Extraordinary Coffee Cart Man

Bright sunlight glistens off the steel exterior of the 43rd street and 5th avenue coffee cart. Back in the day, when I took a different subway to work, I frequented another shiny silver box for coffee and plain doughnuts (by 6th avenue). I never liked the men (2) who worked in there. They were cold, indifferent, uninterested in my eager-beaver smile and soft expressions of gratitude.

The days of burnt coffee and bad service are over.

(Um, they aren't, but whatever.)

I tried the 43rd and 5th cart one day to see what he was like. Would he make me feel inferior? Or - worse - ordinary?

"Hello dear, how are you today?" He greeted me as if we were old friends, as if I'd always bought my cheap, disgusting, bowel-shaking coffee from him. I hadn't. He didn't mind.

The next time, he was just as warm and so was I.

"I am so well, sir. How are you today? Keeping warm in there?" I looked up at him with a big smile, radiating heat, I'm sure.

"Yes, because you are so hot."

Pardon? "Thanks! Have a nice day!"

We continued this for many days and then I gave him a Christmas card with rub-offs. Wait, scratch-offs. I got the idea from the television, a New York Lotto commercial.

"You know, I won $15 on your tickets!" He told the next time I saw him.

"Oh, I am so glad. You really deserve it." Nodding my head, smiling as if he just told me war is over.

There wasn't a line behind me. I lingered.

"You are very, very nice."

"Oh, please. Thank you. You are very good at your job! Best in the city."

Then it began: an onslaught of free pastries.

Day 1:

"I'll just have a small coffee today." In a hurry.

"No, you will have a medium. Half/half and two sugars?"

"If you insist, yes." Coy smile.

"Now, what do you want here?" A quick glance around his inventory.

"What do I want?" Confusion.

"From here?" He gestured at his array of pastries, doughnuts, and bagels.

"Well ... oh, I don't really want anything."

"You have something! Please!" His brown bag was open, ready.

"Okay, I'll have a plain doughnut." Meek, mild, boring.

"That is all?"

"Yes. That is all."

"Okay, that will be $1."

"No, it shouldn't be!" I pushed $2 over the lip of his window. "Have a nice day!"

Day 2:

"Hmm, I'll have a bagel with cream cheese and a medium coffee."

"What else do you like?"

"I don't like anything." Shaking head.

"You must. Pick something." Again, gesturing.

"Okay, okay. Plain doughnut."

"Very good. $1." It should be closer to $4.

"Fine, here is $1."

He nodded at me, a sweet smile taking over his face.

Day 3:

"Ah, I haven't seen you in a while!" It had been a day or two since I stopped to see him.

"Yes, I know. I've been at Starbucks." I laughed, he smiled. A gay time, we had on 43rd.

"What will it be today then? Anything you want."

"Alrighty. A medium coffee is all." One who shoots for the stars, clearly.

"What! Come now, you must have something else."

"A plain doughnut?"

"That is all? It's so small! What else you like?"

"... I don't know?" Again, confusion.

"Anything here! Anything." I shook my head. "Okay, I put this one in for you." He held out a large glazed danish.

"Sure, that's fine."

"You like this one?"

"Yeah, it's great. How much is all this?" He dropped it in the bag and shook his head.

"Nothing?"

"Nothing. For you, I don't charge anything."

"How do you make a living doing this?"

"The money does not matter. It warms my heart to give it to you." He clasped his hands and brought them to his chest.

"Okay. Thank you sir."

"You are welcome. You have a wonderful weekend."

Yes, a wonderful weekend at the gym, on the treadmill. What generosity brings: unprecedented weight gain, diabetes, and an inexplicable hankering for doughnuts at 9:30 am.