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An Animal

Dear Diary:

Back in the mid-1960s, my best friend at the time, Peggy, and I would travel to Manhattan whenever we heard that a British pop group was coming to New York City.

We would wait patiently outside the hotel where the band was staying, hoping for a sight of one of our musical heroes. Sometimes our patience was rewarded; sometimes it was not.

I, a 15-year-old schoolgirl, once got to stroll arm-in-arm on a street in the West 50s with John Steele, the drummer for The Animals. I gave him a gift, a Mad magazine that he tucked under his other arm.

Another time I entered a shop and saw a New York comedian who often appeared on late-night talk shows. I asked him for his autograph.

He smiled.

“You don’t know who I am,” he said.

“Sure I do,” I replied. “You’re Milt Kamen.”

I got the autograph along with a huge smile.

— Lisa Morais-Knudsen

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Random Shovel

Dear Diary:

I stopped at a supermarket in the Bronx to pick up one item — refried beans for making nachos.

In the canned food aisle, I saw a random shovel. No price, no idea where it came from, but I liked the shape for garden work, so I grabbed it and took it with me to the checkout.

I asked the young woman behind the register to check the price before she rang it up.

She looked at me and grinned.

“Do you have a body in your car that you’re going to bury?” she said.

I looked at her with a very serious expression on my face

“That’s amateur hour,” I said. “Everybody knows that the body is the last thing you put in the car before you bury it.”

At $5.99, the shovel was quite a bargain.

— David Handschuh

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Flying Treats

Dear Diary:

I, my brother and his girlfriend were visiting New York City from Los Angeles in late May. After spending hours on our feet at the Museum of the City of New York on Fifth Avenue and 103rd Street, we hopped on an M1 bus headed down Fifth Avenue.

The bus was fairly empty, and we sat up front near the driver. Traffic was heavy, and the bus crawled along. Eventually, we pulled alongside an ice cream truck. Its open window was facing the door of the bus.

To our delight, the bus driver opened the door and into his hands flew a wrapped ice cream bar. But that was only the beginning. Inching along, we sidled up to the same ice cream truck again.

Lo and behold, another ice cream came flying into the driver’s hands. Laughter ensued. But that still is not the end of the story.

A little farther on, our driver pulled up alongside another city bus. A female driver with a smile on her face opened her window to say hello to our driver.

After a few friendly words, one of the ice cream bars flew into her hands. She took a bite and gave us a wink.

We laughed all the way to 57th Street.

— Ilse Gordon

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Fair Trade

Dear Diary:

After picking up some groceries at Trader Joe’s on a muggy Saturday morning, I got on the uptown 6 at Union Square carrying three bags packed with provisions.

The train trundled north, and when we got to the 33rd Street stop, a man got on with two similarly overfilled Trader Joe’s bags.

He was standing close to where I was sitting, and I noticed that he was texting frantically.

After a few minutes, he looked at me.

“Excuse me,” he said, “I’m sorry, I know this is kind of weird, but do you happen to have an onion by any chance?”

I did.

“My girlfriend sent me several texts to remind me to buy one, but I totally forgot,” he said. “And she’s going to kill me if I don’t have one for a bagel brunch we’re hosting this morning.”

A passenger next to us started to laugh.

“If you don’t mind giving me the onion, you’re welcome to take the bananas or whatever you want,” the man with the Trader Joe’s bags said.

So there we were at 68th Street, completing an impromptu grocery exchange on a New York City subway car.

“Thanks, man,” he said before getting off at the next stop. “You totally saved my day.”

— Lala Tanmoy Das

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A Dog’s Salad Days

Dear Diary:

I held the elevator door for a man carrying grocery bags while walking a small dog on a leash. As we rode up, the man started to make small talk.

He complained that no matter what kind of meat he bought from the farmer’s market next to the American Museum of Natural History, his dog refused to eat it.