[Life in NYC: "The Keys" and "The Garden Hose"] METROPOLITAN DIARY

The New York Times [click link for entire article] ^ | July 15, 2002 | Enid Nemy; various

[Silly]

Dear Diary:

It's definitely summer in the city. Coming out of my Upper East Side supermarket on a recent sweltering night, I spotted a 20-something young man who appeared to be on his way home from the office. As he came to the store's outdoor display of flowers and plants, he put down his briefcase, grabbed the stand's garden hose and showered his head with a squeeze of the spray nozzle. A store employee looked on wordlessly. The man wiped off the excess water, replaced the hose and continued on his way, refreshed. I guess that's what you do when you're too old to run through open hydrants.

Keith Lyle

Dear Diary:

I was borrowing my cousin's car and when I went over to get the keys she told me that she would be out that evening and that when I was finished, to give the keys to her doorman and leave her a phone message as to where I had parked the car. When I was done with my errand, I followed her directions but encountered a slight hitch. I gave the keys to the doorman, telling him they were for my cousin in 12B. The doorman said, "I'm sorry, I'm not allowed to take keys." Slightly frustrated, I said, "O.K., could you let me upstairs and I'll slip them under her door?" He said, "I'm sorry, I can't let you up there unless she rings you up." More frustrated, I asked, "Can I put them in her mailbox? He said, "It's locked, and I can't open it." Tears started to form. I pleaded: "Look, it's late, and I live across town and I need to leave these keys. What do you want me to do?" He repeated: "I'm sorry. I'm not allowed to take keys. I could lose my job."

I stormed out of the building wondering what to do when I spotted a 24-hour grocer across the street. I bought a box of animal crackers, borrowed a pen and some tape and marched back to the building. I handed the doorman the box of crackers with a note on top "For Apt. 12B." "I'd like to leave this box of cookies for my cousin in 12B," I said. He replied: "I can't take them. I know there's a key in there." Finally, after much negotiation, he agreed to take the cookies with a note from me that said: "This is a box of animal crackers for my cousin in 12B. There is definitely not a key in the box." I chuckled all the way home as I thought of my cousin's face when the doorman handed her the box of cookies and the note.

Laura Walke

[Silly]

Dear FReepers,

Everyone Monday in The New York Times (anagram: The Monkeys Write) is a charming compilation of letters and poems submitted by New Yorkers about daily life here in the city, edited by Ms. Enid Nemy. It is always a nice, positive read, and a great way to start the week.

This post is an excerpt from today's Diary. I hope that you enjoy it and that you'll click to read the whole edition, which today contains a story about a homeless man, a laptop, a telemarketer, and a weatherman, and a couple of poems.

If you'd like to read it every Monday, bookmark the following page:

Metropolitan Diary: Observations and poetry on life in New York

Still being,

[Mr.Clark]

I love the section too. Always great stories to tell friends.

[Silly]

Here is one of my recent favorites (from last week):

Dear Diary:

Four of us were seated in a well-known Midtown restaurant. At the next table were two couples of two generations. As the meal progressed, we chatted with them and discovered that it was the older man's birthday and that the younger couple were the older one's son and daughter-in-law. They finished their dessert as we finished our main course, and as they rose to leave, the mother lingered, looked at my date and said, "I really want to tell you something but I can't." My date encouraged her. "Oh, go ahead, tell us," she said. The woman needed no further prodding. She looked at us and referring, obviously, to her daughter-in-law, said, "I can't stand her." With that, she caught up with her family and followed the three of them out of the restaurant.

Mark Miller

[Silly]

Another recent favorite. I like this one because it illustrates that New Yorkers are not always quite like they seem:

Dear Diary:

My husband, Charles, our 7-year-old son, Brandon, and I had come from California and were wandering around the city. We thought we'd take a walk in Central Park despite the stories we had heard that the park wasn't all that safe.

We were enjoying the weather and the beauty of the park when we happened upon a group of adults in an informal baseball game. We quietly positioned ourselves in the second row of the stand, some 10 feet from the rest of the spectators.

After a couple of minutes, we noticed the others starting to look at us, then back at the game, then at us and at the game again.

We figured this was obviously private territory. I nudged my husband that maybe we should leave, but he suggested we wait since our son was enjoying himself.

Finally, the others were blatantly staring and then a tough-looking fellow ambled over. "Hey, you'd better not sit here," he began.

We stood up, ready to leave, when one of the others called out, "Yeah, people get hit by the ball at that end — no one sits there anymore."

Someone else called out, "Come down here," and they all slid over to make room.

The tough guy handed our son an apple, and we settled in for the afternoon.

Rebecca Robins Sodikoff

[gcruse]

Thank you so much for posting this. I used to enjoy the Metro Diary every day when I read the print edition. Once I switched to the online, I forgot all about the Diary. It's sad all the good stuff I have missed, but I won't miss any more. Thanks again!

[Silly]

You're welcome. I'll try to post it regularly.