Vice Principal UnOfficed

Security Guards: Badges, Blusters & Bad Decisions

• Lisa Hill • Season 1 • Episode 19

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Join host Lisa Hill on Vice Principal UnOfficed as she takes a hilarious dive into stories about school security guards — the whistle-blowing, rule-enforcing, over-radio-communicating crew that keeps schools safe-ish. From hallway power trips to badge-wielding blunders, this episode proves that when it comes to keeping order, sometimes the biggest disruption comes from the one wearing the badge. 

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Get started today at Wheeze Tease.com. On this episode of Vice Principal in Office, join me, your host, Lisa Hill, as I dive into some hilarious stories about school security guards, the whistleblowing, rule-enforcing, over-radio communicating crew that keeps schools safish. From hallway power trips to badge wielding blunders, this episode proves that when it comes to keeping order, sometimes the biggest disruptions come from the ones wearing the badge. So listen in and get laughing and learning. Attention students, I mean listeners, the stories in this podcast are told from the host's personal and farcical point of view. All names and identifiers have been omitted or altered to protect identities. Now get to class and enjoy the show. Hello folks, and welcome back to Vice Principal on Office. Now that homecoming and parent-teacher conferences are behind us, it feels like the school year's finally running full speed ahead. And yes, thank God the countdown to Thanksgiving is officially underway. I know, I know. Some people tell me I'm wishing my life away when I start marking days off the calendar. But I don't see it that way. I've always loved tracking time towards something fun. It's the kid in me who gets excited for what's next. I blame that habit on my kindergarten teacher, Miss Lee. Oh Miss Lee. She was a gentle and soft-spoken woman who somehow managed to control a room full of five-year-olds who couldn't open milk cartons or resist tasting paste mid-art project. Miss Lee was magic. She once had us make a paper chain to count down the days until winter break. Every morning all the kindergartners would gather around and we'd tear off a link and celebrate like it was Christmas morning. I'm pretty sure Miss Lee started that tradition more for her own sanity than ours. But for me, it stuck. I've been keeping little countdowns ever since. Sometimes for the things I want to happen, and sometimes for things I just need to end. Like the time my sister and I made a paper chain for a visit from our least favorite aunt, Aunt Nubbins. She got the nickname because she was missing a few fingertips and looked a bit like Large Marge from the movie Pee Wee's Big Adventure. You remember that movie? Pee-wee's wild ride to find his stolen bike, the police were useless, and toward the end he's chased by security guards who never quite catch him. Strange movie, but at least it had a happy ending. Anyway, back to Aunt Nubbins. Aunt Nubbins looked like an angry school bus driver who was fueled by caffeine and cigarettes. Her gray hair was electrified like she just stuck a fork in an electrical socket for fun. And her evil grin said, I know where the bodies are buried, and I probably made them cookies first. I'm guessing that even a school security guard would likely have stepped back when Aunt Nubbins pulled into the driveway. In fact, her presence was so unsettling that she once made my mom, yes, Nana, my co-host, screech an F bomb right in front of us kids. True story. Lisa Anne. It's true, mom. You dropped an F bomb, and your children actually made a paper chain countdown and hid it in the closet. Every day we'd sneak in, tear off a link, and quietly celebrate getting one day closer until Aunt Nubbins headed home. When we hit that last chain, it felt like a Christmas morning. Hold on. Yes, I've seemed to be off track, but I promise there's a point. I've used countdowns for just about everything. My first retirement, my second retirement, and my almost third retirement. And as this third retirement draws near, I've realized something. The school district I work for doesn't have a single break between Labor Day and Thanksgiving. Not one. That's eighty-seven straight days of teaching, supervising, and surviving teenagers. For anyone who's never worked in a school, let me tell you, eighty-seven days without a break feels like dog ears. So of course I have a countdown, because by the end, kids will be bouncing off walls, staff will be dropping like flies, and vice principals and security guards will just be holding on for dear life. Which is why I called this episode security guards, badges, blusters, and bad decisions. Of course, I really wanted to call this episode Holy Shit, people, only district office level staff would think that creating a school calendar without an end in sight which results in more student meltdowns, teacher breakdowns, and bad decisions about safety was a good idea. Oh Lisa. Sorry again, Mom, but it's true. When schools go too long without a break, things start to unravel. Students get restless, teachers get worn thin, and the whole idea of school safety starts to look more like school chaos with a walkie-talkie. And let's be honest, when people are tired, they don't just make mistakes, they make headlines. And that's where today's stories come in. Tales from the front lines of school security. Or depending on how you look at it, lack thereof. Don't believe me? Let me give you an example. When the Columbine school shooting occurred, everything in education shifted. Overnight, schools that once felt warm and predictable suddenly felt vulnerable, and districts across the country had to rethink safety from the ground up. Before that, one district I worked in had nothing. No guide, no plan, no protocol. Parents assumed we could handle a crisis. The truth was we were winging it and hoping for the best. In the aftermath, the district finally got serious. Somehow I was tapped to write the district safety manual. Did I have formal training? Nope. But my dad had been a safety director for a gas company, so maybe they figured it was hereditary. He wouldn't have been qualified for a school safety manual either, but I did the job. And I'll admit I learned a lot. And I learned one big thing. No matter how solid your plan looks on paper, there's always one security guard who will find a way to mess it up. Of course, the school district I work for wasn't the only public school scrambling to tighten their security protocols. Schools across the country went full throttle with safety. Bulletproof class, locked exits, surveillance cameras, security guards, you name it. Everyone was trying to make schools feel safer. Even if sometimes their efforts looked more like overcorrection than protection. One district I work for decided the big solution was staff badges. Now, don't get me wrong, I'm all for school safety and badges do make sense. They work in hospitals, corporations, and just about every business across the country. But when it comes to schools, timing is everything. You just can't roll out a new initiative in the middle of a semester and expect people to jump on board. If you don't start an initiative at the beginning of the year, or at least a new quarter or semester, it's doomed before it begins. So naturally, this badge initiative kicked off on some random Tuesday in October and fizzled out two weeks later. Not for lack of effort, though. One district leader even showed up at schools carrying a wicker basket full of chocolate bars, rewarding anyone who actually wore their school badge. A sweet gesture, sure. But every teacher I knew agreed that if you want real compliance, you're gonna need something a hell of a lot stronger than a Hershey's bar. Around that same time, district leaders everywhere were also debating what additional staff would keep schools the most secure. Some schools wanted uniformed police officers patrolling hallways. Others thought hiring private security companies was the answer. From my experience, the best option has always been school resource officers, or as we call them in education, SROs. Gotta love those acronyms. Anyway, SROs are trained law enforcement officers who understand both kids and campuses, and they've mastered the delicate art of diffusing drama before it turns into a total disaster. Personally, I'd rather have someone who knows the penal code and how to calm down a ninth grader sobbing over a confiscated vape pen than someone who earned their security credentials from an online course that came with a printable certificate. Just saying. Which leads me to hire security guards. I've worked with a lot of security guards over the years, and honestly, they've come and gone so fast I sometimes felt like Dorothy and Wizard of Oz. You know the scene. She's with the scarecrow and says, My people come and go so quickly here. That pretty much sums up my experience trying to keep a security guard on staff in a school. I've seen security guards get fired for watching porn on their school laptops instead of, you know, the security cameras, which they were actually supposed to monitor. I've seen others show up drunk, convinced that it was a perfectly fine way to start the day. And maybe it is, but just not at school. And I once had a security officer try a chokehold on a student who is slightly out of control instead of using proper restraint procedures we were all trained on. We called that guy Cletus, and he was gone by the end of the day. Oh, and let's not forget the security guard who thought campus safety meant flirting their way through the staff lounge. Like Dorothy said, My security guards come and go so quickly around a school. Of course, there were those security guards who managed to stick it out long enough to provide some truly unforgettable entertainment. Like the security guard who decided, completely on his own, that our gravel parking lot needed painted lines. Apparently, the students weren't parking correctly, so he took it upon himself to fix the problem. Now let me remind you, this was a gravel parking lot. Gravel. No pavement, no asphalt, just dust, rocks, and wishful thinking. But that didn't stop the security guard. He somehow found some spray paint, still not sure where, and went to work like he was creating the next great masterpiece of modern art. And the best part, he didn't even wait for the parking lot to clear of cars. Cars were still parked in the lot as he spray painted around them. There were half-lines, squiggles, and one space that looked like it was made for a motorcycle doing yoga. Anyway, when he was done, he decided the job needed a little flare. So, he grabbed some string and chunks of wood from the grassy area by the parking lot, probably left over from nature, and used them to decorate his new masterpiece. It looked like a cross between a parking lot and a fourth grade science fair project. No one knew whether to be impressed or concerned. I'm going with mostly concerned, because we had paint splatters, confused students, and a new school motto that read, We may be looking for a new security guard. And of course, because there's always more, this was the same guy who left the school golf cart parked out in front of the school overnight. I found the cart sitting there at 7.15 the next morning, keys still in the ignition. Like a drive-thru welcome wagon. Honestly, I was shocked that a raccoon, or worse yet a teacher, didn't take it for a test spin. You know, just when I thought I'd seen it all, something new always managed to top the list. You'd think after years in school administration, nothing about security could surprise me. But somehow, it always did. Case in point, the time I discovered that when the district office shut down for breaks or holidays, our very own security team forgot one tiny detail, the door timers. When those timers shut off, every exterior door in the building was unlocked. Every single one. So while the district office powered down for vacation, my school building was sitting wide open like a 24-hour convenience store. And of course, this was the same security team that wouldn't grant a building permission to control their own doors. Because why make it easy to actually secure a school? I just shook my head and thought, well, at least the homeless have a warm place to go. Now, after the door timer fiasco, I'd figured the worst of our security slip-ups were done. I mean, how do you top accidentally unlocking every door in the building during a district shutdown? But as it turns out, school security always finds new ways to surprise me, and the very next incident came courtesy of a man who could have walked straight out of National Lampoon's Christmas vacation. One morning, I got a knock on my office door from the security guard asking if we happened to have an extra key. He was tall, older, and gave off a total cousin Eddie energy vibe. You know, rumpled coat, clueless grin, the whole package. When I asked what key he was talking about, he explained that the security alarm had gone off around 2 a.m. So he used a master key to get into the building to make sure everything was okay. Luckily, he didn't find anything out of the ordinary. Still, he decided to come back at around 8 a.m. just to double check that we were still fine. I told him everything in the school was perfectly normal and asked why he even needed a master key after the fact. That's when he casually mentioned, oh yeah, uh the master key got stuck in the lock in the front door around 2 a.m. I then asked if he managed to get the master key out of the lock before leaving at 2 in the morning. He swore he had. But after a few more minutes of questioning, dear old cousin Eddie, he finally admitted that he had just left the stuck key in the lock because he couldn't figure out how to remove the damn thing. And to think we paid that man. Anyway, one of our students found the stuck key later that morning, popped it out, and turned it into the office like it was a lost treasure. Long story short, cousin Eddie probably shouldn't be left on campus unsupervised. Ever. After the Cousin Eddie Key incident, I told myself that nothing else could possibly surprise me. But schools have a way of proving me wrong. So just when things started to calm down, something else manages to break. And this time it wasn't a key, it was glass. One weekend a teacher contacted me to say the school building had a few shattered windows and it looked like a couple had been shot out. Naturally, I called security. You'd think this would sound some alarms, literally and figuratively. Instead, security sent a custodian. At this point in my career, I decided that if the security department didn't think broken windows on a school building was high priority, it wasn't a high priority for me either. So I waited until Monday to view our vandalism. What I discovered was that this wasn't a pebble in the playground situation. Someone had used a BB gun or some sort of gun to take out three windows and completely shatter out two more. It looked like a drive-by done by the world's most bored eighth grader. I kept assuming that something like this would have school security written all over it. You know, checking cameras, gathering footage, maybe even solving a mystery or two. But weeks went by and nothing. No updates, no culprits, no CSI school edition. My best guess? Either the cameras weren't working, or someone forgot to turn them on. All of which made me decide the school district security motto needed to read, we respond when we get around to it. Maybe. And I don't think I'm exaggerating with that motto. Because, like I said, responding in an emergency doesn't always seem to rank high on the list of priorities for some of our hired security people. For example, one of our security guards once texted me to say he wouldn't be at work because, and I quote, my new lower dentures aren't fitting right. Apparently, his fake teeth had staged a rebellion and he needed to see a dentist immediately. He assured me that depending on how the appointment went, he might return to school the next day. Now, I've heard of staff skipping school for all kinds of reasons car trouble, sick kids, food poisoning, mental health days. But dentures emergency was a first. I remember staring at that message thinking so the building was unsecured, but at least somewhere a set of dentures was getting adjusted with love and precision. Speaking of love and precision, it was moments like that denture emergency that really drove home my point. Yes, schools might need metal detectors these days, but what we really need are security people who can show up with their teeth, timing, and common sense all in working order. And if you think I'm making this shit up, let me tell you about another time I had to call security for a snake. It was a quiet school day, the kind of calm that usually means something weird is about to happen. Sure enough, my phone rang, and on the other end was a panicked teacher shouting, There's a snake in my wall. Now, I thought maybe she meant there was a leak or a metaphor, or maybe she was just having one of those I'm done with teaching moments. So I asked her to repeat herself. She said, A snake, Lisa, a real snake. I'll text you the video. A few seconds later, my phone buzzed and sure enough, there it was. A video of an actual snake slithering in and out of an unsealed seam in her classroom wall, like it was auditioning for a horror film. Let me be perfectly clear. I hate snakes almost as much as I hate clowns. They both have that unpredictable jump scare energy, kind of like my Aunt Nubbins on caffeine. So I did what any reasonable vice principal would do. I called security. Their response? They called a custodian. And the custodian, after a brief inspection, decided the best way to handle our slimy, slithering problem was to seal the wall shut. Problem solved, right? Well, yes, except for one tiny detail. The snake was still in the wall. I remember standing there thinking to myself, this is how horror movies start. You just know that damn snake is going to make a surprise appearance during a tough parent conference or a school board member's surprise visit. So, yes, we might have metal detectors, door cameras, and a district safety plan. But sometimes all it takes is one snake and a tube of colk to remind you common sense is not a standard issued piece of safety equipment. And in case you're wondering, school safety doesn't just fall on the hired security team. Oh no, sometimes it's left to the administrators too. A fellow vice principal and I once got the honor of being personally asked to search for a bomb during a supposed bomb threat. Now, why the people who were actually trained to handle that sort of thing or hired to do security didn't do the searching is still a mystery to me. Maybe they were busy, maybe it was lunchtime. Maybe someone's dentures weren't fitting again. Who knows? So there we were. Two vice principals in dress shoes and business attire walking through bathrooms, classrooms, and hallways looking for an explosive device that thankfully we eventually found out didn't exist. We didn't have bomb sniffing dogs, hazmat suits, or even a proper plan. Just two school leaders doing the world's most ill-advised scavenger hunt. But here's the best part of this story. While we were inside playing Find the Bomb, security was apparently so tight outside that they refused to let the superintendent of schools into the building because he didn't have his school badge. Let that sink in. Two vice principals without bomb training cleared for entry. The superintendent of schools denied. No badge. At that point I just had to laugh, because nothing says school safety, quite like making sure the guy who runs the district stay outside while two untrained bomb squad administrators wander around inside looking for explosives that simply didn't exist. So what did we learn from this episode? Well, I think we've learned that if you work in education long enough, you know that school safety isn't just about fancy gadgets, surveillance cameras, or secured entrances. It's about people, and people, bless their little hearts, are unpredictable. For every security guard who treats the job like an episode of cops, there's another who leaves a golf cart running overnight, paints parking lines on gravel, or seals a snake into a wall. We've got door timers that unlock buildings during district shutdowns, cousin Eddie's who lose master keys, and administrators who are drafted into bomb threat duty with all the training of a PTA volunteer. And through it all, somehow, schools keep running. Kids still show up, teachers still teach, vice principals, like me, still juggle the chaos, count down to Thanksgiving, and wonder if the district motto shouldn't just be keep working. We'll respond, maybe. But here's the thing. Even with all the bluster, confusion, and bad decisions, most of us show up every day because we care about the students, the staff, and the thousand little moments that make schools feel more like home. Snakes and all. So to my fellow educators out there, keep laughing, keep learning, and for the love of everything school safety, keep your badges visible, your classroom doors locked, and your seamless walls sealed. Well, kids, the dismissal bell is ringing, so until next time on Vice Principal and Office, push in your chair, put your name on your paper, be kind to your classmates, put your phone away, and use your indoor voice. Or not, thanks for listening. And I hope you enjoyed the tales from Vice Principal and Office as much as I enjoyed sharing them. And it is also my hope that you were not only entertained by this episode, but that you walked away with a little nugget of knowledge that gave you some insight on how working in a school is not for the faint of heart. And as I've said before, life is short, so you gotta do the best you can to leave the world in a better place than when you got here. And of course, for the love of God, see the humor in life. It's a lot more fun and a little easier to get through the ickin life with a smile on your face. Catch you next time on Vice Principal on Office. Next time on Vice Principal on Office, join me, your host Lisa Hill, on November 18th as I dive into the unbelievable, unspeakable, and totally unforgettable poop emergencies that pop up in schools, from clock toilets that cause full scale evacuations to backpack surprises that defy science. It's the kind of chaos you just can't make up, but you can definitely laugh about, because in education there's only one universal truth. Sooner or later, poop happens. Hey students, I mean listeners. Thanks again for tuning in. And if you've enjoyed today's show, please leave me a review. It really helps grow the show. And don't forget to hit the follow button so you don't miss an episode. Trust me, you don't want to be late for this detention. And listeners, if you've got a school story of your own that you think would fit Vice Principal on Office, I'd love to hear it. Just head to my podcast website and send me your story. And who knows, your story might even get a shout-out in a future episode. Thanks so much for listening and for your support. Vice Principal on Office is an independent podcast with everything you hear done by me, Lisa Hill, and supported through Buzzprout. Any information from today's show, along with any links and resources, are available in the show's notes. So if you want to do a little homework and dive deeper into anything I've mentioned, head over to my podcast website and check it out. And a big thank you to Matthew Chiam with Pixabay for the show's marvelous theme music. And of course, a huge shout out to my mother. This podcast is for the purpose of entertainment only, like the recess of your day, and not a platform for debates about public education. Though you never know, you can learn something. And just a reminder that the stories shared in this podcast represent one lens, which is based on my personal experiences and interpretations, and also reflect my unique perspective through humor. Names, dates, and places have been changed or omitted to protect identities and should not be considered universally applicable. Until next time, keep laughing and learning.

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