Some Guide
Dear Diary:
I lead a walking tour of Lower Manhattan that covers 400 years of sanitation history. During the tour, I wear a headband with fuzzy rat ears so my group can find me easily.
One Sunday afternoon, as I stood at the corner of Wall and Pearl Streets and told the tour’s members about New York City’s first official garbage dumps, an older woman in a fur coat interrupted.
“Excuse me,” she asked. “But can you help me? I forgot where I parked my car.”
I stared at her. My group stared at her. And she stared back, apparently unfazed by my rat ears or the fact that I was in the middle of leading a tour.
“I can try,” I said, curious where this was going.
“It’s near a square that has black statues and a French cafe nearby,” she said.
I thought about it for a moment.
“Walk up Wall Street to William Street, then turn right,” I said. “The French cafe is either on Liberty Street or Maiden Lane. You’ll find your car around there.”
She thanked me and left. I turned back to my group and continued my story about garbage in Nieuw Amsterdam in 1657.
— Suzanne Reisman
Coney Island Surprise
Dear Diary:
I was on the Q waiting to leave Coney Island after the Mermaid Parade when I felt something grip my arm and climb onto my shoulder.
Turning quickly, I came nose-to-beak with a brilliantly colored macaw. The bird’s owner, a middle-aged man who did not appear to speak English, tried unsuccessfully to urge the bird off me and back onto his wrist.
After several fruitless attempts, he lapsed into thought for a moment. Then he reached into his backpack and pulled out a live iguana and handed it to me.
All I could do was laugh as my friends took a couple of pictures. Somehow, I managed to get the menagerie back to their owner, who got off two stops later.
— Dan Miller
Thanksgiving Pie
Dear Diary:
I was crossing the street on the Upper East Side when a woman on the corner spoke to me softly. She had a gold guardian angel pin on her coat.
Can you help me? she asked. I’m saving for a pie. An apple pie or a pumpkin or maybe blueberry. They told me to bring a pie to the church in Brooklyn. They’re going to have turkey and maybe macaroni and cheese, and I need to bring a pie.
I happened to have a $10 bill, which I offered her. She thanked me and thought out loud as she looked up and down the street: Now I have $16. I’m going to have to save more money to buy a pie.
I continued down the street, her words grinding in my head. How long would it take her to save for her pie?
I turned around.
Come with me, I said as we crossed the street to a grocery store with large and small pies.
I need a big pie, the woman said. There will be lots of people.
She held up a blueberry pie.
Isn’t this beautiful? she said. Doesn’t this look delicious?
I paid for it.
She held the pie lovingly with two firm hands.
Thank you, she said. You made my Thanksgiving!
You made my Thanksgiving, I wished I had replied. Blueberry pie was my father’s favorite. Why didn’t I tell her that? I didn’t even ask her name.
— Gloria Wilson
Muscle Memory
Dear Diary:
It was a crisp autumn afternoon on Seventh Avenue near the Fashion Institute of Technology. A tall, well-dressed young man approached me.
“Could you tie my tie?” he asked.
I hesitated. Could I? It had been a while since I wore a tie. I tried and failed.
Then, I practiced on myself, putting his tie around my neck. Muscle memory began to kick in: The skinny end has to be shorter, then it’s over, under and through.
I tried again on him. Success!
“Thanks,” he said as we shook hands. “I’m going to a meeting.”
— Carlos Velazquez
Boys’ Life
Dear Diary:
On a cold, gets-dark-at-4:30-p.m. Sunday, I took our dogs out for their last walk of the day. It had snowed that morning, and the sidewalk in front of our Upper West Side building was a slushy mess.
Stepping outside, I saw three college-age boys walking toward me and talking loudly.
My dogs started sniffing around, and I pulled them to the side as the young men passed. As they did, I picked up a snippet of their conversation.
“There’s nothing I love more than swimming in a river, or, like, a stream,” one said to the others.
One of the friends nodded seriously.
“That’s a banger,” he said.
— Morgan Savige
Read all recent entries and our submissions guidelines. Reach us via email [email protected] or follow @NYTMetro on Twitter.
Illustrations by Agnes Lee
The post ‘She Stared Back, Apparently Unfazed by My Rat Ears ’ appeared first on New York Times.
