Sliding On In

Sliding On In

Doormen are unusual relationships for tenants. I have a very strong relationship with Corrado (Mr. Porca Miseria) based on the need to be sympathetic to the tragedy of his wife’s ongoing cancer treatments. In our apartment in the Seaport we had a doorman that had a daughter with a woman out of wedlock, who he was raising since she was in jail. That certainly gave us something to talk about. One of the guys at the building I lived in near Gramercy Park coined the phrase, “That’s what she said” spoken in a thick Albanian accent and said with a wry knowing smile. There always seems to be one guy who becomes memorable by what he says.

Lately, one of the older African-American doormen (I haven’t zeroed in on his name yet, though I’m betting Kim knows it) has been commenting every time he sees me walk in or out. He has started saying, “Just sliding on in, aren’t you?” The first time I took no notice, but then when I was leaving he said, “You just sliding on out now, right?” That was harder to ignore and I smiled and nodded. The next time he said it I said, “That’s right, that’s me, I just slide.” He smiled broadly and nodded and said, “that’s what I do, that’s what we’re supposed to do. We just slide on in and slide on out. It’s much cooler, right?”

The way I interpret that is that people are always hustling and bustling in and out of our building. It’s a seventeen story building with twelve floors of apartments averaging ten per floor, so it can be a busy lobby. I work all of a half-block away (160 steps to be exact, regardless of whether I go via State Street or Pearl Street) so that, combined with an admittedly laid-back work attitude, means that I have no reason to carry a briefcase or even an iPad any more. If I desperately need something at home, it takes me five minutes to come and get it. I also am never in a rush. If I get delayed it takes me an extra thirty seconds to make my commute. The absence of stress and baggage go a long way to making me very chilled out when I go or come from work. Also, let’s not forget that as age takes its toll on my feet, lower back and joints, it behooves me to move slower and with greater care. This is probably more noticeable than I realize and I suspect it’s what leads the doorman into thinking I’m always just sliding on in.

I like my new Cool Kat image, even if its just with the doormen. Corrado thinks I am caring and patient because I always ask about his wife and listen carefully about the update. Big guy thinks I’m smooth and sliding on in. And the night guy calls me by my first name, which I find very familiar. I doubt my image has ever been cool before. I was always polite and professional with service people, but cool and unrushed was decidedly not my modus operandi.

I’ve been thinking about this a lot lately because I’ve noticed that I walk much slower than I used to. I can walk faster if I set my mind to it, but my natural go-to pace has gone from a 6 to a 3 on a scale of 1-10. There is a movie coming about an overweight woman who decides to run the NYC Marathon. There is a scene in the trailer where she and an out-of-shape running buddy are running in Central Park so slowly that a group of pre-schoolers in a teacher-led conga-line pass them on the walkway. Whenever Kim and I see the trailer, Kim can’t help herself and she burst out in raucous laughter. Before Kim got her knees replaced, I was always waiting for her to catch up or navigate some stairs (especially down). Now, I have to remind her that she needs to slow her pace for me since I do not want to get all huff and puff by going faster than my go-to pace.

None of that bothers me to a point. I think it’s OK to walk slower and even to walk with my hands clasped behind my back (my kids have noted to me that this is my normal vacation walking stance). My kids even get a kick out of taking pictures of me walking with my hands clasped behind me while someone else is walking with me the same way, implying that I am setting a trend. I was even sent a picture of my toddler granddaughter watching TV in her PJ’s standing in front of the TV with her hands clasped behind her. I am now known in my family to be the slow walker. The hand thing has more to do with lower back strain than speed, so I guess I’m technically a slow walker with a weak back.

My brother-in-law and sister-in-law are slower walkers than me, but they have me by thirteen and eight years respectively, so that’s their excuse. I also have another brother-in-law with bad joints who moves slowly, so when we are with siblings, I do not feel so out of place. In fact, my orthopedic surgical record is unblemished, which makes me pretty unique in my extended family. With the kids, they have always been quicker than me, so I don’t consider that a big deal. What I do not want to have happen is to slow down more and more until the pre-schooler conga-line is breezing past me.

Sliding on in and out is cool. Crawling on in and out not so much. So, I am thinking this issue should probably be proactively addressed. We all know that frogs get boiled with no regard to the outcome until it is too late. I do not want to be that boiled frog. I guess that means I should start an exercise program again. I have done it before and I should do it again. The hardest part is starting. Kim has a trainer and the gym is right in the building, so it really is very easy. I have no excuse. I just have to make sure the doorman doesn’t find out or there goes my cool sliding status.