Toll taker
Dear Diary:
Years ago I worked as a summer toll collector on the Marine Parkway Bridge, which connects Brooklyn to the Rockaways.
One night, while working “graveyard” shift from 11pm to 7am, with only one collector in each direction, I watched a car drive off the bridge toward my booth.
It was 2 or 3 am, so the car had the bridge and toll plaza to itself when it screeched to a stop next to my cab.
I had no idea what to expect. I was therefore surprised when, instead of money for the toll, the driver handed me a fresh warm bagel with chive cream cheese.
Without saying a word, he quickly drove out of my cubicle, made a U-turn, deposited a second bagel with chive cream cheese in the hands of my counterpart across the square, and sped back across the bridge.
—Arnie Miller
Take a chance
Dear Diary:
June 28, 2003. My friend Ilene and I ate at a restaurant across the street from City Center before going to a show.
We vaguely saw a man about our age eating alone, but we were too busy talking to pay much attention to him and soon left for the theatre.
As we settled into our seats before the show started, the man from the restaurant showed up. He recognized us, introduced himself and struck up a conversation with us.
The conversation continued into intermission, when he asked if he could take us out after the show. Later he took out his card, wrote his house number on it and handed it to me.
Back at my apartment, Ilene and I discussed the pros and cons of calling him.
Did you think he was cute, she asked?
Oh yeah!
But he’s a stranger.
Yes, it turned out that we knew common people, shared a sense of humor and had many common interests. But still, was it safe?
Ilene encouraged me to at least meet him in a public place.
“You don’t have to marry him!” she said.
Ah, but I did.
— Nancy Savitt
Perfect pull ups
Dear Diary:
I was walking home from an early morning workout when I saw a man pull over at a red light, park his car, get out and do 10 perfect pull-ups on a scaffold.
When I got to the pedestrian crossing, I watched him hurry back to his car before the light came on.
As I crossed the street, we made eye contact with him and I gave a thumbs up. He smiled broadly and drove off.
— Brad Rothschild
Barefoot on the F
Dear Diary:
It was a hot summer day in the late 1990s. Dressed in a sundress and sleigh-style sandals, I was about to step onto an oncoming F on 14th Street when one of my sandals slipped and fell between the train and the platform, then hit the tracks.
I sheepishly got into the car and looked for a seat, praying no one noticed. Of course several people did
“Well, that’s a first!” said one of them, an older man.
With my bare foot behind my sandals, I spent the rest of the ride to Brooklyn thinking about what I’d do once I got out.
Do I have to walk through the station and the three blocks to my apartment in one sandal and one bare foot? Do I have to take off the other shoe and go completely barefoot?
As we pulled into the station, a woman sitting a few seats away came up to me and took something out of her bag.
“Excuse me,” she said, “but I saw what happened when you got on the train, and I wanted to offer you this pair of slippers.”
—Megan Worman
All dressed up
Dear Diary:
I had recently moved to Manhattan from Mali to study law, from a place where everyone greeted each other to a city where I searched in vain for connection.
One afternoon, on an uptown train, I was sitting in a seat near the door. Across from me sat an elegantly dressed woman and her young daughter.
The girl wore a party dress of black velvet trimmed with white lace, and every curl of blond hair was perfect. Together they made me feel dirty in my jeans and sweater.
As the mother stared grimly at her phone, the girl squirmed in her chair, her feet dangling. She looked at me. I wrinkled my nose and stuck out the tip of my tongue. She looked away quickly, at her shiny shoes, her mother’s face.
A little later I urgently sought the attention of her mother.
“Madam? Madam! Excuse me!” I said. “Your daughter licks the metro pole”
—Julia Barke
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Illustrations by Agnes Lee