METROPOLITAN DIARY 'The Guy in Front of Me Called a Name, and the Other Guy Turned'
A street scene at the end of the day, carrying a gift on a packed train and more reader tales of New York City in this week’s Metropolitan Diary.
Aug. 9, 2020
Street Scene
Dear Diary:
It was fall 2018 and I had just gotten off the train at the end of a long day.
I walked up the station stairs, not really paying attention, and was on the sidewalk wishing I had my umbrella when the guy in front of me suddenly stopped to stare at a guy on the other side of the street.
The guy in front of me called a name, and the other guy turned.
What happened next was like something out of a movie: The guy across the street sprinted over and flung himself at the guy in front of me. They clung to each other like magnets before kissing in the pouring rain.
A few people standing nearby who were also watching the scene unfold actually clapped before dispersing.
I saw the same guys again in January. They were holding hands. I noticed that one of them had a sparkly ring on his left hand. The other one was holding a small dog on a leash.
— Jai Mohan
A Wedding Gift
Dear Diary:
It was summer 1955. I was working at an advertising agency on Park Avenue after having graduated from college in June.
I was to get married in August, and my college roommate, who would be my best man, was also working in the city.
We met for lunch one day, and he presented me with a wedding gift in a large box from Black, Starr & Gorham, a prominent Fifth Avenue jewelry store known today, and for much of its history, as Black, Starr & Frost.
I was living with my parents in Forest Hills at the time, and I decided I should leave work early because I would be carrying the present home on the subway and wanted to avoid the rush hour crowds.
When I got to the station, it was packed, even though it was only midafternoon. When the train pulled in, I did what I thought was smart and lifted the box over my head and pushed my way in.
The subways were not air-conditioned then, and they relied instead on overhead fans to cool the cars. I could see that there was an inch of thick, greasy dirt on the fan blades in the car I was on.
My box hit the fan, and that greasy dirt flew all over my fellow passengers’ faces and clothes. The blades also left a huge slice in the box.
I got off at the next stop to avoid more contact with the car full of irate passengers and waited for a less congested subway to complete my trip home.
The sterling silver bowl inside the box was unscathed, and as my wife and I celebrate our 65th anniversary this year, it is still with us.
— Bob O’Such
Her Favorite Place
Dear Diary:
I had just taken, and passed, the most difficult exam of my life.
I walked outside, hailed a cab in front of Madison Square Garden and told the driver my destination: the New York Botanical Garden. It was my favorite place in the city, and I wanted to bask in its beauty.
As we drove to the Bronx, I called my parents excitedly to tell them the good news.
When we got to the garden, I asked how much the fare was.
The driver replied that he had heard me calling my parents and the ride was on him. He said he was proud of me. His nephew had just passed his medical boards, too, he said.
— Rebecca Moellmer
Wrapped Up
Dear Diary:
The day my father turned 75, I flew down to Miami and met his neighbor as previously arranged.
In the hallway on their floor, the neighbor wrapped me in the gift paper I had brought along and stuck a glossy red bow in the middle of my forehead. Then I waddled to my parents’ door and rang the bell.
My father opened the door on the second ring.
“Happy birthday, Dad!” I cried out.
He backed away quickly, perhaps in shock, though I saw tears in his eyes.
“Annette,” he called to my mother, shaking his head. “You’re not going to believe this. It’s the New York City daughter here for dinner!”
— Jane Seskin
Rainy Day
Dear Diary:
My wife and I live in a small town in Texas, and our daughter has been living in New York since she started college 10 years ago.
On one of our trips to the city to visit her, we left the East Village shop where she was working at the time, and were walking to the Astor Place subway station when a hard rain suddenly began to fall.
We huddled under an awning, and I ran into a small newsstand to buy an umbrella that I assumed would be ridiculously expensive.
The clerk could see my wife waiting outside. He asked how many umbrellas I wanted.
“Just one,” I said. “We only have to go two blocks.”
“That’ll be $5,” he said.
That was much less than I had expected.
“OK,” I said, “I’ll take two.”
He looked at me.
“Oh,” he said. “One per block?”
— Clyde Neal
https://www.nytimes.com/2020/08/09/nyregion/metropolitan-diary.html
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Thank you for posting--I enjoyed reading.
