Trevor Bailey: Security

To most, he is the silent type, and on this particular day, in his solitary poll on my insignificance, he let the eyes have it. And what eyes they were: rivet-like, and close together on an anvil-shaped face; steely eyes that served his ego by determining who’s in and who’s out.

And “out” I certainly was in a more immediate sense. Entrance to our suite of offices is by swipe pass, the pad for which lies to the right of thick glass double doors, and I was searching suit pockets for my card when he strode past on the other side. His pace was typically fast, for everything about the man chorused “ambition”.

When I saw him within a yard of me I stopped looking for my pass to let my arms hang submissively by my body, confident that office etiquette would prevail to see him pause in his career just long enough to turn the door handle and let me in. But his pace never altered, and the only recognition of my presence was a slight swivel to the right of the anvil to let our eyes…