Ponderings on the Rigors of Doormanhood

As you know, we've had a handful of doorman woes in the past few months, but nothing too serious and nothing a little firing didn't take care of. Carlos, one of the two part-time doormen, was caught by my neighbor getting high on the job, and while I give him props for finding a unique way to whittle away the hours staring at the door (because that's all he really did despite having other duties), I'm glad he was canned.

Apparently, replacing Carlos has been an HR nightmare. Since his dismissal, there have been over five different guys who didn't make it past the first day. When I asked Felipe, the other part-time doorman, what happened to so-and-so, he would say with a smile, "Oh, he left."

And, over time, after seeing one doorman after another abandon the job after just one day, I realized that being a doorman in our apartment is a mentally grueling job -- in the sense that it's so NOT mentally challenging that it becomes mentally challenging. I mean, how many people can say they would enjoy sitting by themselves between two narrow cement walls for very long periods of time? A lonely, lighthouse attendant. A self-imposed prison isolation. I couldn't do it and would rather put two giant balloons down my pants and walk up and down the intersection looking like a complete fool.

Anyway, I think we found a keeper. This I deduced from having seen him a whopping three times. AND a guy that wears a suit and tie while mopping the floors means a lot in my book.