Doormen

Another of my criteria for a place to live was security.  Most of the condo buildings around town have a round-the-clock doorman (doorperson?) who guards the inhabitants from unwanted or uninvited visitors.  Of course, it's not one person that is at the door 24/7, it's actually, in the case of my building, 5 people that have their own shifts - 3 full-time and 2 part-time.  They're all very polite and helpful, some more personable, some less.  I feel very secure having them there.

There's another doorman in the next block.  He's a true doorman - he lives in the recessed doorway of the building.  It's obviously not a currently functioning doorway; I think the building is in the process of becoming a condominium.  So this guy has taken up residence in a pretty ritzy building on a pretty busy street in a pretty nice part of town.

I first noticed him a cold morning 3 or 4 weeks ago when he was rolled up in a sleeping bag trying to stay warm.  It was just a lump of faded blue, and could have been anything under that fabric, but most likely a person, whether alive or not.  In the next couple of weeks, the lump turned into an actual man of undeterminable age, as most homeless people tend to be.  Actually he's not homeless, as he's established a home of sorts in the doorway.  He has a bicycle that he chains to a nearby tree, and has somehow acquired a hodgepodge of possessions - a basket, a smoker grill, what appear to be clothes and at least one more blanket.  I try not to look too closely when I pass; I don't want to become too familiar to the man, but I do pass there quite often.

It does amaze me that he's allowed to just take up residence in this public space of maybe 15 square feet.  I expect to find this in alleyways or under overpasses - less visible locations.  I'm sure if the building owner was aware, they would have him removed, but until then, I'm waiting for him to hang pictures and plant a garden.

Last weekend, when I had visitors, I pointed him out to them.  Well, I didn't actually have to point him out; it was quite obvious as we walked by that he lived there.  At lunch, Lacy had her leftovers put in a box with plans to drop it off to him.  The intentions were good, but I guess there's a limit to our sense of benevolence.  When she discovered she had left the box in the restroom at the Merchandise Mart, we didn't hike back to retrieve it.  So, the doorman didn't have a gourmet dinner that day.  And since he's managed to acquire quite a haul, I feel less charitable toward him.  If he can manage to find all of that stuff and maintain a home in a doorway, it seems he has the capacity to manage a job of some sort.

Maybe he's training to become a real doorman.