- a factory -- that feels like it's in dire need of a visit from the Scooby Gang. "There's no reason for it -- it's not abandoned and workers are there every day -- but at night, you get an ominous feeling the moment you pull up. Once, while I was training another guard at about 3 a.m., the overhead speakers suddenly began crackling and fizzing. This guy I was training was about 6'3'' and ex-military, yet he immediately bolted. I followed suit, and we ran into a brightly lit area of the building and broke out laughing. As we were joking about how we were the pussiest security guards of all time, we heard a voice say, 'Are you there?'" Needless to say, they both left behind dust outlines like the goddamned Road Runner.

"A few months later, I was training another guy, and I left to go to the bathroom. He was finishing the patrol when I heard him talking to me. I came out and ... a petrified look came over his face. While he was walking towards the entrance, he'd heard a voice say, 'Are you there?' I hadn't even told him that story."

This continued for several more rounds, like history's worst knock-knock joke. "I was finally like, 'Fine. You can pick your car up from impound in the morning and pay the $500 fee. Have a good night.' Then the door flies open, and there stands this old guy in his underwear with an 18-to-20-year-old woman sprawled out on the bed behind him. He apologized profusely and thanked me for not towing his vehicle, all while trying to block my view of what was obviously a prostitute."

And the name-calling doesn't end with her shift. "I often grocery shop after work at 7 a.m. when Walmart opens, and I've been called a 'rent-a-cop cunt' approximately five times while browsing the frozen food section. I don't know why that's the go-to insult. Let your readers know that if they're going to insult security, please think up something good, because they'll be the 10th person that night to call us a rent-a-cop. We'll probably cut them some slack if they come up with an insult we haven't heard before."

Dale Crangle has since left the security/surveillance field, and is now a freelance content specialist, helping businesses further their reach and bring in new customers. Jason is an editor for Cracked and a part-time pickax-wielding maniac. Like his Facebook page.

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