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The Christmas Donut
Yesterday the oddest thing happened, someone threw a donut at my jacket while out on the street. Don't anyone have the faintest idea how to behave? Strawberry too, by the smell of it, which makes it not only irritating but also terribly wasteful, there are children in third world places, you know, like North Dakota who'd be really jealous of that donut. Being a polite doorman, in uniform and on duty, I didn't even get to return fire, although given I was at the time holding Holly Golightly's Chinese Crested, I think it's for the best that I didn't. I've never pitched a dog before, but I have little confidence in it's ability to fly, let alone work good as a curve ball. I have also offended Mr W, I usually remember to politely nod and not acknowledge the season, but I slipped up yesterday by wishing him a Merry Christmas. Years in the job and I still make such a stupid mistake. I'm surprised there wasn't a mob of Jews on the doorstep within the hour demanding I resign. The question now is, do I right this with a Happy Hanukkah greeting on Saturday, or just pretend it never happened? |
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Christmas
Christmas comes just once a year. I'm going to be honest, I'm quite thankful for this. Not that I don't like to see the priceless look on the children's faces when they realise I am the best father ever. (Santa? Santa who?) But, I do have a big problem with the joyful activities of this weekend, because what is the point in having doormen if you don't make them indulge your every whim to compete with the Joneses on the next block. Christmas Lights, they are not conducive to my good health, yesterday I ended up using the most dubious pair of steps ever to be known to man to try to correct the Lobby Christmas Tree. Obviously, it was installed professionally, but that's just never quite good enough for certain tenants who want the star to be angled just right towards the door. They can afford some of the most expensive apartments on the upper east side, yet can't afford some decent ladders for me to balance on while Mr & Mrs S point and tut and eventually accept that the star was in fact, best as it was in the first place. Still last Christmas Mr S did give me four Mets tickets for a Christmas Tip, which did wonders for my cool dad points with the children. Christmas Hours aren't brilliant, I am working Christmas Eve until midnight, but at least I get Christmas Day off, which will be a traditional Christmas with the in-laws over on Staten Island. If you want to imagine my In-Laws, think of the old couple on Christmas with the Kranks and you'll be round about there. How are you spending Christmas? |
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Speaking Venutian...
Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus, or so they say, in which case I must admit to a total lack of the ability to understand Venutians, now my wife, Caroline, there is a woman I understand, she says what she thinks, is straight up with everyone and I'm sure has never had a two faced thought in her life, in short, she's the perfect woman. In fact, if it wasn't for the fact that she's younger than it, I'd be sure that Neil Diamonds Sweet Caroline was written about her. She is though the exception that proves the rule, I don't think I have ever understood women in general, and this has been shown lately by my inability to figure what is going on between Lady Liberty and Holly Golightly. To my untrained guys mind, they'd be perfect friends, they have similar likes and dislikes, they often waltz through the doors with the latest bags from their favorite boutique, you know the kind where the bag looks like it cost more than the contents? They're similar aged and to me this would mean could be great friends. Not so. Anytime they're both in the lobby at the same time I begin to feel like a wildlife watcher, I'm positive the experience would allow me to write quite the piece for national geographic as they eye each other from as far apart as possible in the relatively small confines of the lobby area, like two lionesses circling each other, eyeing up their enemy, ready to pounce at the slightest provocation and be lost on the floor in a flurry of tanned limbs, manolo's and over priced jewelry. Then, having passed each other there commences the slowing of the gait and the icy glances, their normally lively smiles changed to the kind of look that could kill in an instant, although granted it would be a nice way to die. And so, I am left with absolutely no idea of how to handle the situation should they ever be in the same space together for too long, Joe suggests a paddling pool and some whipping cream, but I think police and ambulance may be the more likely result. |
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Breakfast At Tiffanys?
Ok, so you can be honest, if you were one of my three commenters, you probably thought I'd been killed by the changeover. Truth is, I logged in a few days afterwards, and was too lazy to sort it out, and then things got busy again as they seem to do. I am sorry, I was hoping to change my layout before I blogged, but I will try afterwards and see if I can make it look good. You've missed a lot though, I'll try to take it from where I left off, which was with a promise to tell all about the new resident on the second floor. I shall dub her Holly Golightly, because were Capote alive today, then I would be positive he had based Golightly on this young woman. I mentioned in my previous post that the residents committee have rather interesting criteria, and Holly Golightly is surely the proof of this. I met her first when she came with the realitor to view the apartment and it was obvious she was not the quiet, retiring type. She does have two things in her favor with the committee though, she's very beautiful and very, very wealthy. So, they seem to not mind the stream of people that sometimes enter her apartment early evening and leave anything from five minutes to five days later, nor do they appear to mind the late night parties. I've never been here to hear the parties, however Mrs K has commented on more than one occasion, and they sure do go through a lot of alcohol. What she does for work is unknown, it appears she is nothing but a socialite and probably no stranger to the pages of Page Six and Gawker. Mr K returned home, blissfully unaware of Mrs K's “while the cats away” take on married life, and after two weeks of playing house has jetted back to Europe to watch a Soccer match. I could have directed him to Central Park on a Sunday afternoon, where my daughter plays, no need to travel thousands of miles, we've got girly sports right here in NYC. It's amazing how excited someone can get over a sport that doesn't involve a bat, they need to get along to see the Mets and the Yankees. I only have a little while longer on the computer, so I am going to close this post here and try to make this place look pristine again. |
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What is going on?
Hi Everyone, we have a new resident, the second floor apartment that has been available to let has been taken, its complicated because while several people had previously expressed interest, not only do the realitors have to make sure their finances are in place, but the buildings committee must also approve them, which sounds daunting, but they have made curious choices. While most people would be interested in how the prespective tennant would be as a neighbour, wether they are noisy or likely to not look after the apartment, the committe (sp?) here is quite different, due to some of the more wealthy ladies, they look a lot at more social issues, and networking possibilities. It's all very much keeping up appearances, shallow. I will write about the new tennant next week, hopefully, as I have to work now. But, can anyone tell me, what is happening here this weekend? Will it effect my blog badly? Thanks Seb. |
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Post Memorial Day Haze
Memorial Day, another excuse for the great, the good and the frankly gruesome to take leave from their apartments and lay wreaths, although to most here it seems less an opportunity to pay respects as a chance to try to out do each other in the wreath stakes. We took delivery of four wreaths for people in the building. The winner was no surprise, as always, the old doctor on the third floor had by far the most expensive wreath, some of the other residents call him Uncle Sam, he was in the Marines at Guadlacanal, he's an amazing man and one of the residents who does talk, boy, does he have stories to tell. I really do need to write more here, it's just hard getting the time, they've been working me really hard these past few weeks, after all, it would be a shameful thing if one of them had to take out their own garbage, or carry their own parcel to their apartments. Mr K is away in Europe doing business again, which has resulted in an extraordinary amount of flowers arriving for Mrs K, and only one bouquet was from Mr K. She's out every evening now, dressed like she was going for a Premiere. While the cats away, the wife will play, and dine around in all of Manhattan's finest eating establishments with a stream of young toy boys on her arm. Mr K would be very surprised to know this, however Mrs K makes sure all of her playthings tip us when they drop her off, so its in my interests to see he never knows. |
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Catering to their every whim...
Foxinthesnow asked in the comments to my previous entry if 'catering to their every whim' was in the Job Description, or just something I have to do to keep the residents happy. Truth is, I can't say for certain as I got this job through a friend of the family, but it seems generally accepted that as well as the formal tasks of door opening, taxi hailing, etc, we do whatever we can to accomodate the residents requests. I don't know if it was on a lot over in the UK, but we had a show here Sex and The City, and in that one of the women is dumped via their boyfriends doorman. Well, I've never done that myself, but it's not the kind of request that would surprise you, I have done all sorts of other things, and found myself knowing all sorts of secrets. Turns out that some of New Yorks wealthier gentleman will tip very handsomley if you turn a blind eye to female's heading to the apartment while their wife is on a spa day. I never really planned on becoming a doorman, I was always going to play for the Mets, had it all figured out, the next Babe Ruth, only no one had the heart to tell me that I was lacking in the talent to do so, so when I got the chance of this job for a time I took it to pay some bills, and have been on this block ever since, until here I am mid-thirties, two children and I figure this means I'll never get to hit a home run for the Mets. |
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