dog-walkers, keys

Some dogwalkers dress like drug dealers
or should I say some drug dealers dress like
dogwalkers
lady believe me when I say I take
my job seriously
in fact,
The last time your son threw a party while you and your husband and the children were in the country, I called you on your cell phone and then at home in the country using the number you had left us for specifically that purpose- to let you know that your kid was having a party. (The last time your kid (not mine) threw a party while you were out of town and made a mess of your apartment, you popped your eyes at me, and asked me why I let him in, what did you want me to do, make him produce papers proving that this was his primary residence for purposes of taxation? (But I do try to be discreet, for instance, I didn't tell you he had strippers up there. I didn't think you'd want to know. You shouldn't give him such a big allowance. He's only 16.)
Anyway, the other day
I had to pee and so I went
downstairs
and this left one man for the door and the elevator
and he has to lock the door if he's going to go up in the elevator
because I had to pee. (So sorry!)
While I was gone, the dogwalker for 15D came,
the elevator man has to wait for him (building policy)
and you must have come just seconds after the dogwalker,
and then you were locked out
and when it's cold, two minutes can feel like ten.
He went straight back up,
Phil must have had another ring on another floor
(there are other people that live here,
besides you, Ma'am),
anyway here comes that
dogwalker, dark-skinned young man
whose clothes look more expensive than he should be able to afford (He lives with his moms)
and I open the door
and apologize that
you had to wait (I know you pay a lot to live here. I know.)
The incredulous look on your face
as that young man puts something in my hand
mumbling about "keys"

quality, not quantity

I have not written on here in weeks because I am about quality not quantity. Don't try to tell me different. It's not at all that things are so boring in one of the premier apartment buildings in the universe that there's just been nothing to write about. Not at all.

Sometime in December, This guy Julio who retired to the Dominican Republic last summer was in a horrific car accident and lost his daughter, mother-in-law, and nephew. He was in the hospital for weeks. The 20 guys in the building raised 500 dollars to help him out, and everybody signed it. I'm going to the western Union and putting the card in the mail sometime today. It feels good that we were able to do this, but somehow I wish we could have done more.

Working toward White Gloves

That's right the building is improving, I heard it straight from the new super's mouth. He's developing a new program to improve the building. We want the white gloves, but there are intermediate steps.

The boss has been saying things would change ever since back in June when he started. This has mostly involved obsessive Febreze spraying and harassing doormen who are careless enough to leave their radios out. And, as previously indicated here, threatening to suspend me for reading.

This is all well and good. These people that live in this high high-end jewel of a pre-war Manhattan building deserve the very best that their several thousand dollars a month in maintenance can get them. And to be blunt, in my opinion, they haven't been getting it for a long time.

There are many reasons for this, and because this is an anonymous blog, I get to tell you what I think they are.

First of all, there are men working in this building that are ill-suited to the sort of work they are doing. Good manners are essential to this sort of work, and their are some guys that work here who are downright rude. In the lobby of a building like this, conversation should be made in measured even tones, not rapid-fire shouting. Some people say This is my culture, and this is how I talk. That's well and good, but this is not your culture. This is your work, and part of your job is to maintain a gracious and welcoming tone in the lobby. Having conversations with your co-workers or on the phone at a volume just under a shout is a failure to maintain that tone. Ostentatiously ogling women as they walk by the building is also a terribly rude thing that some of these guys do. Here you are, in uniform, you're being paid to be the face of the building, and that face is leering with its tongue hanging out, no exaggeration. I don't know if my union offers a course in etiquette for doormen, but it should, and certain of my co-workers would benefit from taking such a course.

Second, we need some sort of book with clearly outlined standards for procedures and behavior and clearly stated consequences for infractions of the rules. Is reading quietly in the back as large an infraction as simultaneously eating, talking on the phone and listening to the radio at the highest volume possible? What are the consequences of these infractions?

Third, could I get some sort of performance review? Why can't an anonymous poll of shareholders be made to get an idea of what they think of the job performance of elevator operators and doormen?

Last, communication from management needs to be clear, and made in a way that is respectful. For example, this summer, the super (I won't tell if it's the new one or the old one) asked me how the temperature was in the lobby. When I told him I thought it was just fine, his immediate response was to the effect of the lobby's not for you, it's for the people that live here and your opinion doesn't matter. Then why did you ask in the first place?

But, what do I know? I'm just the elevator operator.