a tale of two cities

Or, in this case, two tales of a city.

I was supposed to meet Jared for dinner the other night. (He's started his internship at the Met and is apartment hunting before his wife joins him here.) I told him I would meet him in front of a store at a particular subway stop, and then, after waiting there for, oh, about 1.3 minutes, I realized how silly I had been. It was freeeeezing cold outside! So I went down into the subway stop, hoping I hadn't already missed him getting off and going upstairs. I waited patiently as two successive trains arrived, and Jerad did not. And, surprise of surprises, the station agent came out of his booth to ask worriedly, "Ma'am are you ok? Is everything ok?" How nice was that? I told him that, yes, indeed, I was ok and that I was just waiting to meet a friend. After two more trains arrived (mind you, I'd only been there about ten minutes), he came out again and offered to let me go onto the platform, via the emergency gate, without paying, so I could sit down to wait! New York is full of nice people! (And, yes, Jerad did arrive and we had dinner at a diner. I had some of the best chicken pot pie I've ever had. And, by the way, do the chicken pot pies you usually eat have cheese right under the crust? Because the two I've had in New York so far have. Odd, I think. But still good. Anyway, I digress...)

And the second tale? Alison, Diana, and I were seeking student rush tickets to Jersey Boys, but there were far too many people in line ahead of us, considering they only have 12 student tickets each day. So, instead we went to Dunkin' Donuts for hot chocolate to warm us up. As we were sitting there, an elderly lady asked if she could share our table since the others were full. "Of course!" we said. I was in the middle of telling a story, and I continued - now with an extra audience member who, as soon as I paused for a breath, spoke up and asked, "What are you talking about?" She proceeded to interject comments into our conversation, extolling the virtues of ballet in New York and telling us of her 80 year old friend who used to be a principal dancer and who now teaches or advises dancers at Lincoln Center. If you say so... And then, the conversation took an abrupt turn as she revealed (well, not exactly revealed) that she was only wearing a nightgown under her coat and scarf. She also told us that she cuts her own hair (In my opinion, she probably shouldn't do that.) and that she was planning to get a manicure later that day. Then she opened her mouth to show us that all of her front teeth were missing because she'd recently been mugged in front of her apartment just across the street. Of course, that brought on three more onslaughts of loquaciousness - one about how she made it to the precinct and that the police have someone in custody, one about how awful dentists are, and one about how we should never, ever put our purses down or go anywhere alone. "You, young lady, you should pick up your purse. I'm not going to snatch it or anything. But you never know." Hmm... skinny bare legs, unkempt hair, no teeth. It made me wonder if all her stories are true, or if she's just a very verbose story-teller. Did she need help? Or just a friend? Should we worry about her or be afraid of her? Either way, New York is full of odd people. Eventually, we managed to extricate ourselves from the somewhat uncomfortable conversation and move on. (No Broadway show for me, after all. I ended up coming back to school and working on my research project. Which is what I should be doing now!)