BADGES? I never needed no stinkin' badges. Until now. Now I can't get into the building I've worked in for the past 17 years without a stinkin' badge. Bold new badges
for bitter timesBlame it on technology. Blame it on the rise of terrorism. Blame it on the loss of innocence in the islands, where crime has become a constant threat to all of us. Or blame it on the fact that some people just don't feel they are important until they are wearing some sort of physical representation of importance. And for that, you can't beat a big ol' plastic-covered, clip-on security badge, man.
One of the cool things about the newspaper building was that it was a throwback to the older days of Hawaii. You enter the front of the building and are faced with two large sweeping staircases. You are drawn up the staircases where you suddenly face a striking stained-glass window the size of a U-Haul truck. The entire building is lousy with artwork. Lousy artwork for the most part. But important lousy artwork, bought by the newspaper powers over the years. On the roof is the cafe that went through many hands until it reached the current concessionaires, who, in my book, are the best of the last two decades. You can actually get a burger or turkey sandwich without mayo. (That should win me a free Pepsi or two.)
Anyone could go up there to eat, sitting at the rooftop cafe table and taking in the view, which for years was mainly a classic piece of important lousy art. It was a 15-foot tall disk that looked suspiciously like an aspirin tablet.
Sure, we had security guards. But they were just guys in rental uniforms. They walked through the newsroom, saying "hi" and stuff. I often joked that I wished they were outside protecting my truck in the back parking lot instead of hanging around inside watching us watch them.
Then the world changed. Some idiots blew up the World Trade Center, or at least a chunk of it. Then someone blew up a bigger chunk of the federal building in Oklahoma. Then stuff started to go missing from the newsroom, like radios, calculators, tape recorders and my Sharper Image digital spell checker (a major blow to editors who have to read my column).
Soon we had real guards. And we had to show identification to get in the building. These guys were tough. If you wandered outside by the snack shop to drink a soda in the parking lot without your ID, they'd make you sign in even though they knew you worked here and even saw you walk out with your Coke.
And now, we all have to wear stinkin' badges. Just like the stinkin' badges Harvey Corman issued to all the outlaws in the movie "Blazing Saddles." But ours are stinkin' official press badges. And we also have curious pieces of plastic that they call "keys," which we have to wave over mysterious black boxes in order to coax the magnetic doors to let us in.
People walking into the building now still see the grand staircases. But underneath they face a guard who sits behind a battery of video monitors and a computer, ready to either grant or deny clearance. Yes, civilians can still come into the building to eat at the cafe or view the art, but they have to have stinkin' badges, man.
And word will probably get out that you can't get into the news building now unless security gives you a badge. And no doubt, we will have a lot fewer loonies prowling the halls. Let's face it, newspapers can be nut magnets, and I'm not just talking editors. But now, security will keep the exceptionally strange or unbalanced, unless they are employees, from entering the building. Only those with real business will be allowed in. And those people will know they are, at least on this day, special and important. Because they will all have badges, man. Stinkin' badges.
