So, you want to know the daily routine of a doorman, do you? Well, I would not either, but the stuff you see never ceases to amaze me. It does not even start on the job, but rather on the way to the job.

Now living in the Bronx and working in Manhattan the main method of transportation is public, trains to be exact. The 25-minute Metro North Railroad ride to Grand Central Terminal is an uneventful one. Other than my prework toke next to the “No Smoking” sign on the train platform and the MTA workers coming to pick up the garbage and recyclables. They are always so consistent with their time too… 1:50 PM

Upon arrival at Grand Central Terminal, one can and will get lost at the beautiful architecture and art that is synonymous with GCT, but I do not have time for that.

I have to seemingly speed walk to ensure I get to work on time. That would not be such a problem if it was not for two words: freaking tourist.

I feel like the California Golden Bear return man when Stanford’s band marched (get it?) onto the field. What? Too old of a reference? After I showcase my inner Saquon Barkley, young enough for all you?, I finally make my way to the 6 line where most times I rather be one of those tourists.

I have not even taken out my lime green MetroCard yet when I already see the mouthing through the sounds of trap music playing on my Apple AirPods of “Ayo Boss can I get a swipe?” and “Excuse me, sir, can you swipe me please?” from those trying to catch a free ride. not on my $2.75 buddy.

Not on my $2.75 buddies. I pretty much ignore them every time anyway. Got to love headphones.

But you know what they do not help out with? Reading. That 100^th or 1000^th sign from a panhandler to be exact. Everything from a homeless vet down on his luck to a guy just looking to scrounge up enough change to buy a beer, guy looking to buy a beer will get my money every time by the way.

The 6 train arrives and it is always like a really bad version of “Let’s Make a Deal” where instead of doors we have train carts and instead of the voice of Monty Hall or Wayne Brady, a reference for all ages, we have the voice of the MTA automated man voice letting us know our ride is “approaching the station”.

I must have gotten lucky with my cart selection today as there was just a break-dancer who did not reek of B.O for once and was actually pretty entertaining. His routine was even in sync with how long rides were in between stops, that is a dedication to your craft their people. Even thought about tipping him. I did not. After one last front flip to complete his routine for this stop I too have completed my routine of waiting to get off at my stop.

The sunlight and aroma of a mixture between urine and hot garbage welcome my nostrils as I slip out of the maze that is the NYC subway system onto the maze that is the streets of New York City.

The tourist on the streets make the ones in Grand Central Terminal feel like they are moving at a New York minute. I never understood why someone would stop walking in the middle of the sidewalk to take a picture of a building, but that is a topic for another column. After all that I have finally made my way to work.

I change into my jet-black suit and after a quick five-minute conversation with the morning doorman, I am caught up and ready to go about the work day. The only thing on my mind is to have a simple easy-going day. Should not be a problem, right?

And look here comes one of my newer tenants now. She recently moved in so I have not gotten much time to get to know her yet, but I see her coming in with an empty stroller. I get the door for her and greet her as I do all my tenants. I ask her if she has any children and she tells me she has two.

As I begin to congratulate her she yelps “here they come now!” and to my disbelief its two dogs, puppies actually. I did one of those where you look away to the non-existent camera, much like Jim Halpert did in The Office.

The only problem is that that was a hit television show, this is my real life.