Diaries / The Doorman’s Night Book
Thirty years on the front desk of the Midtown tower. What the doorman writes down, what he doesn’t see, and what the lift does in a storm.
Fiction. The characters, diaries, legends and reports are invented. The lift and the lair are real.
Tuesday, 11.04 pm
Five people in the lobby, wet through, holding a Lucky Noodle bag and arguing about which floor their friend lives on. Signed them in. Told them the lift is a bit temperamental in a storm. They laughed.
Thunder at 11.06. Lift stopped at 11.07. The panel shows the 7 and the 8. I have seen that before. I wrote it down before, too.
Crossword, 4 down: “Neither one thing nor the other” (7). BETWEEN.
Tuesday, 11.20 pm
Called Volts. He said it’s the storm. I said I know it’s the storm. He said then why are you calling me. I said because it’s your lift. He said it is not his lift, it has never been his lift, it is the lift’s lift.
He is coming anyway. He always comes. He never fixes it.
Note to self: buy Volts a coffee. He looks tired.
Thursday, 7.15 pm
Frankie from the Lucky Noodle came in with the Thursday order: three big bags, no chilli, exact change. Asked which floor. I said the usual. Frankie said there is no usual. I said exactly.
The lift went up and came back down empty, and so did Frankie’s face. Frankie had a large tip.
Crossword, 11 across: “Kept out of sight” (6). HIDDEN.
Friday, 9.30 pm
Detective Calloway back again. Rode the lift up and down for an hour. It stopped at every floor, in order, like a very good lift. She asked me if I was sure the building only has eighteen floors.
I said I’ve been on this desk thirty years and I’ve only ever pressed eighteen buttons. That is true. I didn’t mention the lift doesn’t always need you to press one.
She left her umbrella. Put it in lost property, next to the other eleven.
Sunday, 12.01 am
Man in a dark coat came in out of the rain, nodded at me, and went straight to the lift. Didn’t sign in. He never signs in. I have never asked him to.
The lift went up and the panel said 7, then 8, then both. Sixty minutes later, to the minute, he came down again, looking like a man who had found his office rearranged and a noodle box on his desk.
I don’t see anything. That’s why they pay me.
— G. Pagano, night desk (didn’t see a thing)
