In and Out
In comes a large man in a salmon-colored hoodie, pushing a stroller teeming with an explosion of baby clothes…without a baby.
Out goes a blonde woman speaking to her friend in Russian. She is carrying a bouquet of yellow orchids that seem to cringe as the cold air blasts them.
Out goes a boy with heavily gelled black hair, huffing because he has to stop and wait for the family traipsing behind. His sister, grinning, clutches a trophy from today’s ballroom competition. She’s in no hurry to waste this moment.
In comes a slender woman with a tidy silver bun and a floaty lavender scarf.
Out goes a coffee-toting couple in matching jackets the color of ripe peaches.
Out goes a woman in a crimson peacoat and matching scarf. Her hardback wheeled bag looks like it has been meticulously packed and toted many times. She tells the valet that she has been judging the dance contest and is now headed home to Arizona for just a single sleep before she’s off to LA to do it all over again. She says this with the air of someone who is exhausted by the very thing they love.
In comes a trio of smokers, after lingering on the curb.
Out goes the valet, to sweep up the cigarette butts with an efficient swoosh.
Out goes the man in the salmon hoodie, this time without a stroller or a baby. He says that he and his wife are first time parents and they’ve been trying to figure out how many things one small baby requires, hence the baby-less stroller earlier. His in-laws are meeting them at the Pfister for the next few days, to help, he says with relief.
In he comes yet again a few minutes later, hefting an overstuffed diaper bag. The valet looks at him with sympathy.
Out goes an elderly woman who taps her way using a cane painted with navy blue butterflies. She is wearing a white lace dress with a dropwaist, white satin slippers, and a purple scarf with a second butterfly pattern. Behind large glasses, her eyeshadow is turquoise; she looks like spring. Before she is helped out to her son’s waiting car, she tells me that the two of them wanted to get a treat at the Pfister Cafe after Mass today because some of the youth had their first communion this morning and that is worth celebrating.
In comes a pair of sisters. Out they go, then in again, giggling at the joy that is a revolving door.
Out goes a tall man in brown leather loafers and an NBA backpack that looks official.
Out go two ladies exclaiming over their freshly painted toenails: shiny red and inky blue.
In comes a teenager with beachy curls, a heavy floral suitcase, and a little black dog who sports pointed ears and a tongue that could never fit completely in his mouth all at once.
In and out, in and out, in and out go the valets, clad all in black and quick helpfulness.
The revolving door is a gusty exhale spinning them to the sidewalk or the lobby, away or back again.