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I got home yesterday from a recent video game con in Virginia, for which I was working on the concert security team. It was mostly mild considering the concerts were six hours each, and only went on for two nights. I'm the smallest person on the security team and the only girl, so I was helping to work the door with whichever main con security was posted up there. It made it helpful since I can't really see over anyone's head, and my main forte is going from smiles to the "I will kill you" face in no time at all. We had a big sign by the door that said, "No food, drinks, or backpacks." So what did every other person try to bring in? Mmhmm. Since it was a paid convention, you also had to have a con badge with you to get through the doors of the concert room. We had people, of course, get pissed off because we checked their badge more than once, because they kept going in and out, and they expected us to remember everyone one of the thousand some people who went through the door.
But the gem! Pants Shitter McGee, who decided that he was above security because he apparently "knew the bands!" and who was obviously on something. We were doing a three strike system: warn you once, warn you twice, then we ask you to leave, and if you don't leave, we throw your ass out. This was ensure the safety of other con-goers and the safety of the bands' equipment.
So this winner of a human being first lets someone climb on his shoulders--one of the team asks him to stop, as it is unsafe. He, of course, begins to cuss D out, which does not please D, so D and B physically remove the guy from Shitter's shoulders. Next, during the second band, he snatches the mic out of the singer's hands, off the stage, and starts screaming into it. Another round of expletives goes by, with the team getting the mic back to the singer and telling the guy that if he fucked up again, they'd throw him out and turn him over the main con security, who would probably pull his badge.
Third band. He starts crowd surfing. Another no-no, as, once again, it puts other con-goers in danger. So D and B, who had a few inches on nearly all of the people there, get under the guy, pick him up out of every else's reach, and carry him out of the crowd. They tell him he needs to come with them. He refuses. So the next thing I see is D, B, and M shoving this guy, kicking and screaming through the door and setting him on the ground in front of me. And then I smell it. The horrible stench that won't go away when someone has shat themselves. I also notice the guy's eyes are bloodshot red and he's babbling to himself. Great, he's on something, too.
D begins to explain to main con security what was going on, why they brought the guy out. And in half a second flat, as D turns his back, the guy rolls to his feet and his back through the door (I tried to grab him, but if you've ever seen someone fucked up on a cocktail of god knows what take off running, you'd know they're faster than the average man--I lost some fingernails when I got part of his shirt). My guys and the main con guys that were there give chase, bring him back out, and--damnit if the guy hasn't pissed his pants, too. As it turned out, he didn't even have a badge, one of his stupid buddies had snuck him in by giving him his own badge.
He seemed to have quite a following of anti-social immature little asshole friends, who went around the next day making threats about crashing the next concert but who, of course, never did anything.
Sigh.
But the gem! Pants Shitter McGee, who decided that he was above security because he apparently "knew the bands!" and who was obviously on something. We were doing a three strike system: warn you once, warn you twice, then we ask you to leave, and if you don't leave, we throw your ass out. This was ensure the safety of other con-goers and the safety of the bands' equipment.
So this winner of a human being first lets someone climb on his shoulders--one of the team asks him to stop, as it is unsafe. He, of course, begins to cuss D out, which does not please D, so D and B physically remove the guy from Shitter's shoulders. Next, during the second band, he snatches the mic out of the singer's hands, off the stage, and starts screaming into it. Another round of expletives goes by, with the team getting the mic back to the singer and telling the guy that if he fucked up again, they'd throw him out and turn him over the main con security, who would probably pull his badge.
Third band. He starts crowd surfing. Another no-no, as, once again, it puts other con-goers in danger. So D and B, who had a few inches on nearly all of the people there, get under the guy, pick him up out of every else's reach, and carry him out of the crowd. They tell him he needs to come with them. He refuses. So the next thing I see is D, B, and M shoving this guy, kicking and screaming through the door and setting him on the ground in front of me. And then I smell it. The horrible stench that won't go away when someone has shat themselves. I also notice the guy's eyes are bloodshot red and he's babbling to himself. Great, he's on something, too.
D begins to explain to main con security what was going on, why they brought the guy out. And in half a second flat, as D turns his back, the guy rolls to his feet and his back through the door (I tried to grab him, but if you've ever seen someone fucked up on a cocktail of god knows what take off running, you'd know they're faster than the average man--I lost some fingernails when I got part of his shirt). My guys and the main con guys that were there give chase, bring him back out, and--damnit if the guy hasn't pissed his pants, too. As it turned out, he didn't even have a badge, one of his stupid buddies had snuck him in by giving him his own badge.
He seemed to have quite a following of anti-social immature little asshole friends, who went around the next day making threats about crashing the next concert but who, of course, never did anything.
Sigh.
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