This time of year has always made me wonder how kids in New York cope on Halloween. Obviously my childhood memories of walking up damp sidewalks through elaborately decorated yards to ring doorbells will not be theirs. I see fliers for parties, and Ed mentioned that he had the option to add his name to a list of apartments accepting trick-or-treaters at his apartment, but my apartment had no such list. Would the kids there be able to trick or treat at all? How would they get past doormen or through locked exterior doors? What if no one in their building was home, or willing to distribute candy to hordes of children?
I got my answer yesterday while walking home along Broadway. Kids swarmed the street with their parents. I had to return a pair of earrings, and I was preceded into the small boutique by a woman escorting Spiderman and a princess. "Are you guys doing candy?" she asked a saleswoman near the front. "Sorry, we're out," the woman replied, and the mother and her kids retreated.
Back on the sidewalk a few minutes later, I saw that this process was being repeated (with better success) up and down the street as far as I could see. Families were weaving in and out of restaurants, shoe stores, and hardware suppliers. More surprising, I noted that the employees were beaming as the youngsters helped themselves to pieces of candy. This is a city in which the apparent goal of most staff is to do as little as possible. They are seriously irked when made to fulfill their basic duties. They often heave heavy sighs as I timidly lay items on the counter so that I will fully understand how inconvenient they find my business. Yet here they were, merrily greeting non-paying visitors at the doors to their establishments and handing out free candy. It all seemed a bit backwards to me, but I'm certainly not complaining. Moments that remind me of the humanity behind those icy exteriors are fleeting, but sweet.
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