Intro to the secret life…..
I live in the Upper West Side of Manhattan in a two doorman building. That’s two doormen at peak hours, and one doorman during the rest of the time. I used to think this was a fairly normal way to live. I’m moving. So of course I decided to use a 23 year old doorman as my contractor. I did this partially because he was willing to do much work for less money, partially because like everybody in the building–and we’re not united on anything else, I find him charming, sweet, willing and wanting to learn. He’s a hard worker. I know he can do much and is going to super school. The perks of being a super, in a union building, will be explored in another post
I take after my father and am one of the least handy people in the world. My father never understood why a private home didn’t come with a super. We both thought of changing a light bulb as major home repair work.
I thought that I bought an apartment in perfect condition. I was so wrong. Slowly I found out how wrong.
My apartment was basically in good condition–except for the things that needed to be brought up to code. The living room was three shades of pink and lavender and that seemed a bit excessive even to me. The bedroom was tied dyed blue. Tied dyed from the many pipe floods. I’m kind of an expert on pipe floods. Anything you want to know about pipes, steam risers and the like just ask.
Anything that you want to know about doormen, please don’t hesitate. Doormen are integral to the lives of many Manhattanite. They accept our deliveries, always have a kind word to say–except for the evening doorman who actually asked why I didn’t give him a larger tip. I’m known for giving very large tips not just for a girl but for anybody. More about that in another post. More about the other doorman. And the former super who was a bona fide pervert.The condition of somethings in my apartment have much to do with him.
This blog will attempt to take the mystery out of doormen and contractors. This blog is my attempt to keep from having a complete nervous breakdown.
Everything was going smoothly. Or as smoothly as can be for a simple renovation that turned into every door knob being taken off every door, perfectly good recessed lighting being screwed with and more that I will go into at a later time. I do have locks on the front door. Including one new and very fancy one that I have a hard time using. The door now has to be stripped, repainted etc. The areas around all the door knobs have to be repainted. Did I say the old ones were a beautiful crystal that kept the integrity of the apartment’s deco lines? They were lose and hey probably needed some big repair that I’m not aware of.
My apartment does have skim coated walls and is in much better condition than most. I’m usually a hard person to persuade to do things like this. He became carried away. As it wasn’t going to cost me much extra I went along though I had reservations. Now I can’t afford to make reservations….
We had a good crew. My doorman hired his wife’s cousin, an Israeli with dreadlocks. His passion is making huge bars for parties where he then becomes the bar tender and DJ. This might be an Israeli thing. He’s also an expert carpenter and can do great blueprints.
My doorman/contractor is a former party promoter. He’s the son of a semi famous artist who I’m arranging an exhibit for in one of my other lives.
Ok. Now that I have this slightly laid out, let me go into what happened on New Years Eve. My D/C’s wife ran off with her cousin who might not actually be a relative though my D/C was paying him much as they were all supposed to find a better apartment to live in together.
This is the third morning this week he hasn’t shown up, but only the first when I had to call to see why. Monday I was actually giving him coffee and cigarettes as I advised him not to speak to the other doormen, and how potentially to get her back. That involved not phoning or texting her constantly and some other things.
Today is the first day I have faced reality and realized that he has too much of money and my faith. I can tell many of the other doormen want to speak to me. I’m considered to be the friendliest resident in the building. This isn’t always a good thing. I’m hiding in my apartment and when I have to go out am thinking of wearing a disguise. However doormen know everything. I know as I read too many mysteries, watch too much TV, and have been the recipient of too many of their secrets.
There aren’t going to be secrets anymore. Stay tuned….The post below this was actually written after this one but I played with the timestamp
I’m really looking forward to writing My Former Super The Pervert post. Gives me a better feeling about this whole thing. If this is disjointed and reads a bit weirdly, I went to sleep angry and woke up at 6 AM so I could be ready even angrier. At 9:30 AM when I called….My stuff is scattered all over town or in the storage cage.
Dusting does no good. I should be used to living in chaos as it’s the tenth week. I’m not. I make and break appointments at their convenience. I’m supposed to be the boss but feel like the worker who pays for the privilege. I truly like my D/C. I shouldn’t have given him so much responsibility and the wife running off, that’s tragic. Still he’s young and it’s my dime–many dimes. I just want out of here and yesterday contemplated walking away from the whole selling process. I guess that’s better than contemplating suicide but maybe it bears some resemblance.
I will go through the selling process in this blog.
I began a blogroll. It’s not complete.
The Secret Life of Doormen & Contractors: The murky world of luxe Manhattan Coops 