Life in a high rise apartment building has it's good points, but also it's fair share of not so nice.
Like most of the posh buildings in downtown Toronto, we have the doorman wearing a suit, who smiles sweetly in the morning as he opens the door and bids you Adue. It's like having a surrogate parent wishing you well as you start your day.
The not soo nice? Weirdly enough, there's the seemingly year old Christmas wreath still hanging on the front door of #3406, now August the tired greenery smells like a cross between mildewy socks and a catbox. Then there's the boozey breathed guy on the 18 floor that always has the elevator smelling like a bottle of Tanqueray by the time I step in around 9:00 a.m. I have thought about suggesting he add a little milk to the morning gin & cheerio mix but haven't mustered the courage just yet. The elevator is a small paragraph of sociological intrigue all it's own. Elevator etiquette here in Canada differs greatly than say what I experienced while residing in Chicago. My building on ritzy Lake Shore Drive was home to the media elite (many of us worked at WLUP radio, CBS.) A handful of rockstars including Cheap Trick lead singer and guitarist Robin Zander also lived in the building. Elevator protocol was always to be too cool for school and not talk to anyone vs. today where anyone talks to anyone when the elevator doors open. Decidedly Canadian I suppose. It's sweet but I wonder how that's going to work once the H1N1 virus take hold this winter...hopefully mums the word.
I holdout hope however that the Christmas fans in #3406 replace that god awful wreath when the holiday season rolls around soon.
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