The Super
Let me start with a typical New York story. I live in a walk-up – 6 stories, no elevator, old everything. And like a lot of New Yorkers, we have a live-in superintendent in the building. Now, in theory a live-in super is a great thing: if something breaks or you’re locked out, you just have to go knock on his door to get help. I moved into my building 6 months ago and quickly learned that, while it was easy to get help, the super wasn’t someone I wanted around. It started off shortly after I moved in. He was always sitting outside the building, leering at me and the other women who lived there. When I climbed the stairs, I could see him below, craning his neck to look up my skirt. It …