tolerance

So we have this new doorman. A very nice young guy I'll call Evan. He is really making an effort. 

In the beginning, everyone seemed impressed with Evan's friendliness — he's always asking, "How was your day?" and caring how you answered. But most people treat the question as a rhetorical one and typically respond, "Fine."

I come home, looking forward to a quiet night in. Evan is on duty and greets me with, "How was your day?"  "Fine," I respond and make the mistake of asking how his day was.

"Not so good," he tells me.  "Fed Ex and UPS both arrived at the same time today so it was chaos.  And then...well c'mere; let me show you."  He walks me over to the cabinet where all the dry cleaning is held. "While I was sorting through all the deliveries, two cleaners came at once. Look at all of this," he says, pointing to a closet filled with hanging clothes in plastic bags.

Evan's friendliness is now something I try to avoid.  When he's on duty, I rush past him with only a perfunctory hello. 

Yom Kippur begins tomorrow at sundown. I know I should be more tolerant of people. 

Like the food server at Agata tonight. She's working behind the prepared food counter where everything is sold by the pound. I ask for two-thirds of a pound of the grilled corn salad. She looks at me perplexed and says, "I'm not good with numbers. Is that the same as three-quarters?"

I'm not sure how well I'll do at being tolerant with people I find annoying, but I will try.

Addendum, September 22, Tuesday:

Alexander returns from being out all day. "Hey, I just heard that Ethan was fired." I sure hope it was more than friendliness that did him in.