‘I Watched as a Car Careened Down the Bridge Toward My Booth’

Toll Taker

Dear Diary:

Years ago, I worked during the summer as a toll collector on the Marine Parkway Bridge, which connects Brooklyn to the Rockaways.

One night when I was working the 11 p.m. to 7 a.m. “graveyard” shift, with only one collector stationed in each direction, I watched as a car careened down the bridge toward my booth.

It was 2 or 3 a.m., so the car had the bridge and toll plaza to itself as it screeched to a halt next to my booth.

I had no idea what to expect. So I was amazed when, instead of handing me money for the toll, the driver handed me a fresh warm bagel with chive cream cheese.

Never saying a word, he quickly drove out of my booth, made a U-turn, deposited a second bagel with chive cream cheese in the hands of my counterpart on the other side of the plaza and sped off back over the bridge.

— Arnie Miller

Take a Chance

Dear Diary:

June 28, 2003. My friend Ilene and I were eating at a restaurant across the street from City Center before seeing a show.

We vaguely noticed a guy who was around our age eating alone, but we were too busy talking to pay much attention to him and soon left for the theater.

As we settled into our seats before the show began, the guy from the restaurant showed up. He recognized us, introduced himself and struck up a conversation with us.

The conversation continued at intermission, when he asked if he could take us out after the show. Later, he took out his card, wrote his home number on it and gave 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 we knew people in common, 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 stop at a red light, put his car in park, hop out and do 10 perfect pull-ups on a scaffolding.

As I got to the crosswalk, I watched him hurry back to his car before the light changed.

When I crossed the street, we made eye contact with him and I gave him a thumbs up. He flashed a big smile and drove away.

— Brad Rothschild

Barefoot on the F

Dear Diary:

It was a hot summer day in the late 1990s. Dressed in a sundress and slide-style sandals, I was about to step onto an arriving F at 14th Street when one of my sandals slipped off and fell between the train and the platform and then down onto the tracks.

I sheepishly entered the car and looked for a seat, praying that no one had noticed. Of course, several people had

“Well, that’s a first!” said one of them, an older man.

With my bare foot tucked behind my sandaled one, I spent the rest of the ride home to Brooklyn pondering what I would do once I got off.

Should I walk through the station and the three blocks to my apartment with one sandal and one bare foot? Should I remove the other shoe and go fully barefoot?

As we pulled into the station, a woman sitting a few seats away approached me and pulled something from 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 flip-flops.”

— Megan Worman

All Dressed Up

Dear Diary:

I had recently moved to Manhattan from Mali for law school, from a place where everyone greeted one another to a city where I was searching in vain for connection.

One afternoon, I was on an uptown train in a seat by the door. Across from me sat an elegantly dressed woman and her young daughter.

The girl was wearing a black velvet party dress that was trimmed with white lace, and every blond curl was lying perfectly. Together, the two of them made me feel grubby in my jeans and sweater.

As the mother stared grimly at her phone, the girl wriggled in her seat, 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 few moments later, I was urgently seeking her mother’s attention.

“Ma’am? Ma’am! Excuse me!” I said. “Your daughter is licking the subway pole”

— Julia Barke

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Illustrations by Agnes Lee