Tis The Freaking Season

Besides the obvious visual attributes of the holiday season there is a clear indication that whole goodwill to men thing is underway. Those who do services for you year round are suddenly overly solicitous.

The doorman are bouncy with good cheer. They race to open the door for you and skip to the storage closet to retrieve your deliveries. Their voices are almost so cheerful that they sound as if they may erupt into song. It's disturbing. The knowledge that this burst of Yuletide cheer will subside come December 29th or so does provide some consolation.

At the parking garage in my neighborhood where I rent monthly space to house my shiny handsome Angus, the attendants are equally attentive. They are full of smiles at 7 am when I go to pick up my car. They run like a sprinter to fetch the keys. And one them even took my arm to help me walk down the steep incline of the entrance last week when I was wearing three inch heels. That was most surprising. Come January, I'll be inching down that concrete Everest on my lonesome.

They're all putting on the seasonal dog: The guy at the corner bodega. Mike, the owner of the dry cleaner that I go to every Saturday. My hairdressers and the colorist who keeps me blonde. The kid who delivers our copy of The New York Times every morning. Everyone's very cheerful indeed---for tis the season of the holiday tipping ritual.

When I first moved to New York, this seemed the most alien of concepts (after that whole apartment maintenance fees as second mortgage concept thing). There's a whole hierarchy that has to be mastered and alas, no one ever really explains the strata the same way. People must be tipped as thanks for a year of good service and also to ensure continued good service into the next year. There's no pro-rating of a year. Once you dole out the largess, you need to maintain or exceed the level.

No where is this dynamic more interesting than when applied to the concept of the apartment building. At the top of this dynasty is the boss, the big kahuna, the king of the domain: The superintendent. He's the person you see the least of yet he always gets a few C notes. This is followed by the doorman (we have five). You may see some more than others--the senior doormen get the face time during the peak hours and I'd argue they deserve a bit more green. So between this group, they get $100-$150 each. Then we have two handymen. I hear they are handy and in truth, one did come to the apartment this year to fix an antiquated toilet that bubbled like a volcanic bidet when flushed. They get $100 each as well. Then we have five porters. These are the fellows who schlep the trash and recycling out and who keep the joint tidy. They get between $75-100 each. It quickly adds up.

By the time we've flourished around the holiday greenery, we've already spent a couple of grand. In cash, no less.

I haven't even bought Christmas cards this year yet, but at least I know someone will hold the door open for me when I get home from work.