Making friends while waiting to buy souvenirs at the Broadway-Lafayette station.
Dear Diary:
Not long ago, I did something I rarely do. I stood in a long line. Specifically: I waited two hours for David Bowie MetroCards at the Broadway-Lafayette station.
I made friends with two strangers while I waited. One of them, Susan, wore rainbow hair extensions and worked in fashion. The other, Robert, exuded a calm presence and frequently used the word “nice.”
We were of different ages and ethnicities. But we were the same: Collectors. Curators. Enthusiasts.
We talked about the “Sneakerheadz” documentary, eBay auction anxieties and my fear of the Muppets (the reason I’ve never seen “Labyrinth”).
When we got to the MetroCard vending machines, Robert extended his hand.
“Thanks for the conversation,” he said. “The wait went quickly.”
Susan went first. Then it was Robert’s turn. Then it was mine.
The first MetroCard I got featured the Thin White Duke. Then came Aladdin Sane.
“Goodbye, ladies,” Robert said, disappearing into the station. “It was a pleasure.”
A few transactions later, I realized that I had bought 10 cards (my self-imposed limit), but had only come away with four of the five designs.
“It was nice meeting you!” Susan said.
“Do you want to trade?” a boy standing by the turnstiles asked me.
I glanced at the MetroCard in his hand. It was the fifth design, the one I didn’t have, Bowie as Pierrot from “Ashes to Ashes.” I pulled out my cards and started to flip through them.
“That one,” he said. “Ziggy. That’s the one I’m missing.” I had two, so I handed him one in exchange for the Pierrot.
Later that night, I called my mom to tell her about my day.
“How New York,” she said.
Published on NYTimes.com.
