METROPOLITAN DIARY 'My Children Often Call Me Old-Fashioned. I Prefer Traditional.'

[elleng]

'Paying with cash, wondering what a subway rider is studying and more reader tales of New York City in this week’s Metropolitan Diary.

Cash and Carry
Dear Diary:

My children often call me old-fashioned. I prefer traditional. Either way, when they tell me that cash currency is going the way of the dodo, it is with reluctance and some regret that I must admit that they are right.

On a recent business trip to Seattle, I did not use any cash during my three days there. Car service, plane ticket, light rail, hotel, food: All paid for with a credit card.

Back home, I was on my regular walk to work one morning when I stopped at a coffee cart on East 69th, as I do every weekday.

I ordered the usual, coffee and a pastry, and handed the man a $5 bill.

“That’s $3.50,” he said. “You should have the two quarters I gave you in change yesterday.”

— Robert Krasner

Studious

Dear Diary:

I was on a crowded downtown No. 6 train just below 86th Street at around 10:15 a.m. A young man with slicked-back hair and polished shoes was studiously flipping through what looked like a stack of dog-eared flash cards.

I edged closer to see what he was studying. A new language? Actuarial formulas?

“Vieux Carré,” one of the meticulously handwritten index cards said.

So, I thought, he’s studying French.

“Manhattan,” said another.

Maybe early U.S. history.

“Old Fashioned,” said a third.

I smiled. He was cramming for his bartender’s exam.

— Amy Parsons

Her Numbers

Dear Diary:

I was getting coffee at a bodega in Crown Heights on a Saturday morning. While I waited to pay, I listened to the woman in front of me rattle off her lottery numbers: 1987, 1989, 820.

The speed at which she recited the numbers to the cashier made me it clear that she bought lottery tickets often. I began to wonder: She had such confidence in her numbers, how did she choose them?

The first two seemed obviously to be years of some significance. The year a child was born. The year a grandchild graduated from college. The year the woman had gotten married.

The year she had gotten divorced. The year she had started buying lottery tickets. The year her father finally told her he loved her. The year her friend got sober.

The last number, 820, had to be an address. The first building she ever lived in. The first apartment she ever bought. The place where the love of her life lives. The number of the apartment building she plans to buy if she wins the lottery.

I wish I’d asked her.

— Sarah Joyce'

https://www.nytimes.com/2019/12/01/nyregion/metropolitan-diary.html

[Crabby Appleton]

1. I prefer "old school"