North American Security

It’s Martin Luther King, Jr. Day and Kisha’s doing a double. She says it doesn’t bother her anymore, working on the holiday, though today she was jealous of her husband who got to stay home. “It’s like, let me stay in the warm bed,” she said. Lately, she’s been getting her lunch delivered, “Because it’s too cold to go outside.” She had an Italian sub from Primo's waiting on her desk and had just finished a bowl of chicken noodle soup made by her mother-in-law. Neither are her favorites. She likes JJ’s (Jimmy John's) better than Primo’s; “The rolls are way better, fresher.” And she’d prefer her mother-in-law’s pea soup to the chicken noodle.

A man with flushed cheeks and a briefcase strode to Kisha’s desk to sign in. “16^th floor, I already know,” Kisha said, waving him along. Kisha works security at the North American Building on Broad and Sansom. She sees everyone who walks in from 7am to 3pm, Monday-Friday. “I got nothin’ but time,” she said when I asked if she had a few minutes to chat. “Me sittin’ here? Last week I went through four books,” she said. She plays WDAS (105.3) R&B and Old School from her smartphone. “That’s on at all times,” Kisha laughed. If she works late, she’ll get out her DVD player and watch movies.

Every once in a while, she does have to deal with trouble. “Yeah, last Thursday I had an incident,” she said, nodding her head of tight, honey-colored curls. A woman frequents the building “wander the halls”; Kisha has had a hard time getting her to leave. “She came in with paint on her face to try to disguise herself, but I knew who she was.” It’s a tricky job – telling someone to leave the building without upsetting or provoking them. “Sometimes you gotta make something up quick,” Kisha said. “I told her the office was closed for the holidays – she bought it.”

Sometimes it’s more serious. She called the police on a man last month. “This guy,” she opened the cabinet under her desk, “I got a picture right here.” The man had snuck on the elevator after Kisha made it clear she wasn’t going to argue with him, and told him to leave. She warned the offices upstairs and called the police. He made a threat as he was escorted out. “He’s like ‘Imma come back and Imma shoot it up!’” Kisha rolled her eyes. “I’m like, ‘Have a good one.’”

I left Kisha to grab my camera and when I came back, the Primo sub had been replaced by a tuna sandwich from Wawa. Her friend, Daren (“aka Big Daddy”), stood at the side of her desk eating the other tuna sandwich he had brought. Kisha’s was plain – mayo-smothered chuncks of tuna and half-moon celery pieces on wheat bread. Daren’s was doctored up with jalapeño potato chips, cheese, and ranch dressing. “There’s a whole lotta party going on in your mouth right now,” Kisha said, making circles with her pointer finger, nose scrunched in disgust.

When I ask for lunch recommendations, I get heated banter. Daren likes Joey Joe’s Deli, Kisha says Gooey Looie’s is better. Daren is a fan of Primo’s, Kisha says, “Primo’s is horrible. Period.” Daren raves about a spot in West Philly, Kisha “Can’t eat outta dirty West.”

They agreed on one place: Famous Dave’s. Daren couldn’t contain an “Ooooo!” and a high five when Kisha mentioned she gets the Trash Lid. It’s a sampler of ribs, brisket, cornbread, coleslaw, chili, fries… “And it actually comes on a trash can lid.”

The two laugh hysterically, barely nodding as suits and heels rush past Kisha’s desk.