ordinary people

One of the many things I love about New York is the ability to interact with so many people in the course of one day. Depending on my mood, it can also be one of the things I really hate too. But I mostly dig it.

I love the man at the Borough Hall subway station who smiles radiantly and says in a thick accent, "Hello, my friend" when I stop at his newspaper stand to pick up my copy of the Daily News each day. I try not to cringe when I see him sliding two dimes, a nickel and one quarter into his open palm to give me change. Quarters are a precious commodity because I rely on them for laundry and to complete my collection of state coins. My mother even bought me a special folder for them. Shut up.

Whether it's been working at the Drug Fair when I was 16 years old or my current job, I've always managed to befriend the people who clean the store or office after hours. At Drug Fair, an older man and his son came in on Sundays to buff the floors. He was the nicest, most jovial man. His laughter could be heard throughout the entire store. He called everyone "baby" and we just ate it up. His laugh was awesome. I craved hearing it. Later in college when I read Kerouac's On the Road, one passage in particular immediately brought to mind Floor Guy:

The strange thing was that next door to Remi lived a Negro called Mr. Snow whose laugh, I swear on the Bible, was positively and finally the one greatest laugh in all this world. This Mr. Snow began his laugh from the supper table when his old wife said something casual; he got up, apparently choking, leaned on the wall, looked up to heaven, and started; he staggered through the door, leaning on neighbors’ walls; he was drunk with it, he reeled throughout Mill City in the shadows, raising his whooping triumphant call to the demon god that must have prodded him to do it. I don’t know if he ever finished supper.

Floor Guy's laugh was so infectious. I didn't know what he was laughing about half the time but I naturally caught the giggles and laughed with him. I miss him.

Next up was Vadrana, or as the crass receptionist from the Bronx would say, Verdana. Who would have guessed she was inadvertently and prematurely using the name of a soon-to-be popular font? I cringed each time she said it but oddly enough, it's now my font of choice. I've grown tired of Trebuchet MS.

But I digress, Vadrana is a lovely Croatian woman who cleans the bathrooms in the office building where I had my first real job. By the time I resigned, I had been privy to so much of her life. I saw her daughter's wedding album and pictures of her grandchildren. I knew about her other daughter who was having a hard time finding a boyfriend. I knew all about her Easter menu and guest list each year. When my sister got married and later had a child, Vadrana was as excited as if the wedding and birth happened within her own family. I really adore that woman. She's refreshingly sincere and unwavering in her ability to smile. When I was fresh out of college and scared of my own shadow, she warmed up the workplace for me. She'd see me in the hallway and abandon her supply cart to give me the biggest hug ever. She'd cup my face in her hands and say the nicest things to me... but not in a weird way. I miss her and am long overdue for a visit.

I also managed to befriend the woman who cleaned the office when I was associate editor of an entertainment-related publication long ago. She was Polish and would greet me with a "Hello, kohana!" (sp?) It's a term of endearment that means "baby" as far as I know (anyone? anyone?). She was a lovely woman too. I remember exactly what she looked like: middle aged and very attractive with perfectly coiffed hair that stood in stark contrast to the aqua green uniform dress, black socks and nurse-style sensible shoes she wore each day.

The cleaning woman at my current job greets me with a "Hello, lady" or "Hello, missus" each day. She likes to change it up. I don't know her very well but she has potential to be my buddy. I stayed at work rather late tonight. Our offices are pretty modern complete with a plasma TV that is mounted on a wall in a little lounge area. CNN is on most of the day but because I work with computer geeks, Star Trek takes over during lunch time and off-peak hours. I always walk past the TV on my way out of the office. As I was leaving tonight, I could hear the sounds of the Yankees game which surprised me. I figured the Sci Fi channel was offline temporarily. As I approached the lounge, I didn't see anyone so I stood and watched the game for a bit. As I turned to leave, I saw the cleaning woman sitting in the corner. I was totally blocking her view without realizing it. I quickly apologized and in very broken English she assured me it was fine. She looked a bit sheepish and perhaps a little scared that I was going to tell on her for watching TV while she was on the clock. More power to her, I say! I asked her if she was a fan of the Yankees and she shyly nodded yes. When I informed her that I was too, her eyes lit up and she flashed the biggest smile revealing two gold caps on her front teeth. I smiled back and stood next to her while we watched Bernie Williams get a base hit. I thought for a second we were going to turn towards each other and hit our fists together in that celebratory pound gesture but we didn't. We just watched quietly together for a few more minutes and then I wished her a good night.

Maybe she'll become my new Vadrana. I hope so.