METROPOLITAN DIARY 'The Doors Remained Open as a Man's Voice Came Over the Speaker'
'Confusion over where the F will stop next, going to the game and more reader tales of New York City in this week’s Metropolitan Diary.
Local, Express
Dear Diary:
A Coney Island-bound F train pulled into the Jay Street-Metro Tech station. The doors opened. People got off. People got on. The doors remained open as a man’s voice came over the speaker.
“This train will be going express,” he said. “Next stop: Seventh Avenue.”
Those who needed the stations being bypassed got off to wait for the next train.
A woman’s voice came over the speaker:
“This train is not going express,” she said. “Next stop will be Bergen Street.”
The people who had gotten off to wait for a local got back on. A few passengers smiled at the mix-up in communication.
The man’s voice returned.
“This train is going express,” he said. “Express, express, express. Next stop will be Seventh Avenue.”
Exasperated, those who needed the local stops knew the drill. Off the train they went.
But wait. Here came the woman’s voice.
“Local, local, local! We’re going local.”
By now, everyone was laughing and shaking their heads.
Dear reader, we went local.
— Diane Fromharz
Short Bronx Ride
Dear Diary:
I was on a Metro-North train going into the city. At some point, I noticed two boys get on.
When the conductor came through to collect tickets, one of the boys asked sheepishly how much it cost.
“Where are you going?” the conductor asked.
Yankee Stadium, the boy said. It was two stops away.
The conductor asked how much money they had.
One dollar, the boys said.
With a straight face, the conductor said he was not sure that would be enough. He said he might have to stop the train and put the boys off for lack of funds.
Then he smiled.
“Keep the dollar,” he said. “And buy yourself something at the ballpark.”
— Maggie Loewenwarter
Two-Drink Minimum
Dear Diary:
I was a child of Chicago’s northern suburbs. In summer 1975, when I was 12, my 23-year-old brother, who had attended New York University, arranged for me to come to Manhattan for a week’s vacation. After I got there, we went to the Other End (a.k.a. the Bitter End).
“There’s a cover charge and a two-drink minimum,” the man at the door said. “Your small friend here can have his in hot chocolate.”
Michael Urbaniak and Fusion were performing. I had all of their albums. I played in my junior high school jazz band and I got to talk shop with the drummer between sets.
A waitress accidentally spilled beer on me during the show. In the taxi on the way back to my hotel, the driver turned around.
“It smells like the little man had too much to drink tonight,” he said.
— Roger Fortune'>>>
https://www.nytimes.com/2019/10/20/nyregion/metropolitan-diary.html