Psychic at the Fruit Stand

Is there anything more delicious than a juicy pear, purchased on a Manhattan street corner?

NYC is dotted with a myriad of colorful produce stands, strategically placed on street corners in an attempt to get Gothamites to eat their veggies.  This rainbow of chroma on the landscape is a welcomed sight amongst the grayish panorama that tends to blanket Manhattan.

These fruit and vegetable stands have become a part of daily NYC life — and these carts can be territorial at times since everyone’s got their own “fruit guy” who supplies them with seasonal goodies from the garden.  In fact, recent debates ignited as to which fruit guy has the best blueberries. The jury’s still out.

There are at times long lines and the occasional squabble over who was “here first”.  Yet the capable vendor is always ready with a smile and controls the situation like a champ.  He’ll even throw in a free banana to calm the most impatient of customers.

My “local” fruit guy is a particularly special type.  You see, he’s psychic…

Yeah, that’s right — he can literally read minds while selling you a melon.  I found this out the first time I bought some tangerines while on my way to work.  As I paid him, he said “Thanks, Lia. Have a nice day!”

I didn’t think much of it at the moment, but afterwards I realized that he knew my name! How on earth?

So day after day, he’d call me by name as I’d pay for my purchases.  And the psychic vendor did the same with some other customers too.

“See you soon, Sam” — “Thanks a lot, Bob” — “Later, Linda”.

We’d smile at one another and scratch our heads in disbelief.  Wow, this guy was good!

Sometimes people would even try to challenge this psychic fruit purveyor.  They’d ask, “OK, so what’s my name?” to which he’d reply, “Hmmm…it’s coming to me…Wait, wait….Oh no, I’m not getting it today.  Come back tomorrow”.   They’d laugh and grab their guavas.

This was all becoming very mystical to me and this fruit vendor became more of an enigma with every commute I took. So one day, I finally broke down and asked him.  “So listen, how is it that you know my name?” I inquired, while grabbing a couple of kiwis.

He smirked and drew his head close to my ear, whispering, “Ok, I’ll let you in on my little secret…” as he pointed to my company I.D. card, conspicuously clipped to my coat.



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