"Silver Mazda?" he asked confident he already knew the answer as I entered the underground garage.
"Yes," I smiled confident he connected me with my aging Mazda.
"I get," he nodded as I went to the cashier and he disappeared into the cavernous garage that cares for cars of students, professors and Lincoln Center guests who live far from Manhattan but stop by with their humble Asian and American cars to let them mingle with the Porsche and Mercedes Benz who spend their nights days in this spotless garage.
"You used to have a stick shift?" his partner asked resting on the bench, waiting the next after-class car pick up.
"Oh my goodness," I responded a bit astonished he remembered the car I drove into that garage just one weeks after the 911 disaster brought New York City to its knees. "That was a long time ago!"I responded wondering how he connected me with my long ago tiny green stick shirf! "How do you remember that car?" I asked incredulously. "
"There are VERY FEW stick shifts her,e so we remember them all!" he smiled as he sat grateful that the nightly onslaught of Fordham people was coming to a close. "I've been here 38 years," he continued rubbing his tired thighs, "I remember each and every stick shirt. Back in Brazil, everyone does stick but not here in the city. I know you stick people," he chuckled!
With that, my silver Mazda appeared and I gratefully pulled out a generous tip for the gentlemen with great memories who work underground protecting my cars (that no longer have stick shifts) year, after year, after year on those nights I head into the city to work long after my bedtime, those nights when I transform from teacher to professor!
"Yes," I smiled confident he connected me with my aging Mazda.
"I get," he nodded as I went to the cashier and he disappeared into the cavernous garage that cares for cars of students, professors and Lincoln Center guests who live far from Manhattan but stop by with their humble Asian and American cars to let them mingle with the Porsche and Mercedes Benz who spend their nights days in this spotless garage.
"You used to have a stick shift?" his partner asked resting on the bench, waiting the next after-class car pick up.
"Oh my goodness," I responded a bit astonished he remembered the car I drove into that garage just one weeks after the 911 disaster brought New York City to its knees. "That was a long time ago!"I responded wondering how he connected me with my long ago tiny green stick shirf! "How do you remember that car?" I asked incredulously. "
"There are VERY FEW stick shifts her,e so we remember them all!" he smiled as he sat grateful that the nightly onslaught of Fordham people was coming to a close. "I've been here 38 years," he continued rubbing his tired thighs, "I remember each and every stick shirt. Back in Brazil, everyone does stick but not here in the city. I know you stick people," he chuckled!
With that, my silver Mazda appeared and I gratefully pulled out a generous tip for the gentlemen with great memories who work underground protecting my cars (that no longer have stick shifts) year, after year, after year on those nights I head into the city to work long after my bedtime, those nights when I transform from teacher to professor!
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