METROPOLITAN DIARY 'I Had Shoved Everything I Needed Into a Rickety Folding Cart'
Splitting up, finding a car key and more reader tales of New York City in this week’s Metropolitan Diary.
Leaving
Dear Diary:
I was breaking up with my boyfriend.
I had shoved everything I needed into a rickety folding cart that I had wheeled it into our building’s elevator when my ex came running down the hall. He held the doors open, arguing with me for a really long time.
I wasn’t the only one in the elevator. A man trapped there with me politely pretended that a relationship wasn’t collapsing in front of him.
The doors finally closed and we went outside. I apologized. He pulled out two cigarettes, handed me one and stood next to me, smoking.
We didn’t speak or even look at each other. We just stood there shoulder to shoulder for a few minutes while I pulled myself together. Then he flicked his butt and walked away.
— Miranda McLeod
Near a Hydrant
Dear Diary:
I was walking home when I found a car key and fob on the sidewalk. Wanting to return the key to its rightful owner, I clicked the fob to see whether the car it belonged to was parked nearby.
It was, just up the block and directly in front of my own car. Its rear bumper was nearly touching my front one.
My rear bumper was close to a hydrant. The car was probably O.K. where it was, but it was in the kind of spot that might it earn a ticket from an officer in the wrong mood.
Meanwhile, the car in front of mine — the one I was holding the keys to — had a glorious four feet of space in front of it.
As I continued on to my apartment, I considered whether I should use the key I had just picked up to move the car in front of mine so that I could secure myself a little more space and ensure that I would not get a ticket.
I won’t tell you what I decided. I’ll let you debate the issue, as my wife and I still do months later.
— Benjamin Marcus
Reassurance
Dear Diary:
With every stop of the train, more passengers surged in than filed out. And with every stop of the train, I was nudged farther and farther into the car.
I eventually found myself facing a woman who had her back to the door and her chin dropped to her chest. A two-lane highway of gray ran over the crown of her head. To either side was a fading chestnut brown.
The woman looked up and into my eyes.
“Do you think I should stop dying my hair?” she said.
“Yes,” I replied after an appropriate two-second assessment. “I do.”
“Are you sure?” she asked. “What about the color of my skin? Would it look O.K. with gray hair?”
“It will look beautiful,” I said after another quick assessment.
“Are you sure?” the woman asked a second time.
“Yes,” I said. “You will look beautiful.”
We pulled into the next station and the doors opened behind her. She thanked me, turned and walked away.
— Rebecca Kalin'>>>
https://www.nytimes.com/2020/02/02/nyregion/metropolitan-diary.html
