Passing Judgement

This morning I realized that I should write out the makeup instructions for Olga and Rustini, 'cause there's no guarantee I'll get to the cabaret tonight in time to do all three of them. I also packed up the recycling and said goodbye to my fiance (he has the day off). Thus, I left the apartment at 10:30.

I dropped the recycling in the basement, walked up to leave and Mr. Henry, our grandfatherly Jamaican doorman was at his post. He looked at me sternly and said reprimandingly, "You slept late dis mornin', didn't you?" "Well, no. I had a lot of chores to take care of in the apartment." "Okay den. You have a package." There was the definite implication that I wouldn't have been given my package had I slept in.

He does not approve of laziness and you can hear his scorn whenever he announces that we have a grocery delivery. Luckily for us, I get up very early on Saturday mornings to go to the farmer's market--it counters the occasional delivery.

You don't mess with Mr. Henry. (Yes, Henry is his surname.) He's very old school--he takes his job very seriously and you'd better treat him and what he does with respect. If you do, he's absolutely great. If one is snobby or too familiar...he can and will make one's life difficult. I've heard prospective tenants ranting in the elevator about how it took 5 minutes to get the keys to see an apartment. My immediate thought was: "If Henry doesn't want you living here neither do we."

We love Henry. Greg's giving him the engagement news today. He'll be just as pleased as my mom and Greg's grandmother.