‘She Was Trying to Tie Her Partner’s Bow Tie but Kept Failing’

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Bow Tied

Dear Diary:

I was riding the Q from Manhattan to Brooklyn on a Saturday afternoon. A man and a woman who were very dressed up were sitting across from me.

She was in a cocktail dress, and he was wearing a tuxedo. They were on their way to a fund-raising event for Prospect Park. She was trying to tie her partner’s bow tie but kept failing.

As we approached the Manhattan Bridge, another man offered the woman his phone. He had found a video showing how to tie a bow tie.

The woman followed the instructions on the video with some help from riders sitting nearby, and, voilà, the tie was perfect.

Everyone who been following the events smiled and clapped. Then another man took a picture of the perfectly tied bow tie so the man in the tuxedo could see it too.

— Flo Rubinson

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The Big Man

Dear Diary:

In 1984, I was fresh out of college and living on East 44th Street and Second Avenue. I had an entry-level job on East 74th and I took the Second Avenue bus home every night.

Once, someone reached into my purse while I was on the bus and stole my wallet without my even noticing. The thief got my credit cards, my driver’s license, and what little cash I had. (I didn’t carry much at the time since I only made about $186 a week.)

What was truly devastating was the loss of a Heineken label I had been carrying in my wallet for some time. It was from a memorable evening.

I was at Big Man’s West in Red Bank, N.J., a club owned by Clarence Clemons of the E Street Band. I was sitting at a table with Clarence himself.

Out of sheer nervousness, I had peeled the Heineken label off a bottle in one piece. Clarence saw me do it, took the label and signed it: “Right on! Love, The Big Man, Clarence Clemons.”

I could get a new license and credit cards, but that label was irreplaceable.

About three weeks later, I received a notice from the post office. A package with $1.08 postage due was waiting for me there.

It turned out that the thief had taken the money and then tossed my wallet into a mailbox. I got back my license, credit cards and, unbelievably, the Heineken label!

I still have it to this day but no longer carry it with me. I know I couldn’t get that lucky twice.

— Mandy Cooper

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At the Pool

Dear Diary:

On a hot July afternoon a few years ago, I brought my 9-month-old baby to a public pool in our Queens neighborhood.

As a new parent, I was overwhelmed by all the steps required to get a wriggling baby into the water. Regular diaper off, swim diaper on, onesie off, bathing suit on, etc.

On top of all that, the pool had a long list of rules and a staff whose members were diligently enforcing them with frequent blasts of their whistles.

Finally, we got into the pool. My baby splashed around in the cool water for a bit, and then we got out to sit on a lounge chair and breastfeed.

A few minutes later, an older woman who worked there approached us. I had seen her keeping strict order around the pool, and my body tightened as I prepared to be told we were breaking the rules in one way or another.

Instead, her face broke into a smile as she passed by.

“Go, mama, go!” she said.

— Lindsey Lange-Abramowitz

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Tosca

Dear Diary:

We were returning from a vacation in Spain. Our first stop was on West Broadway to retrieve our African gray parrot, Tosca. From there we took a taxi to our Nassau Street home.

As we exited the cab in front of our building, we were greeted by the familiar cacophony of horns, sirens and bustling people. My wife spied a fresh fruit cart on the corner near Pace University.

“I’ll be right back,” she said as she walked away with Tosca on her shoulder.

Suddenly, I heard her yell, “Tosca, Tosca,” and saw her running down Park Place with people following her and yelling, “Oscar, Oscar.”

A gust of wind had apparently lifted Tosca off her shoulder and was carrying her down the street.

She soon landed and began to screech: “Taxiiii, taxiiiiiii.”

“Is that pigeon calling a taxi?” a woman who appeared somewhat bewildered said.

Yes, indeed. We had taught Tosca to say “taxiii” when she wanted to be carried around our loft.

Luckily, my wife reached Tosca before any harm came to her, offered her a finger and then carried her home amid cheers and laughter from those who had gathered to watch.

— Penny Bamford

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Friendly Driver

Dear Diary:

I was getting on an M5 bus going downtown from Columbia. I was on a call with my husband and hauling a suitcase, which made it difficult to use my phone to pay the fare.

“I love you,” my husband said as I fumbled with the phone.

“I love you too,” the bus driver said.

— Simone Pinet

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Illustrations by Agnes Lee

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