Platform Exchange
Dear Diary:
I stood on the platform at Lexington Avenue and 68th Street with my subway ticket in hand. It was my first visit to the city and I had an interview scheduled so I wanted to make sure I was in the right place
I turned to the man next to me.
“Sir,” I said, “do I get train number 6 here?”
“There is no such train,” he replied.
“But this map shows train number 6 coming here,” I said.
“I’ve been commuting for the past 15 years and I’m telling you there is no such train.”
As he said this, a 6 train entered the station.
“Sir,” I said, “you said there is no number 6 train, but here it is.”
“That,” he said, “is the local Lexington.”
— Anil Pandit
Alternative reward
Dear Diary:
I live in up north Queens and never drive into Manhattan if I can help it. But one Sunday afternoon while I was sitting at home, I remembered that when I got back from work Friday night, I had parked in a spot that had street cleaning Monday from 9:30 AM to 11:00 AM and I had an appointment at 10:00 AM in Manhattan on Monday.
I went looking for a place where I wouldn’t have to move the car the next day. After circling several blocks nearby, I realized that the only available spots would force me to do so. Everything else was full.
I accepted my fate and found a possible space for my building. It was near a fire hydrant and actually big enough for two cars, but one was already parked there so there was barely enough room for mine.
Nevertheless, I pulled in and started backing up when I realized the driver was in the car that was there. I got out of my car and walked over to him.
“Will you stay here until morning?” I said. “I want to oppose you, so I’m not in the fire hydrant zone.”
“What time do we have to move tomorrow?” he asked
“9:30 PM,” I said, “but I’ve been gone a long time.”
“No problem,” he said. “Go for it.”
I jumped into my car and backed up to within 6 inches of his bumper. As I got out of the car, he called out to me.
He held a long slim package in a white bread bag.
“Take this!” he said.
“What is it?” I asked
“A baguette. I have two! It’s fresh.”
“Did you make this?”
“Yes, enjoy it.”
“Wow! Thank you, I will.”
I turned and walked into my building, trying to decide what to have with my fresh baguette.
— G. Victor Paulson
Local customs
Dear Diary:
I made my first of many visits to New York in 1988. I was from Vancouver, British Columbia, which is a small city by comparison, and I loved being in the big city.
I stayed at the Excelsior Hotel on the Upper West Side, a well kept secret among Canadians for its reasonable prices and prime location near the Museum of National History.
On my first day, I went to the lobby and asked the man at the desk if he could call me a taxi.
Call your own taxi, he replied.
I don’t know the phone number, I said.
He laughed, pointed out to the corner, raised his hand and whistled.
That’s what you call a taxi, isn’t it, he said.
— Lee Saxell
No matter what
Dear Diary:
I was an aspiring philosopher in graduate school in Minnesota. My girlfriend was an aspiring New Yorker.
When she emerged from a brownstone on the north side of Washington Square Park with a smile that said she’d been admitted to New York University, I worried that if we stayed together, she’d have to give up her ambitions, or I would. should leave mine.
To avoid both cases, we stuffed 300 envelopes with my research letters to colleges and community colleges in the New York City area, looking for classes for me to teach while I wrote my dissertation.
Only one invited me for an interview. My first paycheck in New York City didn’t even cover a month’s rent, but it gave my wife-to-be and I hope that we could make it in the city.
— Christopher Michaelson
More Cornbread
Dear Diary:
There is a popular restaurant on the Upper West Side that is the only place in the area where you can get grilled ribs. I went there one evening to get some.
My order was accompanied by cornbread. It was good but the portion was too small so I ordered another one.
Not wanting to look cheap, I asked the waiter to add it to the check. He did, but in an unexpected way.
When the bill arrived it said: iced tea, barbecue ribs, more cornbread, please.
— Don Hauptman
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Illustrations by Agnes Lee
