When I was a little girl living on the Upper East Side we had a doorman. We were rich!

Since then, the shit has hit the fan and we went bankrupt. But back then my parents would tip him for the holidays and make small talk year round. Mostly to avoid awkward moments and to feel like they were good people. 

I felt more like “Eloise,” the children's book character who grew up at the Plaza hotel playing with her doormen and living a very privileged life.  When we left the building, I missed having that life and having a doorman.