Bittersweet

Bitter: Saying goodbye to Machiris :(.

Sweet: Meeting strangers on the train is perhaps one of the most special things about NY. Icy stares make me smile. Shared looks of horror when a fellow commuter does something rude or idiotic are appreciated. And occasionally you meet an interesting person. A person who lightens your mood. A person who reminds you of how small this world really is. This morning that person was named G. Sanchez. Mr. Sanchez and I were doing the subway waltz, careful to not encroach on each other’s “space” while balancing in between other floating bodies. The morning commute is always a bitch. At 96th street, a space in the corner opened up. Mr. Sanchez asked me if I wanted it, but I could tell he really did, and so I waved him on. Appreciative, he made small talk about it being the best place to stand on the train. Then he noticed the kindle in my hands, and said “Ah, so that’s the Kindle!” I smiled and nodded, familiar with this conversation starter, as many eyes are drawn to my shiny white e-book reader. “I’d like to get one of those. Actually I’d like to get 100s of those,” he said. “I’m a librarian at a college and I think our students could really benefit from going digital. Technology is the new world. No one wants to read books anymore.” I pondered in my head whether to acknowledge our chance similarity, or to let it go. On the one hand, I wanted to read my book, and I had no idea how long he’d be on the train. As I was getting off at 14th, it could be an 82-block conversation. On the other hand, how often am I going to meet a librarian on the train, so new in my own library education? “What school do you work at?” I asked. “Oh a small school, very small. LIM, we’re a fashion business school” he explained. Hm. I’m sure I’ve never heard of you but what the hell, “Ah—I just started Library School.” His interest piqued. We chatted about my school, then his, about technology and libraries and books. Strangers on the otherwise quiet train kept their heads down, but no doubt listened to the odd conversation between the sheik older man and the Friday-Jeans young lady. Finally, he took his card out of his wallet and handed it to me, offering to help me get an internship if I called him. I wonder if he saw my eyes flutter when I read “Director of Library Services” at the top of his card. I told him my name, he bid me good luck, and he was off. A sign.