Victor Kerlow Dear Diary:
About 50 of us were assembled in a narrow loft space in the meatpacking district. The chuppa, the canopy at a traditional Jewish wedding, stood at one end of the room, just beyond a short corridor leading to the freight elevator.
As the rabbi started the ceremony, the couple in his literal embrace under the chuppa, the elevator doors clanked open just out of sight.
A canonical small, helmeted food delivery guy, carrying a canonical large brown bag, stepped unhesitatingly between the chuppa and the audience.
He asked the rabbi who had ordered the delivery.
A low murmur of amusement reverberated.
The rabbi, after brief consultation with the couple, quickly recovered control of the proceedings.
He explained that this was food for the band, and directed the delivery man to a door behind the chuppa.
The food messenger was not seen again.
Recall the Postal Service’s heroic creed regarding wind, rain and other impediments. We know what has happened to mail delivery.
New York City has new heroes.
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