I live on the first floor of a brownstone apartment building. The front door to my apartment faces the building vestibule and is in between the front door to the outside of the building and the door that leads to the other units.
Over the years, I’ve learned to tune out the noise from the vestibule. Guests coming in and out of each door. Deliverymen getting buzzed into the building. Neighbors coming home at odd hours of the night. Drunk. Singing. Singing a tune that once got stuck in my head forcing me to look it up only to find it was a Hilary Duff song which made me want to invent the “do-it-yourself-home-lobotomy” to remove even the memory of the memory from my mind. But, yeah, I can usually tune it all out.
The other night, the vestibule show was – for the first time – quite interesting.
I heard the muffled sound of voices – male voice outside the door; female tenant – talking over the building intercom. Then the vibrating, buzzing sound of the wires connected to the door releasing the lock to let the guest in.
The sound of the guy walking through the first door.
The buzzing sound stopped which meant one thing – this guy was now stuck between the two doors, unable to get through the second door to the apartment they were visiting.
Loud sigh.
Front door opening and closing. Muffled sound of the intercom again. Vibrating buzzing sound. Front door opens and closes. Buzzing sound stops. Louder sigh. Front door opens and then slams.
Now I’m really paying attention.
I hear the guy outside loudly speak into the intercom, “hey, you know there are two doors, right? So you have to hold the button down longer so that I can get through both doors. Can you do that?”
Indistinct response on the intercom… But then, the buzzing sound again, releasing the locks on both doors. The front door opens. Buzzing immediately stops.
The guy in the vestibule lost it. Just completely let go, “FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK! What the FUCK?????!!!!!!!!”
I could hear him doing what sounded like a calming, breathing exercise in the vestibule. Then a slapping sound, like he had thrown his hands up in exasperation and, lowering his arms, crashed his open palms down against his thighs. The front door opened and closed again, and…
Nothing.
He left. He actually left!
No one can know what was going on inside his head but I’d hazard a guess that he was so annoyed by the ineptitude of my neighbor that he just gave up! Imagine being this guy. You woke up that day anxious but excited for a first date. When the evening finally rolled around, you showered, shaved, splashed on cologne, ironed a dress shirt, got cash from the ATM, took a subway to this woman’s place, rang the bell and….
My face was frozen in a wide eyed, hand over open mouth, “oh shit” expression for who knows how long… the trance broken only by that elusive second door opening and slamming and a woman exclaiming, “seriously?!”
And – you just can’t make this up – she got stuck in the vestibule, locked out of that second door. I guess I could have done it earlier, but decided to mercifully push the button on my intercom and let her through.
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