The Lord of the Ring

Several days ago, on my way to the Garden Gourmet Market, an SUV pulled up alongside me—an unwelcome act in these parts in 2024. A man behind the wheel shouted out something that I could not immediately decipher. Suffice it to say, he had a poor command of the English language—well, actually, no command at all. Eventually, I got the gist of what this stranger was trying to convey, or at least I thought I did. He was getting low on “petrol” and looking for the nearest gas station. By pointing the way with a few simple instructions thrown in for good measure—in the universal language of road navigation—I figured the guy would hastily make a beeline to this lifeline, a stone’s throw away on busy Broadway.

But, lo and behold, he didn’t. While the fellow claimed to be low on “petrol”—yes—he further communicated to me that he had lost his “Visa card.” He therefore required monetary assistance—i.e., some bread—and was willing to give me the ring off his finger in exchange for some. For show and tell, the chap aggressively dangled the ring outside the driver’s side window. Now, I’m not employed with New York magazine as a financial advice columnist, so I was a little suspicious of the proposed deal. I reasoned that this wayward soul wasn’t quite on the level. 

“Sorry, fella, I don’t have any dinero for the petrol,” I called over to him. The ring man didn’t appear too pleased at my response—let’s put it that way. He angrily accelerated, driving off in search of a riper pigeon, I suspect—a Mourning dove, perhaps, conversant in his native tongue.

I don’t know: Maybe the guy was on the level, and I was being too cynical. Had I accepted the ring and booked an appearance on the Antiques Roadshow, the thing could have been a historical artifact from the Ming dynasty and worth $70,000 to $80,000. And this Bronx tale of mine would then be the story a Good Samaritan, who unexpectedly and immeasurably benefited from trusting his fellow man—a dude in distress—who merely wanted to gas-up, as my father would say. Such is the price we skeptics sometimes pay.

(Photos from the personal collection of Nicholas Nigro)