His belt was like Batman’s belt, if Batman’s belt held coins and snacks (combined into one pouch), a machete and a baton, and a broken speaker instead of batarangs and shark repellent.

For some unexplainable reason, he hung his baton on the same side as his machete. Actually, in the same leather loop. They were always dangling and tangling together, and it seemed to me this was the most ineffective way to carry both a machete and a baton.

Then again, my security guard confused a lot people.

For 12 hours a day, seven days a week, he patrolled a single street more meticulously than your moth cleaning her house before guests arrive.

He directed parking cars and mopeds like a Spartan general commanding his phalanx. 

Before tucking in the car’s side-mirrors, he’d polish them with a little red rag that’s he used only to polish the side-mirrors of cars.

Even when the drivers didn’t tip him, which was often the case, he responded with smile, revealing the remnants of his few teeth, all pointing in directions that teeth don’t usually point.

He’d hold umbrellas for the elderly, help carry groceries the length of the street, and wouldn’t let a stranger pass without wishing them a ‘buen dia’.

The trash crew visibly feared him. God help the man that missed a single cigarette butt. I once heard him threaten to throw the city worker right into the back of his own dumpster. 

This street was in the type of neighborhood where nobody treats one-way streets like one-way streets. Inevitably, this caused regularly scheduled traffic jams that old ladies would hang out their windows to watch and shake their heads.

Except on his street.

Brave was the driver attempting to save time by illegally crossing his street. That baton saw more windshields than Don Juan saw women. 

This was the tourist district in Cali, Colombia, which means that there were many security guards assigned across the neighborhood. 

None were like Johnny.

I know that because I lived on his street. My house had a little balcony where I would go to write and inadvertently end up watching the happenings below, just like the old ladies.

Now, I’m writing about the happenings of that street and of the lesson I learned from watching Johnny.

***

Why is it so refreshing to see someone doing their job competently?

It’s a rarity, not because people lack passion for what they do, but rather because people have been swindled into thinking that exerting effort towards actions they aren’t passionate about is stupid.

That’s why your beannie-wearing barista, sporting Airpods and a pretentious look, has such a dead possum attitude.

They are in their transient job. No one dreams of waking up and making an oat milk matcha latte, “hot, but not too hot,” for some digital nomad bro using their cafe as his ‘influencing hub’. 

Working towards something you are passionate about is easier. Everyone knows that.

The problem is, passion is fleeting. 

It’s like inspiration.

A healthy person doesn’t workout only when they are feeling inspired; they workout regardless of their mood. That’s why they're healthy.

Similarly, you can’t claim a strong work ethic if it’s not exemplified throughout your work, transient or not.

Passion and inspiration aren’t prerequisites of success. Time and effort are.

To be successful, you have to be able to survive the boring and tedious lulls that are inherent in every learning process.

To choose passion as your North Star, is to set sail with a broken compass.

***

Unlike other security guards who would wear whatever was comfortable and convenient, Johnny put together his own security uniform: a blue button-down, slacks, and black leather shoes. He wore it every day, and every day it was clean.  

Other security guards would bring a stool with them so they could doze off in the shade during the long shifts.

Not Johnny.

Even when he took his lunch break, he’d stand, scanning the street slowly while what remained of his teeth pulverized empanadas even slower.

He could have easily adopted his coworkers’ mentality of lazily passing the days in a position they weren’t passionate about. Instead, he treated it like it was the most important job in the world.

Right before I moved, I asked Johnny why he worked so hard.

He scoffed at the question, as if one could live a satisfying life without giving everything their all.