‘It Wasn’t Until I Changed Trains That I Noticed My Bag Felt a Little Light’

https://www.nytimes.com/2018/12/24/nyregion/metropolitan-diary.html

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Dear Diary:

I used to read during my free time, but it’s been all Candy Crush for the past year.

On a recent ride home on the No. 2, I put my tote bag with notes for an important report in it down at my feet so I could concentrate more intensely on clearing level 2315.

When I got to 72nd Street, I hurried off the express to catch a No. 1 that was coming into the station.

It wasn’t until I changed trains that I noticed my bag felt a little light: My notes weren’t in it. The doors on the local I was on had already closed, as had the doors on the express across the platform.

I was getting a sick feeling in my stomach when I noticed a woman on the No. 2 holding up some papers and pointing in the direction of uptown.

I gave her a thumbs-up and was hoping for a quick exchange on the platform when I got to 96th Street. Alas, she wasn’t there when I arrived.

I was thinking that all was lost when a stranger who must have known the back story told me the woman had gone upstairs to the fare booth.

I ran up the stairs where I saw a transit authority worker. He told me that a woman had approached him with my papers but that he couldn’t take them into the booth.

The woman was nowhere to be seen. But then I saw my notes on the ground next to the booth.

I will never play Candy Crush again.

— Joseph Opper

Dear Diary:

In 1955, I was 8 years old, one of four children living with my family in Sunset Park, Brooklyn. My parents struggled to support us. They kept track of every dime.

A week or so before Christmas, my brother, who was 11, and I decided to go window-shopping at a mom-and-pop store on Eighth Avenue. It was in front of a bus stop. We wanted to buy something for our mother but we didn’t have any money and weren’t sure how to earn some.

We looked in the window. We saw a beautiful serving platter — well, it was beautiful to us — made of tin or some other cheap material. The price was 50 cents. We talked about how we wished we had money to buy it.

As we started to walk away, we saw two quarters land on the ground nearby. Amazed, we picked them up.

We realized that a man we had seen standing at the bus stop must have dropped the quarters there for us.

We brought them over to him.

“They aren’t mine,” he said.

They aren’t ours either, we said.

“Well, since they aren’t mine, they must be yours,” he said. “Keep them.”

We were in shock. Fifty cents had just come out of nowhere. It was just enough to buy the serving platter for my mom.

And that’s what we did. We were overjoyed.

— Alice Harwood

Dear Diary:

I was at the Bean in the East Village on a Sunday morning. A middle-aged woman was standing on line with a handsome, older golden retriever.

The dog waited patiently as people ordered their cups of cold brew and chai. The woman bought a drink of some kind and a plain bagel.

She gave the bagel to her dog. He wagged his tail furiously but he didn’t eat the bagel. He just held it in his mouth. Clearly, it was their routine.

I wondered: Were they headed home for lox?

— Sam Magaram

Dear Diary:

Three buddies and I arrived in New York from El Paso in 1965. We were on leave from the 106th General Hospital. We drove all the way in my 1963 Ford Falcon Sprint.

It was my first visit to the East Coast, and our first stop was Buffalo to see my friend Ron’s family. But New York City was our primary destination.

An Army friend who had recently been discharged and was living in New Jersey made hotel reservations for us. He also got us tickets to see Barbra Streisand in “Funny Girl” on Broadway.

Excited, we arrived early and took our seats. They were great. And then I fell asleep for much of the show. I had a mild cold and had taken an antihistamine. I hadn’t checked on the possible side effects.

I know she’s still performing, but more than 50 years later, I don’t know that I’ll find the opportunity to see Ms. Streisand in person again.

— Al Mammini

Dear Diary:

I lament not seeing what people read on the subway anymore.

I believe people do still read (although the weaker among us slip into gaming and video images). I just notice it less because I cannot see what’s on their devices. Somehow it feels too nosy to look at a device. A book or a newspaper seemed less private.

I miss seeing the racing sheet, the Polish-language press, the Chinese shopping circular.

I miss looking at the scripts read by actors, even though to this day I still see their lips move as they rehearse their lines.

— Teresa Santamaria

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