Old age and too many doctor’s appointments have found me taking beaucoup taxi rides around Manhattan, and I’ve seen some sights that were worth seeing.

I was surprised to find a shoeshine stand in front of Grand Central Station. I had assumed that shoeshine stands had gone the way of buggy whips, but…nope.

This reminded me of a Streets-of-New-York episode I witnessed back in the ‘90s.

I was walking east on 42nd Street, just about to reach 8th Avenue when I slowed my walk. Two elderly African-American guys seemed to be involved in a very heated dispute. They were just in front of the shoeshine stand which had been there for years. One of them I recognized as the shoeshine guy himself. The other wore a bright orange jumpsuit emblazoned with the logo of the Times Square Redevelopment thing. Both appeared to be around 70.

Shoeshine guy held a shoe brush in his hand and was waving and pointing with it as if it was a saber. Jumpsuit guy had a streetsweeper broom in his hand, wielding it like a spear. The guys were leaning into each other, their faces no more than a foot apart, and they were furious. Eyes were bulging, teeth bared, facial muscles clenched. And they were yelling.

Stuff like this…

Shoeshine:  I’m tellin’ you he didn’t!

Jumpsuit: I know damn well he did!

Shoeshine: No, he didn’t and I know it.

Jumpsuit: You know it?!?! I’m the one who knows it.

Shoeshine: You don’t know nuthin’! You’re just dumb!

Jumpsuit: You dummy! You callin’ me dumb?

Shoeshine:  I know what I know and I know he didn’t kill her!

Jumpsuit: You only know shit. He did kill her, he did, and everybody knows it.

Shoeshine:  He didn’t kill her! He didn’t! He killed everybody else but not her!

Jumpsuit:  Hey, you want me to prove it? I’ll show you some proof!

At this point, Jumpsuit leaned back and reached for his pants pocket.

Jumpsuit: I’ll show you right now!

He was grabbing for something in his pocket and I backed off, fearing a pistol was about to appear. Instead, Jumpsuit pulled a book from his pocket. A small red book which I quickly recognized as a pocket Bible. Jumpsuit started feverishly flipping through the pages. 

Jumpsuit: I’ll show you! God killed Job’s wife and I know it!

At this point, I figured this surprising theological debate wasn’t that dangerous after all and I moved on.

On a different taxi trip I spotted this on 9th Avenue…

…and was reminded of Nelson Algren’s Rules of Life. 

     1. Never play cards with a man called Doc.

         2.   Never eat at a place called Mom’s.

         3.   Never sleep with a woman whose troubles are worse than your own.

In my life experience…well…I’ve never played cards with a guy called Doc. So I got that goin’ for me.