First day, first shift. 10:15 AM. The rookie security guard had been walking the fairgrounds for the last two hours. Nothing to see for the most part, as it was “space”. The jingle jangle of change in his pocket kept his attention, and it made him think he was hungry, so his mind focused on yet something else other than his appointed duties.“There has to be a vending machine somewhere around here,” he thought to himself.
That’s another notch on the “not so observant” column of the score card: all food and beverages are dispensed through regulated concession stands. Finally, turning a corner near one of the utility sheds, he spotted the side of a vending machine. His pace hastened. Then disappointment replaced the smile on his face when he saw its front.
“Cigarettes?!“
The rookie shrugged his shoulders and walked on. He never noticed the vandals spray painting graffiti on the aluminum bleachers of the grandstand. That’s when the well-dressed man in a suit who’d been following him stepped up to the machine. He watched the guard disappear around the corner and pressed a series of the selection buttons: Salem, Winston, Kool (twice), Camel, Lucky Strike, [pause], Salem. Pulling the lever below “Ken King”, he looked down over the top of his sunglasses to see a pair of car keys drop into the tray. A smile on his face, he retrieved them, turned and walked towards the exit.
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