November 4, 2010--Welcome to New York

After four months in residence on the coast of Maine we were back in Manhattan for literally five minutes when, while attempting to cross Second Avenue at 21st Street, we received a rude welcome.

The light turned green and I gently eased the car forward, having just been reminded by Rona that we were again in New York and that pedestrians here do not pay much attention to red and green lights. And, as forewarned, a young man stepped into the crosswalk and, without looking up, was taking his sweet time crossing against the light. The cab driver behind me leaned on his horn but I, still calm and patient after all that sweet time looking out on Johns Bay, tapped mine gently.

Still not acknowledging us or picking up his pace, now halfway across, he pantomimed an obscene gesture. There is no other way to put it--in response to my suggesting that when the light turned green we had the right of way, he moved his clenched hand back and forth in rapid strokes as if he were jerking off.

Rona laughed, "Did you see what he did?" I had. "Can you believe it?"

"Well, yes," I chuckled.

We then made our way downtown without further incident and were fortunate enough to find a parking space right across from our building which promised to make it easier to unload the car. "You go for the handcart for the luggage," Rona said, "And I'll get a parking ticket from the meter."

"Sounds like a plan to me," I said. "I think we only need a half hour."

"It looks like that will be two dollars," Rona said, squinting at the half-scratched-off instructions on the box. "Parking rates have sure gone up while we've been away. I don't think I have enough quarters but it seems that the machine takes credit cards."

"Good," I said, "I'll be right back with the cart."

When I returned in less than two minutes it was clear that Rona was upset. "What's going on?" I asked. "You look perturbed. I've only been gone a few seconds. What happened?"

"I'll tell you what happened," Rona snapped, sounding now more like a proverbial New Yorker than a Mainer. "I put the credit card in and not only did it say the bank wouldn't authorize its use but now it won't give me my friggen card back!"

"Let me take a look," I gallantly offered.

"I already pressed all the buttons and my card is still seemingly confiscated. I can't believe it."

"I'll look to see if there's a meter person around."

"Lots of luck with that. There's a telephone number to call. Do you have your cell phone?"

I did and called the city agency and they told me that the meter that ate Rona's card had already been reported as defective and that someone was on his way to fix it. They promised to return our card once it was retrieved. In the meantime they told me we could park there and no one would give us a ticket.

When i reported this to Rona she said, "Lots of luck with that. You think I believe them?" It was clear she didn't. Nor in fact did I. "You take the bags up and I'll stand guard here. Then we'll take the car over to the garage and see if they have space for us."

They did but we're still waiting to hear about Rona's credit card. She called it in as lost or stolen and they promised to send her a replacement. "We'll see about that too," Rona said. Now fully "home."

On the way back from the garage, needing cash, we headed toward our bank. "I wonder what all those police cars are doing?" I asked.

"It looks as if the police are in the bank," Rona said. "I'll bet someone had a heart attack or died while waiting on line."

"We're back in the city for less than an hour and already you're talking about heart attacks and people dropping dead in
banks?"

"Why else would they be there?" Rona asked. "Surely there wasn't a robbery or anything. No one would just walk into a bank right here on our busy corner and in broad daylight pull out a gun."

"You're right," I said. "It's sad, though, that someone had an incident in there."

Since the bank was understandably closed, we crossed the street and mentioned the police and incident to Gary, the doorman of our building. "Actually, there was a robbery in there a couple of hours ago. Didn't you see the police cars when you pulled up?" We admitted that we hadn't, we were so busy trying not to run over anyone crossing against the light.

"Yeah, some guy walked into the bank, passed a note to the teller demanding money, and after they gave him some--which appears to be bank policy--someone pushed the alarm and in a minute a police car showed up and they chased him down Broadway. I don't know what happened after that but it was quite something."

"Wow," Rona said. "I think we should take all our stuff upstairs, have a drink, and get under the covers." She was smiling and so I knew she only half-meant what she said.

The next morning on the way back from coffee we ran into one of the bank managers. He's a nice fellow so we stopped to chat and of course to ask about the robbery. He told us that he was the one to ID the robber and when the police arrived they asked him to get in the car with them while they chased after him. He said, "It was like an episode of Law and Order, what with racing down one-way streets against the traffic, driving on the sidewalk, and blasting the siren and loudspeaker to get people out of the way." He reported that they did catch the perpetrator and no one got run over. So he was both happy and excited by his adventure.

When we told the doorman what we had learned and I said it's a good thing the robber was unarmed, Gary said, "Well, you should have been here a couple of weeks ago when someone else robbed a bank in the neighborhood. He did have a gun and while tussling with the guard, who was foolish enough to tackle him, shot himself in the leg."

"My oh my," Rona said. "It's gotten to be quite something here."

The sociologist in me wondered out loud if maybe the economy was making people more desperate.

"Actually, there was another shooting right around the corner on Broadway," Gary said. "It happened late at night after the after-hours clubs let out. Someone was hit though I don't know if he was killed."

Rona muttered, half to herself, "I wonder if it's too early to have a drink." I ruefully nodded. But then, absorbing the energy and excitement of the city, she added, "Let's try to enjoy ourselves. We have lots to do and good friends to see. And . . ."

"And then we'll head for Florida," I completed her thought.

At that Rona smiled.