Zyrtec, Lamb and Rice, and Moments of Mini-micro-magic
New York City is a provider of many things, 40% of which are actually positive.
There’s the obviously great NYC stuff, of course: the Manhattan skyline at night, Rockefeller Center at Christmas, Levain cookies, a Rangers playoff game, Manhattanhenge, a cellist playing under a Central Park bridge, all that good, yummy, numinous stuff.
But what I appreciate is the subtle magic hiding in plain sight amid the city’s hurly-burly. These are the tiny, iconsequential moments of connection between New Yorkers. In these mad times, they can render epic.
I was fortunate enough to experience three such moments just the other day.
MAGIC MINI-MOMENT FROM THE OTHER DAY #1
I Tried to Help a Woman Over a Fence At Prospect Park, Failed, But Then Gave Her Moral Support Until She Did it On Her Own
On one of my brisk morning walks that I tell myself is the same as running, around the ballfields at Prospect Park, I came upon an older woman scrounging behind the fence separating the paved path from the untrammeled wooded area. Her dog, a labrador something of some kind, was pacing on the pavement while its owner was recovering a ball. The ball was retrieved, tossed over the fence to the happy pup, and all seemed right again.
Then she tried to climb back over. It wasn’t working out.
Though retirement age and silver-haired, she seemed fit, swarthy, and energetic; not helpless by any means. But you don’t have to be helpless to need help. Enter, me. (Can I mean that in the least white-male-savior way possible?)
Walking by at the peak of her struggles, I stopped, took out a headphone, and asked if she could use a hand. The woman smiled sheepishly and affirmed. I held out my palm. Without hesitation, she took it in hers. This was two complete strangers in the pandemic era, clasping hands together, flesh to flesh, like an offensive lineman helping out his sacked quarterback.
I held her hand for what was probably twelve seconds as she tried to find some measure of footing to lift herself. When it was clear that wasn’t happening, we let go, in sync and unspoken.
I stood back as she tried again on her own.
“You got this,” I told her, aiming to strike the right tone of encouraging without being invasive. “You so got this.”
Sure enough, after adjusting her entire approach, she was able to straddle the top of the fence and shift her way onto paved safety. Her happy dog maintained its happy. Smiles were exchanged. Thank-yous were given and graciously taken.
We wished each other a nice day and got on with our lives.
That was it.
It wasn’t until some time later, a half-hour maybe, that I realized I was still harboring a steady hum of good feeling. At some point my mood always fluctuates back to sardonic/pensive/hungry. Why was “good feeling” sticking around longer than usual? Then I remembered:
Fence Lady 🙂
Courtesy: Unsplash
MAGIC MINI-MOMENT FROM THE OTHER DAY #2
A Woman and I Joked About Zyrtec While Waiting For a Walgreens Person to Open the Annoying Security Locks Protecting the Zyrtec
With a two-year-old around, trips to my local Walgreens have shot up a shit-ton fold. It makes you think how much of a dick nature can be. Does it have to go throwin’ disease at ya right away in life? Like, all the time? Must toddlers be portable sacks of pestilence?
Regardless of that catechism, here I was at the same downbeat Brooklyn Walgreens I’m seemingly zoned for. It’s a grayed, pallid environment with all the energy of a Bible Belt gas station in July. The shelves are stocked as if a natural disaster just happened and the line for the register is filled with demoralized souls inching through an eternal limbo like some Greek underworld myth.
I get to the allergy section and, naturally, the exact medicine I need is behind a locked lid. I push a nearby button to summon the polo-shirted Gatekeepers of the Shuttered Elixirs (a.k.a. Walgreens customer service) when a young woman moseyed over and stood a foot away from me, waiting.
“Zyrtec?” I asked.
“Yep,” she responded, swinging her car keys.
“I pressed the button already. They should be coming.”
“Cool.”
Another minute passed and we’re still waiting, expressions as blank as can be. We had all the inertia of two armoires.
“Why do they lock up the Zyrtec but not the generic?” she suddenly asked, as if posing the question to the air around us.
“I don’t know,” I said. “It’s the same thing.”
“It’s the same thing, right?”
“Yep. And it’s cheaper.”
“And it’s cheaper.”
A pause. It was a moment of staggering insight. We chuckled. She went ahead and grabbed the unobstructed generic version, Wal-Tec. “Fuck it,” she announced. “Fuck Zyrtec, am I right?”
You are right, I thought to myself, watching her go. Fuck it.
Fuck. Zyrtec.
There was so much truth there. Something inside me stirred.
I grabbed myself a generic Wal-Tec – “fucking it” as well.
Just then a Walgreens worker showed up with a key.
“You need something?”
“No, thank you,” I said as I exited, cheaper medicine firmly in hand, social convention heroically rebelled against . “I have exactly what I need.”
I didn’t turn around to see the face he gave me, but no doubt it was filled with wonder.
Courtesy: Unsplash
MAGIC MINI-MOMENT FROM THE OTHER DAY #3
One of My Local Bodega Guys Gave Me a Free Sample of His Lamb and Rice with the White Sauce, In a Tiny Ice Cream Cup, Just Because I Lived Nearby
I have no shortage of corner store choices, so I often patronize them arbitrarily from one day to the next, depending on what block I’m on and how recently I shame-bought junk food where.
Day in question, I walked into one of my less frequented delis – Jasim #1 on 4th Avenue and 11th Street – for no other reason than sidewalk momentum. Since I was suddenly inside the place, I bought myself a cold can of San Pellegrino (Arrianciata Rossa, for those fellow Pellegrino-heads out there).
“You live close?” the counter guy asked me.
“Um, yeah. Like two blocks away.”
“Wait here.”
He disappeared behind the counter, almost like a muppet. Upon his return he held a small plastic cup that looked like it was made for seaside gelatos. Instead, it contained lamb and rice in white sauce.
“Here,” he said. “Enjoy. Best lamb and rice in the neighborhood. We deliver.”
“Wow, thanks. I’m Joe, by the way.”
“Joe? Sonny.”
“Nice to meet you, Sonny.”
Isn’t it nice to get a name? Like every now and then. Go and exchange a name with a face in your neighborhood. It’s like you get a couple of Super Mario coins of warmth inside you.
Anyway, I left Jasim #1 munching on my free excerpt of halal served with a side of goodwill. And it was damn delicious.
I ordered a full helping from there just a few days later. Because the food was good, yes. But really, because he was a kind neighbor. I plan on stopping in again soon. Not even sure what I’m going to buy. Doesn’t matter really.
I think I just want the Mario coins.
Courtesy: Unsplash
