Leaky Faucets

The library’s “voicemail lady” is a cold-hearted bitch.  Any hesitation when checking your messages and you’re screwed.  Wrong password, and she responds with “that was an invalid entry.  Goodbye.”  Momentarily forget your user name.  It’s all over in less than two seconds.  No second chances.  You have to hang up and start all over.  I’ve never dealt with a voicemail system so inflexible.  The bitch seems to enjoy tormenting me.

 One of the negatives of living in the same neighborhood as your boss is the off chance that you might run into her, as I did last night.  Amazingly, this was our first chance encounter since I moved six blocks away from the apartments she has inhabited for over 35 years.  I was walking down 37^th Avenue toward my street, on my way back from picking up take out from the Japanese place when I saw her.  She didn’t see me until I called her name.  She was on her way home after picking up Chinese food.  Hopefully this won’t happen too frequently.  I like to keep my non-work life separate from my work life.  To paraphrase George Costanza, who was referring to something totally different when he said: “It’s not good when the two worlds collide.”

A collective sigh of relief could be heard on the Upper East Side of Manhattan this morning, most audibly on Fifth Avenue.  Yes, the doormen will be reporting to work today.  The threatened strike has been averted.  Contingency plans–yes, there were plans–can be shelved for the next round of contract negotiations.  Those New Yorkers among us, who are not accustomed to opening the door of their luxury co-op or condo, will not, thankfully, have to do so.  Nor will they have to hail their own cabs or carry their own groceries.

Maybe I make light of their plight because I have never myself lived in a doorman building and probably never will.  I do understand their value for security purposes, but other than that I think people can certainly manage without them.