A Security Guard Made Me Kneel for Medicine

It was Christmas Eve, and I ordered fever medicine through Uber Eats.

The delivery driver just tossed the bag onto the shelf by the entrance gate.

I rushed to the gate to get it, only to be blocked by the security guard.

My baby was burning up at 103 degrees.

I begged him to just let me out to grab the medicine.

But the guard saw his chance. He demanded a

"security deposit."

"It's not my kid sick," he sneered,

"so it's not my emergency. Your problem, not mine."

"What's the big deal about a kid? If it dies, it dies. You can always have another."

But he didn't know, he was blocking the ambulance lane meant for his own mother.

...

"Hello? My baby has a 103-degree fever, she needs this medicine! Where are you?"

I watched the Uber Eats dot circling endlessly in my neighborhood, Maplewood Estates.

Frantic, I called the driver.

"Stop rushing me! It's Christmas Eve! Who wants to be out delivering this crap? Roads are a mess, and your tip was pathetic! I'm barely making anything! How about you add a tip?"

"This is extortion! You can't do this!"

"No tip, no delivery. I'll cancel it right now!"

"No! Please! Sir, I'm begging you! My baby can't wait! How much?"

"Shut up and listen. A thousand bucks. Not a penny less. Consider it a Christmas discount for my trouble."

"... Fine! Fine! A thousand! Just get here NOW!"

I sent the payment through Venmo.

I anxiously called my husband Mike, who was on duty at the hospital, clutching my 21-month-old daughter, Emily, in my arms.

"Mike, can you come home? Emily suddenly has a high fever. I ordered Tylenol online, but she's having febrile seizures now. We need the ER."

I heard the rustle of him grabbing his coat instantly.

"Is she conscious? Don't panic, Sarah. Try cool compresses until the meds come. I'm leaving right now to take you both."

Minutes after hanging up, the app updated: "Delivered."

But I hadn't received anything!

Remembering the driver's greedy face, dread pooled in my stomach.

"The number you have dialed is currently unavailable."

Fury shot through me. But there was no time for that.

My order showed the drop-off location: Community Gatehouse.

After securing my daughter in her crib and locking the door, I ran to the front gate.

There it was!

The pharmacy bag, carelessly dumped on the shelf outside the main gate.

But the gate was shut tight.

The guard booth, which should have been staffed, was empty.

Panic clawed at my throat.

"Hello?! Anyone?!"

"Open the gate!"

Silence.

I knew the security guard lived somewhere inside Maplewood Estates, but I had no idea which unit.

With no choice, I ran through the complex, shouting hoarsely.

After over ten minutes, a guard finally appeared, disheveled and wrapped in a thick coat, his face twisted in anger.

"Who's the lunatic screaming out here? Can't it wait till morning?"

"Please!"

I gasped.

"Sir, my daughter's fever meds are outside the gate! Just open it!"

He rolled his eyes, ambled to the gate, and peeked out,

"No."

"What? But residents can come and go! Just unlock it! I'll get it myself!"

"That's on regular days. Tonight's special. Besides," he smirked,

"how do I know that bag's yours? Could be a bomb for all I know."

The thought of my feverish daughter alone at home made my panic surge.

I couldn't risk it.

"Please, let me out! It's just fever reducers, nothing dangerous! My daughter's just a baby with a high fever, waiting for this medicine!"

He snorted.

"You swear? Prove it."

I fumbled for my phone, pulling up the Uber Eats order confirmation.

"See? My order! Delivered by Uber Eats! It's perfectly safe!"

He didn't even glance at it.

"A screenshot proves nothing. Call your driver to bring it to you."

"He turned his phone off! I can't reach him! Please, sir, I'm desperate! I'm begging you! It's right there! Just let me out! This is life or death!"

He let out a derisive laugh.

"Excuses. You seem shady to me."

"Tell you what. I won't be unreasonable. Pay a $500 security deposit, and I'll let you out."

So that was it.

He was probably buddies with that driver.

It was the dead of night on Christmas Eve. No one else was coming or going.

"No bond? No exit. I got all night. We can wait."

He was right.

I didn't have time.

Swallowing my fury, I transferred $5,000 to him via PayPal.

"Now. Open it."

He grinned, pocketing his phone, and pulled out his key ring.

He selected a key, jammed it into the lock.

It didn't turn.

"Whoops!"

he exclaimed with fake surprise.

"Wrong key. Bad luck."

He dangled the key ring, dozens of keys jingling, right in my face.

"Pick another one? Five grand per guess. No prizes."

"I don't have that kind of money! We just bought this place! We're tapped out, and I'm deep in mortgage debt!"

"I'm telling the truth! Please, sir, have some mercy! My baby needs that medicine!"

He didn't look.

"Not my kid, not my problem. I'm in no hurry. Figure it out yourself."

"What's so urgent about a kid? These things happen. You're young, you can have another."

The acrid smoke hit me, triggering a coughing fit.

My whole body shook with rage.

"Want service but don't wanna pay? Think money grows on trees? You don't seem that worried. Maybe she ain't even yours?"

Seeing his vile smirk, I snapped. I grabbed my phone and dialed 911.

"Hello? Police? I need"