METROPOLITAN DIARY
Iago’s Plot
Dear Diary:
It was some years ago, and we had four front-row, center-balcony seats for a Metropolitan Opera performance of “Othello.” A young couple who weren’t familiar with the opera accepted an invitation to join us.
During the taxi ride from the restaurant where we had dinner to Lincoln Center, we unraveled the plot for our companions. With four passengers in the cab, I sat in the front seat and narrated to the rear.
The cab’s arrival at the Met coincided with my recounting of Iago’s plot of the concealed handkerchief. I tried to hand the fare to the driver as we prepared to get out. He stopped me.
“No one is leaving until I hear the end,” he said.
— Vern Schramm
Novocain
Dear Diary:
My dentist had been trying to save a large molar for weeks. On a Tuesday, I called him in great pain, and he took it out the next day.
If you’ve ever had a tooth extracted, you know the dentist or surgeon puts in a few sutures and packs the opening with gauze that you replace on an hourly basis.
After leaving the dentist’s office, I got on the elevator. There was a woman standing diagonally across from me.
“Your boot laces are undone,” she said.
“I know,” I garbled through the gauze and the Novocain. “I just had a tooth pulled and have gauze packing. I can’t bend over.”
“But you’re going to trip and fall,” she said.
“I’ll be fine.”
“Let me tie it for you.”
“No, that’s not necessary,” I said, “but thanks.”
She knelt down, tied the undone laces on one of my boots and tightened the laces on the other.
“That’s so sweet of you,” I said. “Thanks.”
“Now you won’t trip,” she said as the elevator opened at the ground floor.
— Arthur Davis
((Was wondering whether I'd see a 'dentist' story today, and here it is! I'm leaving for MY dental appointment in 2 hours! 
))
Collared Curbside
Dear Diary:
I was in the city on business from California. Icy cold December air hit me as I left my hotel in the morning. Looking forward to a brisk walk to the office, I buttoned up my coat and waved off the doorman who had offered to flag me a cab.
I made my way up Madison Avenue. It was a longer walk than I anticipated, so I picked up my pace.
Red light. Green light. Walk.
I was about to step off the curb, my foot in midair, when I felt myself jerked backward violently by my coat’s collar. A wall of yellow taxi cabs whooshed through the intersection.
Shaken, I turned around.
There he was: a big man in a red Santa hat.
“Lady,” he said in an exasperated tone, “you must be from California.”
— Nanki Siegel
https://www.nytimes.com/2021/07/18/nyregion/metropolitan-diary.html
= new reply since forum marked as read
Thanks, elleng. 