An eerie sound, good seats for the circus and more reader tales of New York City in this week’s Metropolitan Diary.
Night Ride
Dear Diary:
My boyfriend and I had begun to take bike rides around Central Park, sometimes in the evening.
One night around dusk, close to Halloween, we were coming around the corner near the Shakespeare statue when I heard a musician deep in the shadows playing the opening chords to “Stairway to Heaven.”
“Spooooooky,” I said out loud, turning around and expecting to see my boyfriend.
“Spooky,” came the reply, not from my boyfriend but from a blond woman on a cruiser bike as she breezed past me in the fading light.
— Katherine Barton
Ringside
Dear Diary:
The Ringling Bros. circus was at Madison Square Garden, but every performance was sold out. I was 12 at the time, my sister was 5 and my parents owned a kosher delicatessen restaurant in Brooklyn.
At dinner one Friday, my father said we would be going to the circus the following Tuesday.
When Tuesday came, we took the subway into Manhattan. I noticed that my father was carrying a package. I asked him what it was.
“It’s not important,” he said.
Madison Square Garden was at West 50th Street and Eighth Avenue then. We exited the subway and walked to the stage door. My father spoke to a security guard.
About 10 minutes later, a man came to the door and my father followed him inside. Five minutes after that, my father and the man returned and we followed them back inside. My father no longer had the package.
An usher gave us seat cushions, and we were told to sit on the steps beside the first two rows at ringside. The man who had led us in told the usher not to bother us. We were his special guests.
On the way home, my mother asked my father what was in the package. He said that two weeks earlier, while speaking to a customer, he had mentioned that the circus was sold out.
The customer had said he had a friend who was a manager at Madison Square Garden, and that he would speak with him.
About a week later, the customer told my father that he had spoken with his friend and had been able to get us in to see the circus at no cost, but that the man wanted a special favor.
What was it? my father asked.
“A 10-pound salami,” the customer replied.
— Evelyn Oberstein
Fake Eyelashes
Dear Diary:
A young woman was sitting near me at a hair salon on the Upper East Side. We were having a conversation when she lowered her voice to whisper.
“I’m wearing fake eyelashes for the first time,” she said.
Surprised by this information, I told her they looked very natural and then asked her how they felt.
She paused.
“Like my eyelids are wearing clothes!” she said.
— Jane Seskin
Heading Home
Dear Diary:
Some years ago, I was returning home on a northbound No. 6. I had gotten on at Brooklyn Bridge-City Hall and was happily settled in for the long ride to East 77th Street.
I saw a man who I was pretty sure lived in my building, although we had never been introduced.
“Excuse me,” I said. “Don’t you live in my building?”
His expression suggested that he did not recognize me, but then he brightened.
“What building do you live in?” he asked.
I told him.
“Oh,” he said with a laugh, “that’s my brother.”
— Lawrence Watkins
Old Address
Dear Diary:
I had been living in a studio apartment that was uncomfortably tight, and when my lease was up, I moved into a sunny two-bedroom about a mile away.
I now had more space to furnish, and packages were arriving daily. At one point, I picked out a rug, a full-length mirror and some extra sheets for my bed.
In my excitement, I neglected to update the address that auto-filled when I completed the online purchase. I only realized my error after getting confirmation that my items had been delivered despite not having gotten the packages.
I texted my former super, who said I should come by on Saturday. Fernando, the porter, greeted me, but the large pieces were nowhere to be found.
He glanced at the door of my old apartment.
“I did see a few big packages come this week,” he said.
We knocked on the door. There was music playing.
A man answered, and I explained the situation. He stared at me as if he were seeing a ghost.
“Well, we didn’t think you were coming,” he said. “We thought you moved out of the country. We have the rug inside, but we’re using it. It’s under our bed.”
I burst out laughing.
“And the mirror?”
“Yes,” he said. “We have that, too.”
“The sheets? Let me guess, they’re on your bed.”
“No!” he insisted. “Never saw them.”
I waited while they rolled up the rug. It looks great in my new place.
— Anastasia Erbe
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