Putting the K back in Kwality since WAY back!

Last night when Palooka came in, he told me that he worked on the weekend too. Not at the Grey Cup, but guarding where the setup for the street party was going to be (Beatty Street, if you care. It's just outside where Gate A for the stadium is).

As is usual, guards who don't know each other use the usual icebreaker "Do you have a regular site?", and when he said where his was, one guy who worked there for a few weeks a couple of years ago said "Oh, that's a great site! The S/S (Barney) is easy to work with, and you can just sit in the cafeteria and watch tv!"

As Palooka is telling me this, he says he said "Whaaaaaaaaaaaaaat? There's tv in the cafeteria?"

I asked him if he's never noticed the two sets up on the wall, and he said that he had, but it's not like he's got a remote control for them. He's not about to set up a pyramid of tables and chairs to get up to turn them on, after all.

Note to self: hide the remote better. Yes, I know where it is, and I turn the hockey game on for the cleaners when they're in. Those buggers love hockey. Loooooooooooooooooove it.

The following night, he meets another guard who is also familiar with the site. This guy said to Palooka that he'd spoken to the cleaners and they told him that Barney would take the phone and go home and just sit around, and if he got an alarm call he'd boot his ass back to the site. Can you believe it?

Apparently this guy (he's Indian by the way, you'll see why that matters in just a few words) also felt that Barney is a racist. Nooooooooooooooooooooo! Say it isn't so!

Palooka finished off with a bit of a rant about DiceGimp.

It seems that DiceGimp is still complaining to anybody that won't actually shoo him away that Palooka is an informant for me. This apparently frosts his ass.

I'd like to point out the copious text on the blog with "DiceGimp" featured prominently. And that's just the stuff I put in because it's funny and/or exasperating. You haven't even heard the boring site-specific stuff that he does/doesn't do. So I hardly need Palooka to tell me anything.

Which he does, of course. Everybody does. I've got no lack of data coming in about all sorts of stuff.

Anyway, Palooka hadn't seen DiceGimp for most of the Sunday night/Monday morning shift, and then he saw him walking in the front door as Palooka happened to be passing.

"What brought you back here, I thought you were camping out somewhere else?"

"I got an alarm on the fourth floor."

And he disappeared into the elevator.

An hour or two later, Palooka is describing this to the female guard that's DiceGimp's partner, and she said "Yeah, he had an alarm on the couch!"

I couldn't tell if Palooka was amused or infuriated at the thought. A mix of the two, I'd judge.

Guess what? Canadians don't like private information handling being outsourced to countries with snoopy governments and a lack of concern about people's privacy. So one fella got himself a thirty-two foot credit card statement as a trophy. Check it out here.

Hmmmm. Keep the Daleks pure, or SEXTERMINATE?

Ow

All of you that ride a bike (stationary or otherwise) can laugh all you like.

My legs hurt. But more on that in a bit.

I met someone at the stadium that I did a single shift with back in the summer. I'd given him my email address, but he must have copied it badly or something since he said the emails he sent bounced. And he couldn't remember my name. Why is this a bad thing?

Because he's a Supervisor at a hospital (not the site I met him at) and when an opening for a regular full-time shift came up, he remembered me and figured I was his guy.

Alas, I was not to be found.

I spend the first part of my shift, right up until just before the halftime show started, patting down people for contraband. No biggie, but I wish I'd worn gloves since my hands started to stiffen up after the first half hour or so.

And by the way, Mr. I've Got a Swiss Army Knife But Don't Know If It's Allowed In So I'll Hide It On My Six Year Old Son Because He Won't Be Searched... you're an ass. What do you suppose was worse, that I had to search him, or that I found the knife on him in front of everybody?

It was a two inch blade - that's perfectly legal to carry. Dumbass.

Sorry about that, had to vent.

Gordon Campbell went through my gate. No, I didn't pat him down. Nor lift his wallet.

And as the lines backed up (at my gate, there were eight of us frisking), they finally told us to just let people in. How lame is that?

After a bit, they pulled some of us off of the gates to go inside and stand on the sides of the field to prevent people from swarming. Trying to walk after standing in place for hours and doing knee bends to pat down legs was... odd.

I was sure I was going to collapse as my legs didn't want to take any weight, and a quick look around at my group showed that most of them were in similar distress. Ah well, walk it off.

Stationed on the field, I spent the halftime show and the rest of the game with my back firmly to the field. I'm vaguely aware there was some football being played in the vicinity. I also missed The Black Eyed Peas doing their thing, although enough sonic detonation went through my head that I'll still be saying "eh?" come Christmastime.

Nobody jumped down in my area, although one did ninety degrees counterclockwise to me. He was in a semi-unwatched area and dropped down from the stands and was hopping the advertisement wall when the guard saw him. And he flattened him. The cops cuffed the guy about five seconds later and he was not to be seen again.

Also, at the end the players' families started lowering each other down off the stands which gave everybody else the same idea. Thanks guys. Next time take the stairs and flash your wristbands.

I don't mind a shift where I'm on my feet the whole time. But the sore legs from bending and the sore back from standing stationary and looking up was a rotten combo. Just another reason to stretch, I suppose.

Oh, and if you happen to see about fifty cheerleaders running by a security guy so close that he gets smacked by a series of pompoms... that was me.

Beep

I just came back from the mall.

I was going to see a movie, but the incredibly long line for Harry Potter deterred me.

It should have come as no surprise as the mall was packed, presumably for those who think Christmas shopping is something you do ahead of time.

I did, however, manage to buy a book: HOW TO SURVIVE A ROBOT UPRISING - Tips On Defending Yourself Against the Coming Rebellion.

When I went up to the cash desk to pay for it, I said "It's always good to be prepared."

The woman smiled in the vague "I'm responding, but not paying attention" form that's so popular amongst store clerks, and then read the title on the book. She cracked up and thought it was the funniest thing she'd ever seen, so she said.

As she was ringing it up, she said "So when the revolution comes, you may be the only one of us who survives. But you should really teach your skills to one woman."

"If that's an invitation, write your number on the receipt." I replied.

"No... no," she laughed, "that's okay." I shrugged.

Then as I was going, she said "Mind you, if you're going to die otherwise, why not put out?"

I love people who talk like that. Even though she didn't give me her number and thus would rather die by robot oppression than jump on 'lil bouncy. :(

Most amusing allusion I've read in a long time (not from the book I mention above):

"Think of it this way: you're a diner at a Chinese buffet, all you can eat. You're making your leisurely way past the steam trays, spearing a wonton here and an egg roll there, maybe deciding the Triple Happiness Beef looks a little sketchy, when suddenly General Tso's Chicken lunges out and blows your face off with a shotgun."

Dr. Galen Kaufman, a professor of neuroscience, is described as "the father of the carbonated pear."

Buffalo Kisser's replacement. Hmmmm.

Let's get appearance out of the way first:

If you were to cross the guy from Weezer (at the right)
















with the South Park goth kid that's always shrugging his forelock out of the way














you'd pretty much have this guy bang on. Complete with forelock shrug.

Beyond that, he's a friend of DiceGimp which is a strike against him, but he does seem to do fairly regular patrols, which is an astonishing thing to see. Of course, this is only week one for him. We'll see if that continues.

And he reminds me of some conniving character from some movie, but I'll be buggered if I can remember the source. Guy was a weasel, anyway.

I'm getting... reports... rather than complaints, that Palooka spends the majority of his time with his arms folded over people's cubicle walls talking to them during his shift.

He claims that he's a "Hello; how are you; got to go" conversationalist, but I'm hearing from far too many people that he sucks up to a half hour of their time and doesn't get hints that it's time to leave. And he flirts with the guard that had the harassment problems with Buffalo Kisser.

Is there nothing that goes right with people on this damned site?!

The cleaners had to do a bunch of extra work the other day, because the owners of the site were coming by for a look. One of them (the cleaners, not the owners) informed me that his balls were sweating.

Testicle Humidity Status: verified

Last night, on the SkyTrain, I heard some guy with just the tiniest hint of a drunken slur in his voice asking a woman for directions to a particular station. After she clearly got uncomfortable, I engaged the guy and asked where he was going. He had taken the wrong train (but it's the train I always take!) and ended up on the wrong line. So I told him where to go to get to where he needed to be.

He moaned and complained about going back and forth, and at every stop demanded to know if that was where he should get off. He also wanted to know where he could go pee.

Finally, one stop away from where he had to go (and two from mine), he just went in the back of the train. Asshole.

So at his stop he hops off and heads down the stairs to get to the other side of the platform. What a pity some jerk cough*pointstoself*cough held the doors and told a transit cop about the nine proof lake running down the aisle of the train. A quick radio across the platform to another transit cop and that guy gets to take a taxi, and probably pay a fine.

Go in someone else's car, not mine!

I got tapped to work this weekend, and since I managed to get a higher rate for both Sunday (expected - everybody who works it gets higher pay) and Saturday (unexpected, but I held out and they were desparate), but then didn't end up working Saturday.

Which is good, because working security at a Grey Cup parade marshalled by Pamela Anderson isn't my idea of fun.

I will be at the Grey Cup on Sunday though. Look for me during the fourth quarter when security apparently has to take to the field and make a wall so that nobody with three plus litres of beer inspired enthusiasm rushes the field. I wonder if I get extra pay if there's a riot?

I'll be the one in the yellow jacket.

Why are you sleeping in tomorrow's world? Hey, playgirl!

I'm more significant than you. I must be - everywhere I go, everwhere I look... I see my influence all around me.

Mind you, I live in a bubble the limits of which is my own perception of things. Everything I see I see through my eyes, with my preconceptions.

You can't blame me for being a little egocentric.

I'm not a superstitious person, not really. Aside from a pervasive suspicion that anybody will knowingly screw over whomever is closest to them given the right circumstances, and a tiny secret hope that integrity can come from surprising places, things are as they are. Without all the symbolism.

So when I managed to spend all of last Saturday at home and didn't get anything done that I'd planned to, I decided at 2200+ to go to the grocery store. And since I'd not even had a shower yet and was feeling like I needed one, I did that too.

This is not the weird part.

I opened up the door to the balcony pre-shower in anticipation of great gouts of steam. I looked out into the cold, clear, mostly deserted night without really noticing anything.

Shower ensued. Ten minutes, tops.

Toweling off and getting dressed to get food, I glanced out the open door at the incredibly thick fog that wrapped the street and made a thin presence of light the tops of the nearby buildings. Even the nearest streetlights were dimmed dandelion puffs of colour in this miasmic soup.

"Wow, that shower must have been hotter than I thought." was the first thing I thought.

Egocentric, as I said.

Upon reaching the street and starting to head towards the food dispensary, I inhaled a big lungful of what indeed seemed to be steam and watched as eddies swirled about the few lights bright enough to show such detail. Even the sounds I could hear had an odd, bathroom echo quality to them.

See? Far reaching significance in everything that I do. ;)

What way do you want it? I want it that way. I apologise profusely.

Buffalo Kisser is no more! Let me explain:

After the door-pounder was removed from the site (detailed here if you've forgotten and/or interested), they put on a woman that looked, from a distance and in the dark, an awful lot like Indian Guy. A round face and a ridiculous hat is what made me think that.

Over the course of the month she's been on, working the same shift I used to (technically, the same shift DiceGimp used to), she's been harassed by both DiceGimp and Buffalo Kisser. Possibly because neither of them have ever had any relationship with a woman that didn't have staples in her navel.

Buffalo Kisser has been worse, though. He would constantly touch her (arms around her mostly), and saying she should kiss him and such. The conversations were much worse.

Other times, he'd be treating her like a less valuable lifeform - not answering the radio when she'd call him or throwing the radio and keys at her when he wanted to go take a nap. Lots of things like that.

Interestingly, both Buffalo Kisser and DiceGimp would get jealous if she spent any time talking to Palooka. They're both ignoring him, and they chew her out once they get her alone after she talks to him.

It was very stressful for her, and she finally decided that despite liking the site and how convenient it was for her to get there, she didn't want to have to deal with all of the nonsense anymore. So she spoke to a manager or three.

Remember the account manager that I spoke to about the door-pounder? The one whom I found so helpful?

He told her that they'd received positive feedback about her on the site and that they didn't want to lose her. So if she could hang on for a couple of days, he'd send out a couple of managers to talk to everybody involved.

Which they did.

The weekend came.

Buffalo Kisser and this woman worked together one more night.

And that'll be the last time he's heard from on the site again.

Not a real post

But this caught me at the right time, so I'm sharing it:

U.S. Dollar Slips Against Canadian Acorn
November 9, 2005

NEW YORK-The U.S. dollar touched a one-month low against the Canadian acorn Monday, continuing a downward trend that began in 2004 with the announcement of the imminent retirement of Federal Reserve Chairman Alan Greenspan and increasing inflation worries among investors.

At the close of trading Monday, the Canadian acorn bought USD $1.1660, up from $1.1593 Friday.


Although the value of the U.S. dollar has fallen steadily against the Lithuanian nail and the Estonian crab apple since early this year, many financial experts had predicted that it would hold its own against the acorn.

"The inedible dollar simply does not offer the same long-term security or short-term benefits as the acorn," said James Aucker of the Commodity Futures Tradin Commission. "It is even falling against the Costa Rican pocket, the Latvian thimble, and the German Kinder Surprise Egg, which combines delicious chocolate with a fun, easy-to-assemble toy."

The acorn, a symbol of Canadian lumber futures, is a stable commodity rich in calcium, phosphorus, potassium, and niacin. Patient investors who bury their holdings generally see their investments increased tenfold in the form of great oaks that live for hundreds of years and provide a rich return in acorns.

In comparison to the acorn, the dollar is volatile, its value dependent on such relative intangibles as the unpredictable U.S. stock market. According to Aucker, irresponsible domestic trading has hurt the dollar's image in the foreign exchange market.

"The U.S. dollar is often traded for the lottery ticket, an even more worthless paper investment whose chances for any monetary return at all is close to zero," Aucker said. "This frivolous spending, combined with the fact that the trade deficit has skyrocketed with the abandonment of the U.S. export industry, has devalued the dollar in the eyes of the foreign investor."

Greenspand, however, defended the strength of the dollar, saying the acorn will adjust during the fall foraging months.

"When millions of ripe acorns fall from the trees, we'll see their fvalue decline sharply," Greenspan said. "It will depreciate even more when squirrels begin hibernating, flooding the supply and triggering possible inflation."

Morningstar investment adviser Kimberly Levine dissuaded investors from taking part in the "acorn bubble."

"Though it seems reliable, the world acorn capital fluctuates with the turn of every new fiscal season," Levine said. "And besides, acorns taste terrible, even after they're roasted."

Despite the dollar's ongoing depreciation, it has still made significant gains on the Congolese human life, which after late trading dropped to U.S. $1.2826.

"Don't call me Little Bastard, call me Snake."

Met the client, she asked if there was any progress in the machinations of Cookie Monster, and that was about all she wanted to know from me.

I called Cookie Monster on Friday, and instead of it between me and some other guy for top spot at the site (like he said the last time I talked to him) and just came down with "there's no need for a supervisor position at that location, and since there's no problems there, I'm concentrating on other places".

Huh.

He also said that he was surprised to know that the client was in town and was taken aback that she hadn't called him. Despite that, he said that he already had it on his schedule to call her on Monday (today), so he'll tee up with her then.

If that isn't a crock of shit, I don't know what is. It's been five months since she took over the liason duties, and he's never spoken to her except when she called up to have Barney removed.

After finishing that call with Cookie Monster, I realized that if the site doesn't need a supervisor, then I don't need to be called all damn week at all hours of the night because Palooka wants to tell me about his key not working, his key suddenly working, escorting a lady to her car, remembering a detail of a conversation we had hours previously, et cetera. So I pulled my number out of the site phone. If someone there needs help, they can call Operations.

In addition to that, if there's a problem at the site, I'm not going to issue any more instructions to deal with the matter. If it builds up and up, let the client and my boss deal with each other. After all, if it doesn't happen on my shift it's not my responsibility, is it?

And all weekend, my phone didn't ring from the site. Ah, bliss!

I went and saw Mirrormask on the weekend. I can't speak for anybody else, but I loved it. It did for me what Labyrinth and The Dark Crystal did for me the first time I saw them, as a kid. Just a coincidence that the Jim Henson company was involved in all three, I'm sure. ;)

And Fictional, if you're reading this, it's exactly what you'd get if you went astral in Mage.

Normally I'm fairly irritated by logic I can't see, even more so when there isn't any but people pretend there is. But in this, since I know that Helena is the centre of everything, it negated that inclination of mine towards irritation. That was good.

Now, I've got a psychological tic. I hear a snatch of song and it gets stuck in my head. So I search it out and listen to it several dozen times to exorcise it from background track in my mind. And I heard such a song while I was waiting for Mirrormask to start.

It was Popular, by Kristin Chenoweth as sung in Wicked. Thank TPTB (The Powers That Be) for the internet and the ability to search via lyrics.

I should add that I hate musicals. Bah.

Sometimes, "You're doing the right thing" is a lot like being asked, "And how large would you like the `WELCOME' tattoo on your back?"

Friday: Buffalo Kisser phoned me on the site phone to tell me that there was someone in the foyer that needed my help. I was in a meeting at the time, but he hung up immediately after saying that so I went out.

Buffalo Kisser was still standing there with the person, whom I didn't know. I approached and asked the person how I could help him.

It turns out that he was doing a job for Telus (telco) in one of the adjacent buildings, but one of the keys that he needs wasn't in his job lockbox. There was, however, a note in the lockbox to the effect that if he came over to my building and went to Evil Property Manager's office, they'd have a key.

You'll note that Evil Property Manager is the client for Buffalo Kisser's company, not mine.

So I told the guy that he already had the guard that he needed (ha!), but that EPM's office was closed and this guard didn't have the keys for it, so he'll have to come back tomorrow morning.

Buffalo Kisser is an idiot. Maybe next he can call me to help rescue some lady's kitty from a tree two towns over.

Monday: I was on the SkyTrain, heading home from work. I've got about ten stops before I get to my own, and by stop six there were only two of us on the entire train: myself and some dude puffing from his crack pipe.

Ah well, nothing to do with me.

Sadly, my stop is a terminus station that late at night, and so everybody has to get out there. Worse, they lock off the station, so you have to take the elevator down to the street, and this elevator clearly has something against gravity, as it takes close to two minutes to drop three stories.

The transit cops on the platform ask the guy if he was smoking on the train, but he said no.

So myself and the aforementioned cocaine afficionado are locked into the elderly elevator and down we go. He's got the whole cocaine psychosis thing going on, and says to me "They called me a madcap up on the platform."

I said, "What, the transit cops?"

He says "Yeah. Crackhead." while pointing to himself.

Then, and I shit you not, went over to the steel doors of the elevator and proceeded to beat his face (not his forehead, his face) against them for the remainer of the ride down, which was well over a minute.

WHAM! WHAM! WHAM! WHAM! WHAM! (blood started to flow) WHAM! WHAM!

As the elevator slowed (and you'd need precision instruments to figure out when that happens), he stopped that and started doing the pee pee dance in front of the doors, saying "Open. Open. Open..." while I looked at the butterfly of blood on the doors and all over his nose and cheekbones.

The doors finally opened, he slipped out as soon as they were wide enough to do so, and was immediately hailed by a couple of his crackhead buddies. They didn't comment on his bloody face. Go fig.

Tuesday: A couple of the women at the site were heading home just as I got on shift. They called me over, we exchanged pleasantries, and they said that there was a cake in one of the fridges that I was welcome to eat, or even take home if I wanted to.

Normally I'm a bit suspicious about unsealed food offered to me by people, but that's mostly because I would be the sort to make baking soda cookies, so I assume that others do that. I'm a prat.

But I did try it, and that was some good cake, although "cake" isn't exactly accurate. I couldn't quite nail what it was, but it obviously had fruit in it, and the sugar content was enough to make a hummingbird beg for insulin. Yeesh.

Wednesday: 1.5 of the elevators were screwed up. Yes, that's one point five. One just wouldn't work, so we locked it off. The other one worked fine for me, but I kept having people tell me that they were getting stuck in it and had to go from floor to floor before it would open. I even pried a few of them out of the elevator myself when I was near it. So I put some signs up: "Use this elevator at your own risk - some prying to open the doors may be necessary."

People seemed amused, but most took the stairs. Ah well, it's healthier for them anyway.

Thursday: Age of Empires 3. I've been playing the hell out of this game. What a good franchise, despite being a Microsoft (Ensemble) product.

Friday: Got paid. Got a raise. Far too little.

Saturday: Played Fictional Correspondant's game. We've actually completed the chapter/chronicle, and will be moving on to something else. Maybe we'll come back to this story sometime, who knows?

Fictional felt that it was somewhat anticlimactic, but I disagree.

I do have to say that if I'd known my character's odds against one of his foes were so good (50/50, according to Fictional during his playtesting), I'd have hunted that bastard down months ago and given him the hard goodbye.

But we got lots of good play out of it, so I'm just as glad I didn't. ;)

Sunday: I composed the witty one-liners I was going to use for the week. That's not to say that I originated them all - some of them I stole. However, my store is getting depleted, and these are some one what I ended up with:

"What's the collective noun for people that work in the banking industry? It's wunch. As in, `they're a wunch of bankers'."

[pretending to receive phone call] "What's that commissioner? Aladdin is going to magic carpet bomb the Middle East?"

"The problem isn't that I have an explosive temper. The problem is that I have too damn many targets."

See? I told you I was running out. :P

Monday: It was bothering me that the three other guards at my site were all making a point of writing on their reports that they were checking something in particular (after I asked them to a couple of months ago), but that there was no way I could verify that with the magnetic key system (that door is on a normal key). So I taped a SECURITY sheet to the door where you would sign and date when you checked it. I know, I'm just asking to be disappointed, but how I can fix problems if I'm don't find these things out?

Who remembers Polish Guy? Well, he came back to the site for a single graveyard shift, as a bike patrol guy. It was nice to see him, although he was pissed off that I was leaving just as he showed up. He didn't believe that I was on the afternoon shift until he saw my relief (Palooka) arrive. He asked if Evil Property Manager was still upstairs too. He hates him. ;)

Apparently he's been working in a bank (not as security) for $16/hour, and does security for extra money. But since the shift he was working at the site pays, as I happen to know, $9.75/hour, I find this somewhat unlikely. Who works all day, then works all night just for a low wage on the second job? He doesn't owe any money that he can't pay off with his normal job, unless he was a) lying about it or b) only part time.

Not that it matters to me. But how weird was it to see him again? Weird.

Apparently he didn't sleep during the shift, although he did make a point of telling Palooka that he can, in fact, sleep any place, any time. Good brag.

Going home from that, I saw the crackhead again. This time there were four of us in the elevator, and he didn't panel beat the door into submission. Instead, he had a full-on case of the junkie shuffle and appeared to be throwing fingers with himself. He was also apparently rolling his eyes for comic effect, but there was no joke and he might have just been trying to focus on the swirling dots in his retina.

His nose looks fine by the way, so I guess he didn't break it the previous week. I wonder if I'm now going to have an ongoing crackhead saga to report every Monday.

Tuesday: Palooka didn't sign that security sheet at the checkpoint, although he noted on his report that he checked the area twice. I knew I was going to be disappointed.

Palooka called me while I was on the train home to inform me that his key didn't work on a particular door. It was the door to a department that had a woman working in it, that I made a point of telling him about so he'd keep an eye on her. Mostly because if she has any problems, there's nobody else to find her. You know, if she falls or has a heart attack or something.

Anyway, he couldn't get in there. And he's getting more and more like DiceGimp on the phone. I heard in excruciating detail about how he tried to unlock the door, how he tried his left and right hand, twisting slow and twisting fast, while holding the handle and while not holding the handle.

When I finally got a word in edgewise, I told him to do the rest of his patrol and try again after that. I explained that it wasn't his key, it was the lock and was probably the temperature or humidity (both of which the building's environmental systems seem to have malfed on). I told him to try that door again frequently, since we want to make sure that lady was all right.

He expounded on that for a while, how he didn't like when he couldn't get into an area, blah blah blah.

I was on the phone with him for my entire train ride until I went into a tunnel and it killed the connection. Thank God.

Unfortunately, when I got out of the tunnel he called me back and went back to the detailed litany of key-operation. That went on for a solid fifteen minutes, which I know because I was only able to cut it off when the bus came.

Then, after I got home, he called again but immediately forgot why. After hemming and hawing for a while, he remembered. Get this: I had mentioned to him that the client was coming in on Wednesday. He'd become a bit nervous and I told him to just do whatever it was that he normally did in the mornings, since if she had any criticisms they'd have already been decided and would be dumped on me, if anybody.

Well, I guess he was thinking about that and wondered if he should have someone drop off his shaving kit in the morning so he wouldn't look so scruffy.

Sigh.

He didn't look scruffy when I left him, so I told him that wasn't necessary. It was 0230 when I finally got him off the phone, and he closed with "If I think of anything else, I'll call you."

I bet his mom held his hand while crossing the street at a late age.