I regularly take photos in a high-end, gated community. They’ve got private security driving around all the time. One area you have to check in at a guard shack, show them your driver’s license, etc.
First of all, let me say that the men and women who work there in security could be real jerks but never are. (Well, mostly. There was one guy who excelled at being a jerk, but it seems he got fired. He probably became a cop.)
Anyway, I was shooting twilight shots of a house in this gated community one time. Boring work, waiting for the right light, all the lights in the house on. Someone’s walking by with their dog. I nod and say, “Good evening. ” They nod. And then they go into the house next door.
About 10 minutes later one of the security cars rolls up, parks, and a guy I know gets out.
“Hey there,” I say.
“Can I see your ID?”
I pull it out and hand it to him. He pulls out his flashlight and looks at it, then shines the light toward me vaguely.
“Is there a problem?” I ask.
“Only with the neighbor behind me who is probably in that darkened corner room watching us. I need to make a big show of talking to you and checking your ID or they’ll call you in until you leave and then call my boss tomorrow and complain.”
“So I guess this has happened before.”
“They call in everyone. You’re just standing here, though, so I have to make it look good.”
He hold my ID up and shines the light at it. Then he hands it back to me. Puts his hands on his hips. “Now I’m going to pretend to talk to you very seriously. And then I’ll go back and have some coffee.”
And a few minutes later he drove off.
I glanced over and saw someone in the window.
And later I took a box of cookies to the security shack. Ones that go well with coffee.