I have good manners; some people think that is the best thing about me and they may be right. I’m not warm and cuddly; never have been. But I’m gracious.
My building’s considered a big deal building, according to both The Times and New York The location’s perfect
The first time I walked in to the lobby eight years ago last summer I knew I had found my home.
It’s not a friendly building but people always say hello to each other; sometimes we talk. I tend to become very social in elevators and laundry rooms for reasons that mystify me. I will always hold the elevator door open for somebody coming from the street or mailroom. It’s just polite though some people become impatient because I hold for housekeeper’s.
Nobody in my building has a cleaning person; the building staff has to say “housekeeper.” It’s a socio-economic thing, I think, though my building is in the heart of the Upper West Side. We’re all pinko-liberals.
It’s less than two months until Christmas so the staff is on best behavior. On Monday our mail wasn’t delivered until after 8PM; can’t blame the mailman. We all get a lot of junk mail, catalogs, magazines and bills. Only children get personal mail.
I didn’t get my mail on Monday. On Tuesday, I carried 27 pieces of mail in my hands, because I didn’t know what was important or not, and the mailroom isn’t conducive to lingering. We do have gigantic mailboxes; and the doormen hold our mail when we are away. Achieved my goal of getting more mail than my dad who would be away three weeks and get two post office boxes filled with mail, a long time ago. But it doesn’t count because his was real mail.
I walked into the elevator, smiled at the very coarse and common looking woman who bought the penthouse and asked if she would please hit “9.” I know she heard; it’s a regulation size mahogany elevator that frequently breaks down and even more frequntly jolts up and down.
Little Luce still loves to jump to it when we’re alone in the elevator, and she’ll be fifteen, is almost 5’10” and stunning. She’s in a class by herself. But she’s a kid sometimes still. Enough nice stuff.
The bitch pretended not to hear me. I had to press the button yet hold the mail; it was awkward but I did it. When I got out of the elevator, the mail went flying. Truly hope nothing went down the shaft. Waiting on a four figure check that I hoped would arrive yesterday.
Later she came into the building with her shopping bags from Citerella; mine were from Fairway. I shop in Citeralla but Fairway has more variety. Plus the highest rated sushi of any market in New York; including Citerella. The handyman, the hardest working person in the building was relieving the doorman. She was very flirtatious toward him. That’s not good in a building that has a history of perverts as super. The handyman looked very tired and very tired of her.
You can tell when she’s not putting her hands around his neck and body, she’s telling him to re do something. I know him well enough to know the look he gets when he really can’t stand the resident, and is too tired to pretend.
They talked until the elevator came. When we got on, I started to say something but she looked away.
Today I walked out of the mailroom to the elevator just as it was closing. Anybody else would have held it open. But not her. We only have one passenger elevator in each wing, and one service elevator which wasn’t working. She went all the way up to the penthouse….
Actually her behavior’s so boorish as to be funny; the really nasty part of me hopes that she and her husband have a very large mortgage and default on it. But we would have to pick up the pieces so the fantasy isn’t even fun.