What. Is. My. Name.

Like every other work day for the past two years, I arrived for my shift at 5:45 AM after stopping at the corner florist to pick up a fresh bouquet for the lobby. With a freshly pressed doorman’s uniform, matching cap, a smile and a name tag that read ALDEN, I was the youngest doorman to ever grace this lobby and was determined to keep the forty-eight residents of The Gloucester happy from sunrise to sunset. 

I replaced yesterday’s flowers and tidied the lobby. If one of the leather club chairs were askew, a few residents were prone to snidely ask if we had redecorated. The first ding ding of the elevator started my day. If the day started just like every other day, Mr. Albright, Apartment 4C, would appear. “Good morning, Mr. Albright,” I said when he emerged from the elevator. I held his copy of the New York Times. “Are you expecting any students today?”

“Yes.” He snatched the paper from my hands as he marched down the center of the Oriental carpet runner. “Three P.M. If I’m not back yet, tell Gabby to practice her scales and leave the dog be. It’s bad enough that my prize-winning poodle must endure that girl’s musical impairment. I don’t want Precious to end up traumatized by her role playing Dr. Doolittle. Good day, Allan.” 

“Very good, Mr. Albright.” I tipped my hat and kept smiling. “I’ll give Precious a quick walk while Gabby tickles the ivory and you exercise your elbow.” I suppressed the urge to correct him on two counts: my name and his unfair characterization of Gabby’s musical skills. 

The door to the stairwell opened unexpectedly and a short, elderly woman in the shape of an avocado entered the lobby. Mrs. Huffnagle, Apartment 6B, meandered toward me, looking perplexed. My eyebrows knitted in confusion, as well, since residents of the The Gloucester, being a little long in the tooth, used the elevator religiously.

“Good morning, Mrs. Huffnagle,” I said. “Why did you take the stairs down six flights? The elevators are working.”

She sniffed repeatedly as her head tilted and turned in all directions. “I am search of the source of that horrible smell, young man. I even went up two flights before coming down.”

“You shouldn’t have to worry about that,” I said. Young man? I guess that’s better than pretending to know my name. “You can count on me to attack that job today. Enjoy your day with your sister.”

Mrs. Huffnagle whooshed away the very idea with a wave of her hand. “She’s insufferable.”

As she passed through the open door, I offered a whisper of advice. “Try to listen with your heart and not just your ears.” I wasn’t sure she even heard me.

The usual cast of characters flowed out of the building per their daily schedules. I held the door for each one and offered a cheerful greeting, despite the beads of sweat rolling down my back. 

“Good morning, Dr. Okoye. I took a message for you.” I stepped behind my desk. “Your son said please meet him at 3 PM at his apartment, not his office.” I removed the note from the mailbox labeled 2C and handed it to her with a wink.

“Thank you, Aiden,” she said, as she crumbled the paper in her fist. “Is my Lyft here?”

I moved out from behind my desk and held the door, extending my arm as a guide. Not my name.

By ones and twos they flowed out the door into their days.

“I have a very important delivery today, Alvin.”

“I’ll sign for it, Mr. McAllister.” And the other five packages you will probably receive today. And, I’m not Alvin.

“Are you going to shoo that bum along, Adrian?”

He’s not bothering anyone. “Of course, Mrs. Singh.” Not my name. 

“The nanny will be late today, Axle.”

Axle? Is that even a name?

“Hey, Mr. Aaron, my snake escaped out of his cage.”

My first thought should have been Oh, great but on the inside, I was screaming my own name — Alden. Alden! — while my hand instinctively checked for my name tag. Yep, still there. 

I spent the day admitting young musicians-in-training into apartments, shooing bums along and taking more messages. The exodus that had occurred this morning reversed itself with all the residents returning from a day in their self-absorbed lives. Just before the end of my shift, I realized I had not fulfilled all of my duties. 

I trekked to the sixth floor to hunt down the horrible smell that Mrs. Huffnagle, Apartment 6B, mentioned. The putrid scent of decaying flesh emanated from the custodial closet. Apparently, her nose works no better than her ears because I found it in no time. I gagged as the stench of rancid meat penetrated my mouth and nose. 

I opened the door to find the missing boa constrictor and its collection of rotting mice and rats that he had eaten and then regurgitated. I covered the sick snake with a large pail, grabbed the aerosol air freshener and slammed the door to the rotting carcasses. I doused the sixth floor with Mountain Fresh scent until it looked like a thick, unnatural fog had settled upon The Gloucester. I escaped the cloud of poisoned air through the stairwell and hurried to the lobby.

I took one step into the lobby and it happened. Beeeeep. Beeeeep. A series of high pitch screeches filled the building. The aerosol set off the smoke alarms. 

I plopped myself down on the cold tiled floor against the front of my desk. Could this day get any worse? I spent my entire day in their service. I took care of their petty problems and they don’t even know my name. Let the alarm go off. I hope the whole thing burns to the ground. 

A crowd of residents flowed into the lobby, milling about and chattering loudly over the rhythmic warnings and their moans, complaints and protests made the small lobby seem claustrophobic. Over a dozen residents prattled like a gaggle of pissed off geese. I made out a word here and there — inconvenience, unacceptable, interruption — but each protest ended with attributing this problem to their doorman — Aiden, Allan, Alvin or Adrian. I think it was Axle that pushed me over the edge.

I pushed my back against the desk and leveraged myself up until I was standing. Four or five residents shouted at me and waved fingers. I walked to the maintenance closet, opened the electrical panel and switched off the breaker to the alarms. The loud conversations and complaints continued. I was seeing spots in front of my eyes as my ears burned. 

I lost it.

“Be quiet!” I yelled. “Everybody, shut the hell up!” There were a few low murmurs of excuse me, how dare you and oh my before silence fell over the lobby. “Please.”

A dozen pair of eyes bored into me. I had their attention, but I wasn’t sure what to say. After that outburst, I was sure to lose my job so I decided to let it all out. “You people are the most self-absorbed, ungrateful, entitled group of rich, snobby, pretentious elitists that this city has ever known! Do you realize how much I do for you every day? Do you?”

“We don’t have —,” Mr. Morton, Apartment 6A started.

“Shh!” I held a finger to my lips. “Mr. Albright, you run late every day. Your students would quit you if I wasn’t here to let them in and Precious would piss all over your apartment.” I brought an invisible martini glass up to my mouth and tilted my wrist. “Wouldn’t it be easier if they met you at Four Seasons lounge?” 

“Whatever do you mean?” He protested.

“Dr. Okoye — or should I call you Dr. ‘Cougar’ Okoye? — your twenty-something boyfriend would be waiting alone at home if I didn’t relay your messages. Mr. McAllister, you received zero packages today. Zero. I was afraid to leave my desk to take a piss for fear of missing the UPS guy. But, don’t worry. Your Vogue Knitting magazine arrived.”

“I’m sure that’s for my late wife.” 

“Shush! I’m not done. Mrs. Singh, you know that bum you wanted to shoo along? He’s not a murderer. He’s homeless and suffers from a mental illness. I called crisis intervention. Two very nice social workers took him to the emergency room and are tying to find him a bed in a treatment facility — maybe the same one your husband entered last year.”

She looked away. 

“Where is Mrs. Huffnagle? Mrs. Huffnagle, are you here?” When there was no response, I added, “Someone tell her I found the stinky closet where little Jimmy’s snake was hoarding food like some sort of reptile doomsday prepper.”

I was on a roll, reaching an angry crescendo of rigorous honesty. I ripped my name tag from my shirt and held it on display for all the residents to see.

“My name is Alden! Alden. A-L-D-E-N. Not Aiden. Not Alvin. Not Adrian. And, for fuck’s sake, not Axle. Now, what’s my name?”

Silence.

Louder and more emphatic, I said, “What. Is. My. Name.”

A few limp replies came. “Alden.”

“I can’t hear you. Again.”

This time, every person said it in unison as if it had been rehearsed. “Alden.”

“That’s right. Alden. I am your doorman. Not your doormat.” I looked at a lobby full of wide eyes and gaping mouths but I still needed to own this moment. “Why are you all just standing here. The smoke alarms went off. Exit the building. Now! Let’s go. Get out.” I waved my arms to corral them through the exit.

Residents filed out into the humid evening air with murmurs and shrugs. I overhead a few of the musings. 

“Alden? I never knew his name was Alden.”

“Did he change his name? I always thought it was Aiden.”

“Who names their child Alden, anyway. Sounds so common.” 

I walked behind my desk and sat behind it for what would probably be the last time, but it was worth it. After a few calming, deep breaths, Mrs. Huffnagle entered the lobby and stood at my desk. 

She looked over her readers at me as her pearly eyeglass lanyard wiggled.

“Why are you just sitting there? Aren’t you going to leave?”

“There’s no fire, Mrs. Huffnagle. I set it off by accident.”

“Well, better safe than sorry. The fire department wants everybody out. You could lose your job.”

“So?”

“So, we could never get by without you, Alden.”

“My name is –” I stopped. “You know my name?”

“Of course, dear. Now, up you go.” She extended her hand and flapped her fingers to indicate I should rise.

As I met her on the other side of my desk, she patted my back. “We’ve all had those days, my dear.” 

I stood in front of her with my head down, staring at my shiny doorman shoes. I saw my distorted reflection in black and white. 

“I meant to thank you,” she said.

“For what?” I asked.

“You gave me some good advice this morning. I listened — really listened — to my bragging, windbag of a sister. I started to see that we aren’t very different after all.”

And, with that, I was liberated from my anger. 

“I’ll meet you outside. I need to check on Precious.”

“Of course, dear. I think Mr. Albright would appreciate that.”