Today's post is the third in a series of stories about service providers. These are the people to whom we provide an income, and in return they provide material for story tellers.
I was out with a real estate agent recently looking for a flat for someone else. She had made a mistake in writing down the address so we were looking for building 35 B instead of 35 C. The street we were on is divided into three blocks, so there's an A block, then a B block, then a C block. Building 35 C is not next door to 35 B, it's a block away. Roughly.
So my real estate friend called the landlord to ask where the flat was, and as soon as she hung up her mobile, she started laughing out loud. She told me that the landlord had told her the correct address, then told her to look for the building where the doorman's wife was really fat!! She asked me what we were supposed to do, walk along and ask the doormen if their wives are home? "Can I please see your wife? Is she pretty big?" But when we got to building 35 C, we knew we had our girl. She was sitting on the front porch adding a decent amount of gravitational support to this 12-story concrete building.