KNIGHT RIDER (OR LESSONS LEARNED)

Leaving my partner to observe the monitors and man the security desk, I grabbed a walkie-talkie and entered the side elevator to the garage levels. When I arrived at his level the parking attendant was so excited that I could not fully understand him but the problem was immediately clear. A tall man in blue jeans, t-shirt and with shoulder-length, straggly hair had stopped the lead car and was speaking to the female driver who I could see looked anxious. I approached the man from behind, cleared my throat, and asked if I could help him. He turned, faced me and I could see fear and confusion in his wild-looking eyes. He attempted to explain what he had been saying to the woman but it was difficult to follow. As he talked I waved to the woman to drive on. He agreed to come up to the security station with me and as we turned to walk toward the elevator he told me his name was Michael Knight. At almost the same moment the woman he had stopped drove by in front of us and started up the ramp to the street. Michael looked at the black TransAm she drove and asked me quite earnestly if I thought her car talked to her. With a deliberately calm voice I looked at him and replied that I had not heard the car speak. By the time we reached the security booth I had a plan to try to get Michael some help. He became excited when he saw the bank of CCTV monitors and I quietly asked my partner to talk to him and keep him busy while I used the phone.

I called the police and explained what had happened and who the man claimed to be. The office rhetorically asked that naturally I had called them but agreed to send someone over when I asked who else I should have called. As I hung up the phone Michael turned and stared at me. He had heard enough of my conversation to realize I had been speaking to the police. He pushed his way out of the booth and rushed out through the side door of the lobby.

From the desk we watched him through the glass on that side of the building as he started to run toward Yonge Street. My partner returned to his interrupted patrol while I phoned the police back to say that Michael had left and they would not be needed. The more difficult task was deciding how much information about the incident to enter into the logbook.

It occurred to me that I should have treated Michael the way I would have treated anyone else who was causing a disturbance: I should have asked him to leave the property. Or, if I wanted to get him help, as he seemed to be struggling, I should have asked him if he wanted help. After all, except for his fixation on the black TransAm, he had not been difficult or threatening in any way. His mental illness did not mean I should take over and make decisions for him. The incident with Michael was a moment of deep learning.

My logbook entry stated the facts of the event and led to some chuckles among the guards who read it. But I took the incident as enlightening, challenging my ideas about how I treat and think about the mentally ill. It was a lesson learned.