Little Robot in a Giant City

Last week, I went to the New York Department of Labor office nearest to me. While I was there, something both terrifying and shameful happened. I am going to share that today in the hope that my readers will learn from it. I was looking for help finding work. This story is not about that. While I was there, there were a few tables from other community support organizations, and one of them was a representative from Empire Blue Cross Blue Shield. She was there to help people enroll in insurance through the marketplace, as, for the moment, it can still be done. This story is not about her, either. It’s about the man talking to her as I filled out my DOL services application and waited for a counselor. It’s also about me and the people sitting around me as we overheard this man speak.

The man was white and older, probably over fifty, wearing glasses. He had on some slacks and a pale button-up shirt. No tie. Over one arm, he had slung his coat and, in that same hand, he held a small but long shopping bag—the kind I see a lot in New York when purchasing clothes or given to you anywhere else when you buy something that’s a little on the heavy side. The Empire representative sat against a wall that faced the street and was mostly made of tall windows, her table covered in various pamphlets. The man stood on the far side of the table.

My girlfriend and I sat almost directly next to her. Around us sat various people sitting in a boxy, claustrophobic arrangement of old chairs, the kind with plastic forms bolted onto a frame of simple metal cylinders, the kind that has been in every public-service building since the late 80s. I found I often to move so someone had the room to slide down our row for a seat. At the right edge of the chairs Was placed a large desk and behind that desk, there sat an older woman with glasses, dark skin and greying hair. She alternated her attention between staring around the room and staring at her phone. On the breast of her sweater sat a badge that clearly read “SECURITY” as well as the name of the security company. This is the setting as the events unfolded, slight as they were.

The man began to properly argue with the Empire rep. Their voices hadn’t registered as such for some time, but he began to raise his voice. A couple of key phrases I remember are, “Please, please, don’t interrupt me again…” and, “I’m begging you. I’m begging you to let me finish…” As he became louder, everyone sitting in the room could hear him, of course, and we could hear more questions about “why” this or that or, “what I am supposed to do about” this or that. The rep tried to help him, and she tried to calm him down, but he had reached a point where all he seemed to really want was to rant. Then he said it, and I will not forget these words for a while. He said, “I’m ready to kill someone.”

That drew my attention. I looked to the security guard. She was engrossed in whatever images or text came through the surface of her phone. I stared at him for a while in disbelief and a bit of fear. I really have no idea what he said after that. He rambled on for a bit before he went to use the restroom which was only 10 feet or behind him. He goes in there and stays in there for several minutes, maybe 10-15.

The rep stood up and paced, and she started talking to the security guard, who seemed completely oblivious to the man’s words. Indeed, she seemed like she was the only one who had not heard what he said. She implored the guard to help her, to do something. The guard did no less than nothing but implore the Empire representative to call the police herself. She seemed unsure of what she should (the rep). She was without a doubt to my eyes, beside herself with fear, anxiety, and disbelief at what just happened. I was also in disbelief—that the one person in the room with the word, “SECURITY” on her chest was refusing to do anything to protect the people she was, presumably, charged to protect. I mean, my God just call 911. You already have the damn phone in your hands!

Obviously, that was the terrifying part. This is the shameful part. In this room waited 13-15 people. Many had appointments. Some were waiting to see a counselor without appointment, like me. We all were distraught. Two or Three people actually left the room while the man was still in the bathroom. No one else called 911 either, nor a non-emergency police number. Not even me, and let’s just say that I really do know better.

For the friends and family reading this, know that everything is fine. The man came out of the bathroom and left. He walked over to the elevator and mashed the button several times before it finally opened and took him away. He said nothing on his out.

Meanwhile, discussion over what to do continues in the waiting room. One woman spoke and said, to the security guard after the guard, again said that the Empire rep should call the police, “You’re the security guard. Isn’t it your job to do that?” I could have bought that woman a gift for speaking up like that. Eventually, people are called. A larger male security guard returns from lunch while the man is in the bathroom, and he’s pulled in to the discussion.

After the man has already left, calls are made. A report is written in a binder. My girlfriend and I provide our contact info as we the nearest to the conversation, and we were willing to report on what we heard him say. There are mumblings about it until I finally get my chance to talk to a counselor. While he helps me, my girlfriend chats with the rep, and, after I’m done, we both chat with her a bit on the way out the door. We learn that the same man comes in and complains every single week.

The way I see it, everyone in that room got lucky. I don’t know that guy, but he said he was ready to kill someone, then walked into a bathroom for a long time with a bag in his hands. He would have had an open shot on us all right out of the door had he snapped been planning something. Someone should have called 911 right away. All of us should have. Maybe when we are not accustomed or exposed to these things in any meaningful way, you simply cannot easily believe that they are happening, and you fight it. That internal fight could cost you or someone else. I could ramble on and on about it, but as I learned that won’t help. You’re going to have to do something.