In the Upper East Side building where I run the elevator, there are three basic kinds of people: The nice ones, the needy ones, and the ridiculously nasty ones.

As an employee it is good to know who’s who so you can avoid the nasty shareholders and keep out of trouble while bonding with the ones who make life easy.

As a resident it’s not a bad idea to know where you fit in either: We building workers make life easier for those who make our lives easier. It's a round trip ride.

Suffering through hours upon days of the foolishness of residents and their guests can get under your skin.

Playing games on my cell or browsing the Internet isn’t enough of a distraction. Cursing at residents could cost me my job, and as frustrating as this job is, it is a good paycheck. 

Hi. My name is John.  No, that’s not my real name. But I’m also not my real self, not from the minute I walk through the polished double brass doors of my building, where no matter how strong the sun is you can’t see through the cloud of smug.  

This building is my battle zone, and appropriate uniform and appearance are paramount, or at least that’s what my boss says.