I used to read about Boy Scouts helping old ladies cross the street, and wonder. Where did they find these old ladies? Could the old ladies not cross on their own?

Apparently, though, the old ladies find you. And, no, they can’t make it across solo – or, at least, they’re worried the light will turn on them before they do.

I’ve deduced as much over the past few months, during which time I’ve become a magnet for street-crossing old ladies.

“Young man!” one will exclaim as I pass by. “Can you help me across?”

Indeed I can. Looped arm in arm, we’ll slowly head from one corner to the other, making small talk along the way. This afternoon, crossing Irving at 14th St., a lovely woman and I discussed the weather, how much the city changes each year, her grandchildren here in NYC, and my own grandmother (hi Grammy!), who lives not too far off from that very intersection. Amazing what you can fit into a single street-width of conversation if you shuffle across in sufficiently small steps.

I seem to be averaging about a crossing a week at this point. And I’d be happy to do it more often if asked. Though, between this and my attempts to direct lost tourists, I’m pretty sure Mayor Bloomberg at least owes me a merit badge.