The receptionist was hidden behind a glass window in the wall. I knocked on the window. She slid one side to open so we could speak. She was in her twenties, attentively dressed, and moderately good looking. She did not smile.
"Yes?"
I've lived here for ten years and never seen anyone in the office smile or greet anyone with courtesy like Good morning or even Hello.
"Is Janine available? I want to talk to her about security after Helen's death."
"I'll have to take you across." She slid the window closed. She grabbed a set of keys out of a drawer and and came through the office door into the entry way. She turned to lock the office door. Without a word she led me across the hallway into the billiard room. She knocked on a door at the far end.
"Yes?" They all seemed to talk to each other like that.
"Mr. McLean is here."
The secretary opened the door into a cave and left with her keys jingling.
No windows. It looked as though two storage closets had been emptied to make an office space. One palm frond relief hung on the wall. A simple round table and chairs filled one end of the office. The desk was wide with a return that reached into the corner of the far wall. Next to me was a large video screen with images of the community center from a number of security cameras. Janine Smythe sat behind the desk absorbed in some paperwork. She didn't look up.
"How can I help you?" A culture of self-importance prevailed here.
"Good morning. Since the renovation improvements," I was disgusted with my flattery since the entire place looked worse than it did before--no style, no elegance, the trees were gone replaced with freeway plantings, "you've implemented further security."
She finally looked up. Security is always important to the personal safety of those who live fear-based lives.
"I see the security screen here." I gestured next to my shoulder. "I don't see any views of the grounds or the streets where the residents live. Is this system in place only for the community center?"
"We have the security of everyone here in mind. Mike Leeland does security patrol at night. The residents, of course, are responsible for the security of their own dwellings."
"I see. So there wouldn't be any record of who was on Dunbar Street or what vehicles came in the gate last Tuesday, the day Mrs. Plumb died?"
She looked a bit perplexed as though just realizing that security might hold a purpose other than her own personal safety. "No. We are not responsible for who comes to visit the residents. They open the gate through the telephone response."
"Yes?"
I've lived here for ten years and never seen anyone in the office smile or greet anyone with courtesy like Good morning or even Hello.
"Is Janine available? I want to talk to her about security after Helen's death."
"I'll have to take you across." She slid the window closed. She grabbed a set of keys out of a drawer and and came through the office door into the entry way. She turned to lock the office door. Without a word she led me across the hallway into the billiard room. She knocked on a door at the far end.
"Yes?" They all seemed to talk to each other like that.
"Mr. McLean is here."
The secretary opened the door into a cave and left with her keys jingling.
No windows. It looked as though two storage closets had been emptied to make an office space. One palm frond relief hung on the wall. A simple round table and chairs filled one end of the office. The desk was wide with a return that reached into the corner of the far wall. Next to me was a large video screen with images of the community center from a number of security cameras. Janine Smythe sat behind the desk absorbed in some paperwork. She didn't look up.
"How can I help you?" A culture of self-importance prevailed here.
"Good morning. Since the renovation improvements," I was disgusted with my flattery since the entire place looked worse than it did before--no style, no elegance, the trees were gone replaced with freeway plantings, "you've implemented further security."
She finally looked up. Security is always important to the personal safety of those who live fear-based lives.
"I see the security screen here." I gestured next to my shoulder. "I don't see any views of the grounds or the streets where the residents live. Is this system in place only for the community center?"
"We have the security of everyone here in mind. Mike Leeland does security patrol at night. The residents, of course, are responsible for the security of their own dwellings."
"I see. So there wouldn't be any record of who was on Dunbar Street or what vehicles came in the gate last Tuesday, the day Mrs. Plumb died?"
She looked a bit perplexed as though just realizing that security might hold a purpose other than her own personal safety. "No. We are not responsible for who comes to visit the residents. They open the gate through the telephone response."
