METROPOLITAN DIARY
Greenpoint Deli
Dear Diary:
On the corner of Driggs Avenue and Humboldt Street in Greenpoint there is a little Polish deli. The man who works there has known me even before I knew me, yet I could not tell you his name.
My family shops at the deli for fresh cuts of Polish meat, bread, pickles, horseradish and other charcuterie accompaniments from the homeland.
When I was younger and still living in Queens, I would often join whichever parent was going to the deli, purely for selfish reasons.
Like clockwork, the deli man would give my parent change with one hand and give me a Polish treat, either Krowki or edible gum, with the other.
“And this for the little one,” he would say, extending his fist and opening his palm to reveal the treasured confection.
My father still goes to the deli whenever my family has a hankering, despite having crossed the Horace Harding Expressway to Long Island nearly two decades ago. Last July, while visiting, I joined him on one of his trips. Now fully an adult, I had not been to that intersection in many years.
From behind a counter packed with pickles, head cheese, kielbasa and rye bread, the deli man handed my father his change. With his other hand, he reached to a shelf above the register.
Bringing it down, he turned over and opened his fist to reveal three yellow Krowki.
“And this,” he said, “for the little one.”
— Ania Zolyniak
Blinkers
Dear Diary:
I’m a bus operator for New York City, lately driving the M72. Sometimes I use the hazard lights when pulling into stops.
One day, an older woman, perhaps in her 70s, got on at 67th and Fifth, just before the bus turns west to go through the transverse.
“I like how you blink the lights,” she said. “My late husband used to make them blink when driving away to say goodbye.”
Her fare was not required that day.
— Timothy Brandoff
https://www.nytimes.com/2022/08/07/nyregion/metropolitan-diary.html
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