Vestibule

At 7:57 am it was 9°F.

I was slightly early for my 8am breakfast.

I belong to a sect of human beings that believes, “When you’re on time, you’re late.”

Sometimes when I’m early, I’ll walk around the block. But the Polar Vortex and the snow and ice that had set-up camp on the sidewalks of SoHo forced me to the vestibule.

Oh, by the way, that’s what those temporary fabric and plastic structures that appear attached to restaurants are called. Vestibules. They make their appearance around the city each year starting at Thanksgiving.

I entered the one at Balthazar to come in from the bone-chilling cold.

Being 7:57am, the ever-punctual staff at the restaurant was still three minutes away from opening.

There was another early-bird in the vestibule before I arrived.

I opened the door on the Eastside and smiled.

He smiled back and nodded.

I noticed that he was without a coat, hat or gloves. Just an orange merino cardigan over a classic Brooks Brothers button-down.

“You’re brave to go without a coat.” I said.

“Thin line between brave and stupid.”

We both chuckled.

It was then I realized that vestibules in New York had different rules than elevators in New York. In elevators, there is no talking to strangers.

Apparently, in vestibules, kibbitzing is allowed.

Just as I made that revelation, another patron opened the East door and entered the shelter.

Young guy, finance type. Coat and obligatory vest underneath.

It was 7:58.

“Always on time, this place.” He said.

Sweater Man turned and nodded in agreement.

“Two minutes away.” I offered.

Finance Bro nodded and looked at his phone. 7:58 appeared with a picture of lined palm trees on his screen.

“LA?” I asked and pointed to his screen with my gloved finger.

“Miami.”

Just then, Sweater Man waved to someone.

A woman, 40-something, bundled, stylish, and blonde entered from the West door.

“This is cozy.” She said.

“I will apologize now for dragging you here at 8am.” Said Sweater Man.

She smiled.

“At least it’s sunny.” She offered.

He smiled. I smiled. Finance Bro seemed to be executing a crypto trade on his phone.

7:59.

“No one is getting in early I see.” She said.

“That’s against Keith’s protocol.” Said Sweater Man.

I got the sense all of us knew who Keith was.

The staff inside huddled for their pre-opening meeting.

Outside, no one’s breath was visible. Either the vestibule was warmer than I thought, or we were all collectively holding it until 8:00.

A member of the waitstaff approached the heavy brown and glass bistro door.

The sound of the lock was surprisingly loud.

We all looked at each other and smiled.

The door opened.

It was warm inside.

We couldn’t wait to enjoy our $42 eggs.