Yesterday, I had decided that I would have a middle-eastern lunch of hummus, falafel, and an Israeli-type salad. I brought my own hummus from home, and was heading out onto Broadway to locate a few falafel balls and the salad. I went to one of the street carts - and was surprised to see a familiar face behind the counter of the cart on 39th and Broadway. It was 'Potato Guy', a Pakistani street vendor.
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| Potato Guy's cart is the one on the right.. |
I have known Potato Guy for more than 20 years, which is about how long we have both been making our livings in the Fashion District of New York City. There was a time when I used to have a baked potato with sour cream and brown mustard (plus a sprinkling of chives) almost every day.
We had not seen each other in such a long time that we couldn't recall each other's names, but neither wanted to admit it - so yesterday my name was 'Hey Sweetie!!' and his was 'Oh my God, how have you been?!''
He'd been struggling. He'd given up the potato cart and was now trying his hand at rice and beans with chicken. It was hard finding good people to work with, he said. He had tried for so long to make it...but was just surviving. He told me about a news article he had read in one of the Pakistani papers, about a freshly minted MBA who could not find a job, and so went out on a limb (literally), taking courses in plant husbandry, eventually finding a job managing a grove of fruit trees. According to Potato Guy, Fruit Guy was doing well. His takeaway from that story was that he should keep trying - if one thing doesn't work out, he should keep looking and moving forward.
Usually, the street vendors won't sell falafel balls separately, as they are used to garnish the meals which are their mainstay. However,I was going to walk away not only with the falafel balls, but also a container of rice and beans with chicken. Potato Guy did not want to take my money and I started to feel distress rising - difficult as it is for me to receive gifts and favors, and especially now after hearing his story. Finally, we settled on a compromise which we both could live with - half price.
Street vendors are somewhat like frontier people - as much for their little wagons and their hardiness as for their transient occupation of the cityscape. I like to think of them as the street keepers. Most of New York City's kiosks and carts are manned by South East Asians, which is to say Pakistanis, Bangladeshis and Indians, but they aren't the only ones out here pushing carts: there is at least one Eastern European operating on my street corner serving breakfast fare: coffee, tea, doughnuts and bagels. Some of these men have wives and families back in their homelands, the street cart embodying at once their foray into an unfamiliar territory, and a lifeline to their families back home. It is no different a scenario than many of us as immigrants have faced, but I don't think any immigrant story expresses itself so literally as the street cart vendor peddling foods (often foreign to his own palate) so far away from home. As I left Potato Guy, with his upbeat outlook yet palpable despondence, it almost seemed like the cart was pushing the man.
We had not seen each other in such a long time that we couldn't recall each other's names, but neither wanted to admit it - so yesterday my name was 'Hey Sweetie!!' and his was 'Oh my God, how have you been?!''
He'd been struggling. He'd given up the potato cart and was now trying his hand at rice and beans with chicken. It was hard finding good people to work with, he said. He had tried for so long to make it...but was just surviving. He told me about a news article he had read in one of the Pakistani papers, about a freshly minted MBA who could not find a job, and so went out on a limb (literally), taking courses in plant husbandry, eventually finding a job managing a grove of fruit trees. According to Potato Guy, Fruit Guy was doing well. His takeaway from that story was that he should keep trying - if one thing doesn't work out, he should keep looking and moving forward.
Usually, the street vendors won't sell falafel balls separately, as they are used to garnish the meals which are their mainstay. However,I was going to walk away not only with the falafel balls, but also a container of rice and beans with chicken. Potato Guy did not want to take my money and I started to feel distress rising - difficult as it is for me to receive gifts and favors, and especially now after hearing his story. Finally, we settled on a compromise which we both could live with - half price.
Street vendors are somewhat like frontier people - as much for their little wagons and their hardiness as for their transient occupation of the cityscape. I like to think of them as the street keepers. Most of New York City's kiosks and carts are manned by South East Asians, which is to say Pakistanis, Bangladeshis and Indians, but they aren't the only ones out here pushing carts: there is at least one Eastern European operating on my street corner serving breakfast fare: coffee, tea, doughnuts and bagels. Some of these men have wives and families back in their homelands, the street cart embodying at once their foray into an unfamiliar territory, and a lifeline to their families back home. It is no different a scenario than many of us as immigrants have faced, but I don't think any immigrant story expresses itself so literally as the street cart vendor peddling foods (often foreign to his own palate) so far away from home. As I left Potato Guy, with his upbeat outlook yet palpable despondence, it almost seemed like the cart was pushing the man.
What a great reminder to keep on keepin' on! Twenty years is a long time, and yet, short too. We are all so immersed in our own struggles; it is good to touch base and be reminded we are not alone, we are all doing it. Living. Thanks for this.
ReplyDeletePoignant
ReplyDeleteWhat fascinates me about the way you write is your ability to immediately pull me into a scene. Your descriptive tone is precise and provocative.
With just a little twist on words or an observation (in your quirky way) you can get me to quietly chuckle to myself and at times even laugh out loud.
You constantly remind me of how important it is to pay attention. A lot of interesting external details get lost due to our internal obsession with self.
Julian