Understanding

Oh, I thought I had an understanding with the super. I was wrong.
Tonight at 11:12 (I took specific note of the time, passengers), I was acting as the doorman because Albert had worked a double and he needed to relax in the back. I had taken inventory of who was at home and who wasn't and decided that it was safe to sit on the stool at the front door and read the copy of Rights of Man and Common Sense by Thomas Paine I'd found at a bargain price at the Strand this week. I was wrong.
There are certain times of the day when I believe it is safe to read while on the door. After 9 on a Sunday is one of them. Traffic is exceeding slow.
Out of my peripheral vision, I saw the super coming towards the door on my right. I put the book down, got to my feet and opened the door before he even needed to break stride.
He couldn't ignore it. He had to say something. Brusquely, at that. "In the back." I think he may have been a little drunk. If I was home on a Sunday night, I would sure be a little drunk by 11:12. In fact, I'd be asleep in bed.
Maybe I should have just acted sheepish. But I couldn't resist telling him that I had done an inventory of who was in and who was out, and that it was safe for me to be reading, that there was no danger of it distracting me from doing doormanly duties.
He told me that the doorman should be like a statue. The doorman should be at the door like a statue.
I am not a statue. I am a human being.
I value my job, and I feel privileged to have one. This is the best job I can get with the resume I have. I do my absolute best to do my job as well as it can be done, but I am not a statue. I am a human being.
It doesn't bother me so much. At least it doesn't any more. Because I can let it go here.
Thanks for reading, passengers.