Metropolitan Diary (i.e. Why I Love NY) part 2

Dear Diary

My husband is a more aggressive driver than I, so I often cringe at the thought of traveling into the city with him from Connecticut. And this occasion was no exception.

We had just returned our daughter to her N.Y.U. dorm after a long holiday weekend. After saying our goodbyes, we hopped into the car and my husband quickly pulled out into traffic.

“Oh my,” I said to him, “I believe we just cut someone off!” Ignoring my back-seat-driver comment, my husband proceeded to the end of the block, where we stopped at a traffic light.

The man we had cut off was signaling to my husband to roll his window down. I pleaded with my husband to not create an altercation, as my anxiety level was rising.

The man rolled down his passenger-side window, and my husband rolled down his driver-side window.

“Dude, you’d get a lot more love if you would just put on your blinker,” he called out from inside his car.

My husband was speechless.

I smiled all the way home.

-Keli Solomon

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Dear Diary:

Fifty years ago, I was a buyer at Abraham & Straus (sadly, it closed years ago) in Brooklyn.

One day, I got on an elevator where a small boy, about 3 years old, and his mother were looking down at his new sneakers. The mother asked if he was happy.

The 3-year-old replied, “All my life I wanted a pair.”

-Miriam Landsman

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Dear Diary:

I was taking the No. 2 train uptown from 42nd Street on a recent afternoon, and a man in a wheelchair boarded with a guide dog. As the train started to move, the man stood up from the wheelchair, removed his coat, lay down on the subway car floor and began doing push-ups. On the other side of the car, a man announced that it was “gospel time” and started singing.

As the train pulled into 72nd Street, the gospel singer walked through the car asking for tips, and the man doing push-ups stood up and handed him a dollar. He then picked up his dog, put him in the wheelchair, lay back on the floor and proceeded with sit-ups until 96th Street.

-Rebecca Weinstock

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Dear Diary:

Scene: A jewelry store in Brooklyn with loud rap music blasting out of three speakers.

Dramatis personae: Teenage salesgirl and me, a senior citizen.

Me: “How much is this necklace?”

Salesgirl: “Thirty-five dollars.”

Me: “Do you really like that music?”

Salesgirl: “Yes.”

Me: “Could you make it a little lower?”

Salesgirl: “O.K. Thirty dollars.”

Me: “I’ll take it.”

-Jane Feder