Welcome to New York
Dear Diary:
I arrived in New York in 1986 from the Epcot Center at Walt Disney World, where I had worked as a waiter. I got a job at a small French place in the Village called Chez Ma Tante.
I was about to start my first lunch service and was being trained by a seasoned waiter. He was French, like me, but older (I was 23). He filled me in on how to set tables and stock the bar and he introduced me to the kitchen staff. He was warm and nice all around.
The last thing to go over was fetching the petty cash from the office safe. Off we went.
He opened the safe and took out all the cash that was there (about $200), put everything in his pocket and told me he was flying back to France later that afternoon.
He wished me good luck with everything and said, “Au revoir.” I can’t remember how my call to the owner went after that.
— Bonfils Jean Pierre
Too Full
Dear Diary:
Two friends and I boarded a crosstown bus and sat on opposite sides in a two-seater and a single.
The empty aisle filled up quickly as we moved along. Suddenly, I realized I did not know where we were supposed to get off, and, unfortunately, I could no longer see my friends to ask them.
I tapped the guy standing above me and explained the situation. He tapped the guy next to him. They both graciously moved to create an opening so that I could see my friends.
Broadway was my stop.
— Joyce R. Heller
Along Canal Street
Dear Diary:
I was walking along Canal Street past some vendors. One man had various objects and clothing he was selling spread out on a sheet.
One item caught my eye: Laid out for sale were green tights, white shorts, a green tank top and a green warm-up jacket. On the sleeve was the number 136.
I did a double take and asked the man where he had gotten the items. He didn’t know, but I did. I used to wear them.
It was my old high school wrestling uniform.
— Howard Bowler
New Year’s Eve
Dear Diary:
This past New Year’s Eve, I was headed to a Scottish social dancing party at a Brooklyn church rec room and racing to get to there before midnight to celebrate with my friends. I ordered a car, and a driver named Gelson picked me up.
On the way, we stopped at a deli so I could get a six-pack (I did not want to arrive empty-handed), and I offered to buy Gelson something. He asked for an energy drink.
On the rest of the short ride, we spoke to each other in Spanish — mine is not great, but I like to try — about our New Year’s Day plans and the weather. We got to the church 10 minutes before midnight.
I walked in and greeted a few friends. As we prepared for the countdown, I reached for my phone to capture the moment — and realized I had left it in the car. After a moment of panic, a feeling of calm came over me.
“There’s nothing to do about it right now, so just don’t worry about it,” I thought to myself.
We rang in the New Year, stood in a large circle while singing “Auld Lang Syne,” did a Scottish line dance and mingled some more.
Half an hour into 2026, I walked across the room to fetch a drink, and there was Gelson, standing in the middle of the dance floor.
“I think you left your phone in my car,” he said. I gave him a huge hug, and he went back out to get more fares.
Naturally, I tipped him well.
— Jenny Gersten
Skittles
Dear Diary:
I was on a No. 6 train headed uptown to a class at Hunter College. A young woman sat down next to me. I buried my head in whatever book I was reading at the time and activated the invisible wall that separated me from the other riders.
But the force field could not block a sugary, vaguely citrusy smell that I couldn’t identify immediately but then did a few seconds after catching that first whiff.
“Are you eating Skittles?” I said, without turning, to the woman sitting next to me.
“I sure am,” she said. “Want one?”
“Why not,” I said. “I haven’t had Skittles in forever.”
I held out my hand, we smiled at each other and a few of the colorful candies landed in my palm.
“Thanks,” I said.
We rode together in a comfortable silence until we got to 59th Street. As the doors opened, the woman rose from her seat and gave me the bag of Skittles, which was half full.
“Enjoy,” she said with a wink.
— David Licata
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Illustrations by Agnes Lee
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