A few days ago I was surrounded by four policemen with automatic weapons who were asking me what I was doing, because to them I was acting suspiciously. Come to think of, I probably was …
This incident, which will unfold later in this blogpost, got me thinking about what suspicion means. It’s defined as having a cautious distrust of someone or something, so pretty subjective.
I was sat with Life-Boss last weekend on a train between Clapham Junction and Wimbledon when an announcement came out as follows:
“If you see anything suspicious, like someone acting suspiciously please speak to a member of staff or call British Transport police on …”
Train announcer, South Western Railways, somewhere between Clapham and Wimbledon
This didn’t help me either. What the actual F? I ran the tautology through my mind a few times. What does someone suspicious acting suspiciously actually look like? The man doing cartwheels in a gimp suit along platform 3? The woman down the carriage Doing a Ministry of Silly Walks silly walk?
I jumped off the train before Life-Boss could make the phone call but she followed so I quickened my pace. Luckily I lost her when I realised she was keen to get to H&M.
Okay, so where am I going with this? This a genuine exploration on what makes something suspicious and I have no answers. Hey Loons is a blog dedicated to genuine exploration, dedicated to unpredictive text and because we are all so nice to each other, this is non-friction writing.
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Suspicion ain’t what used to be.
When I was a child we had lessons in suspicion. I would have considered it for my exam options had it existed. I could have been Professor of Suspicion at a fine university by now teaching Gen Zs how to be suspicious. But no, when I was a child the subject of suspicion was a single lesson, known by two rhyming words:
STRANGER DANGER
With this training a whole generation of children were trained in the art of how to spot a suspicious stranger. Most of stranger danger training was quite useful, and the guidelines were as follows.
- Never take food or treats from strangers. (I find this one difficult now as an adult. especially if it’s cakes, and free of charge. I will happily take food or treats off strangers even if they are not offering them/ sat in restaurants/ having a picnic etc).
- Never allow a stranger to come into the house. (I will use this when the men in white coats come for me)
- Never get in a stranger’s car or go in his or her house. (Does no one hitch hike anymore?)
- If the stranger makes you feel uncomfortable, say no and walk away. (Okay, I’m leaving work early tomorrow. “Sorry I can’t do this. Must leave. Stranger Danger.”)
Strangers of the wrong sort, were stereotypically a man hanging around street corners with a box in his arms asking people if they would like to stroke his puppies or want some sweets … or a burglar, who would be wearing eye shades, a stripey, long-sleeve shirt and have a big sack on his back. (Only McDonald’s HamBurgler ever looked like this and he wasn’t even real.)
(Many years later my dad explained to me that a stranger was not necessarily someone bad or to be feared. A stranger was simply someone not known to you and you to him, are also a stranger.)
***
Anyway, I digress. Where was I? Oh yes, the surrounded-by-policemen-with-automatic-weapons incident…
Some of you will know that I am a tour guide with Let’s Discover London, I have all kinds of tours, around Buckingham Palace, Big Ben, the British Museum, Wimbledon, Oxford , Cambridge and even virtual tours.
On this occasion I was in Whitehall, the seat of British government, perhaps the most high security road in the UK. Because I was researching my walking tour of Whitehall, I was looking at buildings for extended periods of time, taking notes and photos and researching on the spot. And that’s when the first policeman approached me.
“Can I ask what you are doing?”
“I’m a tour guide, I’m researching a new tour.”
He nodded. “Yes we thought you were, only checking.”
Three more officers came over and I told them the story of the building in front of us, Banqueting House where King Charles I was executed.
“You know, he was England’s shortest king at five feet four inches. After he was beheaded he was four feet four inches.”
They started laughing.
They were not suspicious of me.
I was happy. They would not be shooting me.
***
My prior major incident of suspicion (apart from the way my cat gives me side-eyes every morning) occurred shortly after 9/11 I when I went to Colorado to hike with my mates Ted and Ron. I took a connecting flight from Minneapolis to Denver and just before I could board a elderly man took me out of the queue. He was very apologetic and respectful and ushered me in to a cubicle. Normal bag check I thought, no problem.
Then I realised he was putting on rubber gloves. Oh dear. This can’t be happening to me.
He said, “I hope you don’t mind me pulling you out of the line,” as he smiled and interlocked his fingers in to the blue rubber gloves. It wasn’t so much the pulling that was bothering me. It was the potential poking.
I lucked out. He went through my rucksack, sniffed my water bottle and rifled through the pages of a book. There had been a risk of anthrax or some kind of nasty disease named after a rock band that could have transferred through books and paper. Hence the rubber gloves. I breathed a sigh of relief and relaxed, unpuckered.
***
Both incidents highlight two different types of suspicion. In the Whitehall incident I may have been acting suspiciously, but in the queue I was looking suspicious by way of having a a middle eastern appearance (and wearing moutaineering gear) and that everything was on high alert a week after 9/11.
I wonder what the train announcer would have made of it. I’d love to hear your thoughts on what something or someone suspicious actually is.
Hey Loons 