My Life Be Like: A Security Guard's Reality
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They don't see what my life be like.
The In-Between Hours
My shift starts when most people are still asleep or just ending their night out. I arrive in darkness and leave in darkness half the year. My body clock doesn't know what time it is anymore. I eat breakfast at 10 PM, dinner at 4 AM. Social life? That's for people who work normal hours.
I miss birthdays. Skip family gatherings. Watch friends' lives happen on social media because I'm here, making sure nothing happens.
The Weight of Watching
Eight to twelve hours of standing. My feet know every ache there is. My back reminds me I'm not twenty anymore. But that's not the hard part.
The hard part is the alertness. Always scanning. Always assessing. That group of teenagers—are they just loud or looking for trouble? That person pacing nervously—mental health crisis or something worse? That car circling the lot for the third time—lost or casing the place?
My mind never fully rests, even on breaks. Even at home.
Invisible Until Needed
Most days, I'm part of the furniture. People walk past without eye contact. I'm background. Decoration. Nobody says good morning unless they need directions.
But when something goes wrong? Suddenly I'm essential. The medical emergency. The angry customer. The suspicious package. The fight breaking out. Then everyone's looking at me, expecting me to have answers, take control, fix it.
I'm trained for this, sure. But that doesn't mean my heart doesn't pound when I have to intervene in a domestic dispute or approach someone who might be armed. The uniform doesn't make me bulletproof. It just makes me the first target.
The Stories I Carry
I've seen things. Held pressure on wounds while waiting for ambulances. Talked someone down from a mental health crisis. Found a missing child. Caught a thief. Comforted people after bad news.
I've also watched people die and dealt with overdoses in the bathroom. Cleaned up after violence I couldn't prevent. Those nights stick with you. Nobody prepares you for that part. There's no counseling. You just show up for the next shift.
The Moments That Matter
But here's what keeps me coming back: I make a difference.
The elderly woman who feels safe enough to walk to her car because I'm here. The employee who works late without fear. The kid who waves at me every morning. These small things matter.
Last month, I noticed a regular acting strange—sweating, disoriented. Turned out to be a diabetic emergency. I got him help in time. He thanked me later, said I saved his life. That's bigger than any paycheck.
The Real Life
My life be like this: sacrificing sleep for other people's safety. Standing when I want to sit. Staying alert when I want to zone out. Being professional when I'm treated like I'm invisible. Dealing with danger for poverty wages.
My life be like watching everyone else live their lives while I make sure they can do it safely.
It's not glamorous. It's not easy. Most people couldn't do it. But it's mine.
And some days, when I prevent something bad from happening—even if nobody notices—I know it matters.
That's what my life be like as a security guard. Real. Underappreciated. Essential.
And I'll be back tomorrow, doing it all again.