I had to open a safe in a library the other day. It wasn’t in some backroom, it was out in the main reading area. It was a simple little thing with little residual value and they’d already ordered a replacement, so drilling it open rather than picking it open was a cheaper option for them. Every time I fired up the drill, though, two or three people would look up from their book and over toward my direction. No-one actually went, “Ssshhh”, however. Pity really; I couldn’t help feeling that they didn’t know their parts properly.
It was nice to be in a large, well-lit room, though. Although I started working on safes thinking that I’d be more comfortable than when kneeling on a doorstep in a wet and windy doorway — inside, warm, dry, nice carpet to kneel on — it turns out that most safes are crammed into the tiniest, badly lit, uncomfortable corner of the grottiest uncarpeted storeroom you can imagine. The oddest location was a safe that was in the staff toilet. It was quite a tall safe so I actually had somewhere to sit [sic] for once.