You know you're in the Philippines when there is an armed guard at the front door of Starbucks and, yes, even McDonald's. (You also know you're in the Philippines when the guard also doubles as the busboy, clearing the tables after each customer leaves.)
Guards are seemingly everywhere. There are two at the front entrance to my gym (helpful types, they also open the door and guard my umbrella while I'm working out). But my favorites are the ubiquitous guards in the high-rise condominium where I stay. There are two, 42-story towers in my building. Six elevators service the two towers and each elevator is manned 24/7. What these poor, sleepy souls do in their full metal closets at 3 or 4 in the morning (and with no air-con), one can only imagine. Once you exit the elevators, you encounter another guard outside the administrative office, two more in the lobby, another in front of the main entrance, and two more at the bottom of the driveway leading up to the building. So that makes a minimum of 12 guards at any given time.
Since my building is brand new, it is only about 15 percent occupied at present. The advantage is that every guard knows who you are and, in my case, which unit you inhabit. Since I live in unit 18F, my "call sign" is "18 Foxtrot." The guards all have walki-talkies and use them with the zeal of navy seals in Kabul. As soon as the guard posted at the end of the driveway spots me getting off the bus, the frantic calls begin."Echo One! Echo One! Echo Five here. Eighteen Foxtrot on the way!"
I don't know if the guards will be able to remember everyone's call signs once the building is fully occupied, but as one of the first tenants I trust I shall remain,
Yours truly,
Eighteen Foxtrot.
