METROPOLITAN DIARY 'I Was About to Walk Away When a Woman Approached the Mailbox'
'A stack of letters to send, another round at McSorley’s and more reader tales of New York City in this week’s Metropolitan Diary.
Postal Service
Dear Diary:
I had left work for the day, and I had a letter to mail. I headed to the old-school mailbox on the corner near my office, on Sixth Avenue in Midtown.
I pulled down on the handle and the mailbox door squeaked down with it. I slid my letter into the narrow slot and closed the door. I opened the door again to confirm that the letter had slid down and was not stuck in the slot.
I was about to walk away when a woman approached the mailbox. She had a stack of letters in one hand and multiple bags hanging from each of her arms.
The woman tried to grab the door handle with her free hand, but the bags she was carrying limited her reach. I could see she was not going to be able to open the mailbox while she was holding the bags.
Without a word, I lowered the door. With her arms tucked to her sides, she got onto her tiptoes and extended her hand until she was able to slide the letters into the slot.
I closed the door. The woman just stood there, staring at the mailbox. I opened the door once again. She looked in to make sure her mail had slid down, then turned and walked off.
— Scot Bobo
Another Round
Dear Diary:
On a Saturday afternoon in 1994, my father took me, my brothers and a few of our cousins to McSorley’s, which, of course, claims to be the oldest continuously operating tavern in the New York.
It was 100 years to the day, my father said, that his father, my grandfather, had been born in the apartment upstairs.
After we’d had a round or two, my father raised his glass.
“Bartender” he said, “a round for the house on the 100th anniversary of the birth of my father.”
“This is New York pal,” the bartender said. “Let me see some money. We had Columbus’s cousin in here last week.”
— Edward Wiessner 
I Never Left You’
Dear Diary:
Early one night several summers ago, my roommate and I were sitting and chatting in our second-floor apartment in Washington Heights. The windows were wide open.
Our conversation turned to our favorite musicals.
“‘Evita,’” my roommate said. “I love that one!”
She started to belt out “Don’t Cry for Me Argentina,” but she stopped when I reminded her that the entire neighborhood could hear her.
Within seconds, we heard a knock on the door. My roommate opened it to find one of our neighbors standing there as if he had been waiting for just this moment to arrive.
“The truth is I never left you!” he sang.
We erupted in laughter, and my roommate accidentally slammed the door on his face.
No matter. He kept on, and we could hear the familiar lyrics echoing through the hallways: “All through my wild days, my mad existence, I kept my promise, don’t keep your distance”
— Keren Golan'>>>
https://www.nytimes.com/2020/02/23/nyregion/metropolitan-diary.html?
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