My illustrious career as a keeper of doors began at midnight last night. I bicycled down through Central Park, which I’d always been told became some hellish no-man’s land the moment the sun passed the horizon. To be honest, night park is the same as day park, although it smelled slightly more like weed than day park.
I saw a beautiful couple engaging in some innocent public affection, and a not-so-beautiful couple engaged in, well…some not-so-innocent public affection. Judging by the halfmoon, the extremely hairy jogger I saw could only be a werewolf out for a halfmoon conditioning jog for his full-moon rampage. Awooo.
The evening doorman left me a Playboy and instructions that one tenant was never to be allowed any visitors, because people are “looking” for him. Wasn’t really sure what to do with the Playboy. Was it just a welcome gift? Either way, it seemed involving the magazine in my job was a poor idea.
Beyond that, the night was uneventful. I read, I mopped, I made faces in the mirror, I polished washed windows, watched a legion of limousines–all of them white, all of them SUVs–cruise past. Presumably to some glamorous city event to which doormen were summarily not invited.
At around 4 a Korean guy in a Vancouver Olympics tank top and short short appeared with a cup of coffee and a copy of a korean-language newspaper and without a word ran away into the night. Around 5, a tenant showed up to collect yesterday’s newspaper–I’d been warned this was part of her routine–and to ask if I had her bank card.
At 7, I managed to piss of my super so badly that he walked away thinking I had accused him of trying to steal my identity. He had asked for my social security number the previous day, but said he needed it for “emergencies”. I have never heard of the social security number being needed in an emergency, unless of course he was using “emergency” euphemistically to mean “identity theft”. When he wanted an explanation for why I wanted the post-it with the number back, I told him it made me nervous, at which point his forehead turned red, he yelled at me for a bit, and then stalked off to his nefarious lair, presumably to begin accessing my bank account.
A characteristically dignified start.