My apartment, overpriced as it is, has a doorman. The building I work in has an elevator guy who stands at the elevator bank and announces which car is set to arrive next. Each morning, my doorman opens the door as I walk out of the lobby, tips his hat, and says "Good morning." After my eight block walk to work, I am further welcomed to the day by the elevator guy who says "Good morning....hot/cold/rainy today, isn't it?" as he announces "Car 5, going up."
In this bustling City where a few week days can go by and my only major social interactions are at work, the doormen and the elevator guy give me that warm feeling that comes from congenial routines, that certain comforting familiarity that comes from strangers who are a regular part of my life, in the middle of eight million people.
Sometimes I feel doormen and elevator attendants are societal anachronisms, out of place in our modern "do it yourself" world.
Yet, after a day of making my own changes to my work contracts, bagging and carrying my own groceries, and hauling around my workout clothes and computer on my back, I certainly do enjoy the opening of the door and the tip of the hat that comes from some of my best stranger friends.
