Monday, August 5, 2013

Hear No Evil

Every few months, I begin a blog post with an apology about how it's been so long since I've posted, blah blah blah. I'm just going to skip that and say that I have the perfect story to bring me out of retirement.

I started this blog when I moved into my first apartment in the city, a sublet on 4th Street and Avenue B, so I could share all of my crazy stories about living in New York with my faithful readers (I think I'm up to about 8 now). Well 2.5 years, three apartments and four roommates later, a crazy enough story occurred this morning that I'm reminded why I started blogging to begin with.

Good enough for Lenny Briscoe. Good enough for me.
My parents raised me to be a good girl and drink Dunkin' Donuts, but I'm truly partial to street coffee. I love those Law & Order cups and the bond you form with your street coffee guy. When you live in a big city, it's nice to have those places where you feel like a regular. It makes the city a little smaller.

Since my brother and I just moved to the Upper East Side three weeks ago, my commute has flip-flopped (now I'm traveling downtown in the morning and uptown in the evening, rather than vice versa). As a result, I have had to find a new street coffee guy. Most mornings I take the bus, and I love my new coffee guy (even though he keeps trying to sell me on ice coffee.. ain't got time for that shit). On mornings when I'm running late, though, I take the subway. On those days, I get my coffee from Abdel.

Today was one of those days.

Abdel is mid-thirties-ish with a goofy smile. Today he had a buddy in his cart with him. The friend was wearing a soccer jersey. I'm not sure if these details are important but I like to set the scene/be prepared for an FBI sketch artist.

I walk up to the cart, "Good morning, Abdel!" He says, "You're back!" We exchange pleasantries. As I am about to give him my order, a firetruck roars up the block with the siren wailing. It startled me, and I jumped a little and then signaled the universal "I'll wait for him to pass because neither of us can hear what I'm saying."

At which point, Abdel reached out through the window of the cart and put his fingers in my ears.

In my ears.

He didn't muff them. He plugged them.

Ok, that is a thing that happened today. A (pretty much) stranger put his fingers in my ears. And his friend, a soccer fan, watched.

Good to be back, folks! Don't forget to always ride the bus, and tip your street coffee guy/ear plugger.

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