The thing about doormen, you have to tip well if you ever want to keep any secrets. I have a love hate with mine. Are they good guys? Yes. One of them doesn’t know "the tail" is the making of a book featured on an Urban Outfitters display table beside the book on mullets. My doormen know way too much about my social life… ah, yeah. Let this one up without buzzing. Never let this one up no matter what he says, and never even mention that one. They know and keep our secrets, tell me when I have lipstick on my teeth, and mostly, they’re a comforting face to come home to when I arrive, late night, wishing I were coming home to another face. I love and hate them for all of it.
What I love most about doormen, they’re there to accept spontaneous gifts. Flowers, peonies, dog biscuits, twix bars, stuffed animals for my dog. There is nothing better than coming home to a surly fellow who checks his legal pad and jumps in with, “wait, Stephanie, there’s something for you.” I love unexpected gifts at my door. It shows a sincere interest in my happiness. It is far more important than any email, any voicemail, and any invitation. It shows forethought, caring, and risk. I am so thankful for my doormen, and those who trust in them.