The phone rang. “Brad, could you wait for me at the door. I am in a cab.”
Brad is not her husband. Brad is the doorman in her building.
“It’s my job to protect the residents,” Brad said. I had asked if I could interview him for my blog. “My biggest fear is crime during COVID-19. Before the pandemic, people were working, they had a routine; now, as summer approaches and people venture out, crime will come into play. Our female residents feel particularly at risk.”
“In what way?” I asked.
“I will get a call at night: ‘Brad, could you wait for me at the door. . ..’ I stand by the door and wait until she is safely inside.”
“How has the pandemic affected your job?”
“There is less traffic in the lobby. For fear of COVID-19, many of the residents have left town.”
Translated:
· Fewer of rushing to the door to welcome the residents;
· Fewer deliveries from Amazon to be scanned in, stored, and handed over;
· Fewer restaurant deliveries;
· Fewer visitors announced;
· Fewer calls; and,
· the job gets done quicker.
“Do people ask you for personal information about a resident?”
“Happens a lot. A resident will ask if a particular person owns or rents? A visitor will ask if someone by this name lives here, or their apartment number. We cannot and do not give that information.”
“Has any visitor every tried to push his way in?”
“It happens mostly when a woman is on a date. One night, a female resident came in at night. Her date was with her. She gave me that look. If you have seen enough looks, you know what it says: I don’t want him coming up to my apartment. The man gave me this man-to-man look: you know what I want, buddy. She said goodbye to him and turned to go. He followed her. I stopped him. ‘Sir, you heard the lady.’ I stood in between the two, allowing her to get into the elevator. He got verbally aggressive. I held my ground, and for a while there was a stand-off. Then he backed away and left.”
“Have you ever been threatened?”
“Sure have. A homeless man used to walk in every night and ask for change. As a policy, we refuse. One day, the homeless man stalked a resident, and as the resident walked in the building, I stopped the man. He threatened me. We are trained to defuse a potentially violent situation by using steady eye contact, speech, and being acutely aware of our surroundings; and if it escalates, to call 911. In this case, the man backed off.”
Brad has been a doorman for eighteen years.
“What do you like about your job?”
“Nothing surprises me. I like the people who live here. They are considerate.”
“Tell me about a day-in-the-life-of-a-doorman—before COVID-19.”
On weekdays, his shift starts when the children are coming back from school. They wave to him as he opens the door and welcomes them, always with a cheery smile. If it’s raining, he will hand them a plastic bag for their wet umbrellas. “Thanks,” and off they rush towards the elevator. When the packages start arriving—40 on any given day, 180+ during Christmas season, he moves fast to keep them from piling around him, scanning them, before putting them in the storage closet.
“Do people stop to chat with you—as in telling you all about their woes?”
Some of them do. Brad is a sociable person, exudes affection and warmth, is respectful, so I can see why people would feel comfortable opening up to him. He also has a curiosity to learn.
“Do you give them advice?”
“Yes. They give me the respect of sharing their thoughts and issues. But listening to them has made me wiser. I realize that this person is no different from me; that I am no different from other people.”
On weekends he does the night shift. “It is lonely. I do like the social aspect of my job.”
“How do you occupy yourself on quiet nights?”
“There is a lot to do. I clean the doors, shine the windows, disinfect the couches, polish the handles. . ..”
I asked him how COVID-19 had affected his personal life.
For one thing, his commute time has been drastically reduced. The 1 ½ hour drive now takes ½ hour, including parking and changing into uniform.
“Our family is so much closer during this lockdown. We get to spend time together with our children in ways we didn’t. Thankfully, the children have their devices to keep them occupied. Had this happened when I was a child, I would have been lost. It has also given me a chance to catch up on house repair and other stuff.”
“What do you miss?”
“I miss being free. I miss walking up to someone and shaking their hand; the spontaneity of getting a cup of coffee without having to check if the place is open; walking down the block without wearing a mask or keeping a distance. One day a resident walked in–food in hand—and offered me a bit. Normally I would take it, but I had to stop him: ‘I can’t; you touched it.’ Sometimes a visitor will walk up to me, and I have to raise my hand and say, ‘Stop. Please don’t come close.’”
Brad freelances on the side. But now, all his contracts are on hold.
“Has there been another time like this?”
“9/11. But it was different. In the aftermath, people were caring; we unified. Not now. Now we don’t know what is coming. People are jobless, frustrated, angry, locked down, and summer is here, adding to the frustration.”
These days there is an 8:00 p.m. curfew in New York City. All bridges and tunnel entrances into Manhattan are blocked. Brad carries on him his ‘Essential Worker’ letter issued by the building management. Driving in to work at night, he waits in line at the bridge, shows the letter to the cops, before he is let in.
I asked him about his feelings about George Floyd’s killing and the protests.
“The world is in a bad place. The last thing we need during a pandemic is chaos. If we don’t act correctly, there won’t be a tomorrow. There won’t be a world for our children.”
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