METROPOLITAN DIARY
The Best Metropolitan Diary Item of 2021: The Readers Speak
A tale of two hot dog vendors claims the top spot in this year’s voting, outpolling four other favorites.
Winner: Cool Breeze
Dear Diary:
One early fall morning some years ago, I decided to walk to the Metropolitan Museum of Art and spend a few hours there before meeting a friend for lunch.
It was one of those days when the weather could not make up its mind between bright and sunny or cool and cloudy. I grabbed a sweater from the closet, wrapped it around my waist and set off.
After wandering through the museum’s galleries for a while, I headed south on Fifth Avenue to meet my friend. The sun had just disappeared behind a large bank of gray clouds, and I was glad I’d brought a sweater.
Standing at a corner waiting for the light to change, a man at a hot-dog stand waved and called out to me.
“Lady, are you walking as far as 72nd Street?” he asked me.
I nodded.
He reached under his cart and pulled out a light blue windbreaker.
“Could you please take this to my wife?” he said. “She has a hot dog cart just like this one.”
“Of course,” I replied, grabbing the jacket just as the light turned green. The man grinned and waved.
About 10 minutes later, I spotted a shiny steel hot-dog cart. A woman stood beside it, her shirt collar turned up against the cool breeze.
“Your husband sent you this,” I said, handing her the jacket.
“Oh, thank you so much,” she replied with a smile, quickly putting the jacket on. “He is a good man.”
Others:
Iago’s Plot
Dear Diary:
It was some years ago, and we had four front-row, center-balcony seats for a Metropolitan Opera performance of “Othello.” A young couple who weren’t familiar with the opera accepted an invitation to join us.
During the taxi ride from the restaurant where we had dinner to Lincoln Center, we unraveled the plot for our companions. With four passengers in the cab, I sat in the front seat and narrated to the rear.
The cab’s arrival at the Met coincided with my recounting of Iago’s plot of the concealed handkerchief. I tried to hand the fare to the driver as we prepared to get out. He stopped me.
“No one is leaving until I hear the end,” he said.
— Vern Schramm
Curbside Reunion
Dear Diary:
I recently went for a run and ended up in Bedford-Stuyvesant.
Just before turning to head home, I was stopped dead in my tracks when I saw a large piece of wood leaning against a bunch of trash bags. It was garbage night, but until this point I hadn’t noticed the rubbish I was passing as I ran.
This was not just any piece of wood. It was my desk.
My father had built the desk for me in 2010 when I moved into what had been my second apartment, in Chelsea. I had used it for six years before selling it to a woman on Craigslist. I was moving to Brooklyn and it wouldn’t work for me in my new apartment.
Now, I thought, after four years, it must not work for her anymore either.
After 10 years in existence, the desk — its wooden top separated from it rusted-pipe legs, which were nearby encased in clear recycling bags — was finally at the end of its life.
I felt myself welling up. I FaceTimed my father and pointed my phone at the piece of wood.
“Do you know what this is?” I asked.
He did, immediately.
I said goodbye to the desk one last time, wiped away my tears and continued my run home.
— Jennifer Fragale
— Faith Andrews Bedford
https://www.nytimes.com/2021/12/26/nyregion/metropolitan-diary.html