Morning Ritual
Dear Diary:
The deli on West 40th Street across from my office closed during the pandemic, and I discovered another one a few blocks away that had great egg and cheese sandwiches.
The lovely woman who I imagined to be the owner greeted me and everyone else who came in with a huge smile.
“Good morning, dear,” she shouted as we entered.
“Have a nice day, dear,” she said when we left.
Once I became a regular, she always got my coffee cup and protective sleeve ready for the self-pour as soon as she saw me walk in.
After I lost my job and was no longer commuting to Midtown, I missed those sandwiches and that morning ritual. Yes, it was just an egg and cheese on a toasted bagel and a coffee, but it was my place that I really loved.
Six months after my last visit to the deli, I returned to same office building — but not before stopping in for breakfast first. I was brimming with excitement.
I walked through the door and saw the woman at the counter. We locked eyes, and her face broke into a huge smile.
“Hello, my dear,” she shouted. “I haven’t seen you in a while. How are you?”
She soon had my coffee cup ready for me.
— Ben Schneider
Passing It On
Dear Diary:
Whenever I finish reading a magazine and it is in clean condition, I face a dilemma: Recycle it or leave it on a park bench or subway seat for someone else to enjoy?
By leaving it somewhere, I could be doing a public service. Or I could just be making trash for someone else to clean up.
One day not long ago, the question was answered for me as I watched.
I was sprinting to make a transfer at Columbus Circle when the magazine I had been reading flew out of my coat pocket and fell to the ground. Wanting to make my train, I decided not to stop to pick it up.
As the doors closed, I watched sheepishly while people streamed past my litter.
But just before the train pulled out, I saw a woman stop and examine the cover. Then she bent down, picked up the magazine and slipped it into her bag.
— Ryan Kailath
To Be Kinder
Dear Diary:
It was the late 1960s, and I was attending Cooper Union at night and living in a tiny, shared apartment in the East Village.
I had become interested in Eastern thought and was trying to learn how to be kinder in my life. As part of that effort, I had just started attending yoga classes.
One day I took the bus between home and school because of heavy rain. The bus was crowded, but I had found a seat.
A man got on the bus and was standing near me dripping wet. He was muttering to himself, and I strained to hear what he was saying. He was complaining about his life.
“No one cares about me,” he said. “I am alone. No one cares. I don’t have anything.”
He mentioned that he didn’t even have an umbrella to protect him from the rain.
As he spoke, people looked at the floor or looked away. His voice got louder. My stop was coming up, and I didn’t know what to do.
Then, as I stood up and got ready to move toward the door, I handed the man my umbrella.
He shouted at me, asking me what this was.
This is for you, I said.
He asked why.
“Because I love you,” I mumbled.
What, he asked — as though he hadn’t heard me.
“Because I love you,” I shouted before jumping off the bus.
— Shanti Norris
Short for Winter
Dear Diary:
I was at the local dry cleaner’s waiting behind an older woman. She was clearly a regular like me, because the man behind the counter greeted her by name.
She put a pair of pants on the counter and carefully explained how she wanted them pressed so that there would be no crease.
“You cut your hair,” she said to the man.
He rubbed his head, which was topped by a close-cropped crew cut.
“Yes, I cut it short for winter,” he said.
The woman was silent, so I piped up.
“It looks great!” I said.
“I’m going to have to get used to it,” the woman said.
— Jennifer Jarett
Off Broadway
Dear Diary:
My friend was acting in an Off Broadway play. My wife, two boys and I went to see it.
Unfortunately, we got lost on the way and were 45 minutes late in arriving.
As we approached the box office to get our tickets, the clerk asked if we were the Spanos.
Yes, we said.
Thank God, he replied. We were waiting for you to start.
— Joseph Spano
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