5 Things I Learned From My NYC Bodega Man

JUST MY PERSPECTIVE BY MARGEAUX DUPUY

5 Things I Learned From My NYC Bodega Man

IMHO - a New York girl needs four people: a therapist, a best friend, a mentor — and a good bodega man.

MARGEAUX DUPUY

FEB 17, 2026

When I think back to my many interactions with my bodega Man in Harlem - I miss that guy, genuinely. Bodegas are more than corner stores - they are places to grab snacks, drinks, emergency toilet paper, unexpected wisdom, and if you’re lucky a killer breakfast sandwich made with love. Truly - bodega breakfast sandwiches HIT.

Important disclaimer - I can’t speak for all Bodegas - but this one was off Amsterdam Ave in Harlem. I should also note with this in mind, that I fired my first bodega. Let’s just say the first one had some friends (rats and roaches) visit while I was waiting for my breakfast sandwich one morning. IT WAS HORRIBLE…unfortunately because I was young and borderline poor, I still ate the sandwich that day, since I had already paid for it…no regrets, just trauma.

As an aspiring New Yorker would, I persevered and started walking a bit further to another place, which became my bodega. The guy at the register was probably in his 20s or early 30s but was so full of life. He played music occasionally, had an amazing sense of humor, and was consistent with the banter with neighborhood locals. The patrons were a melting pot made up of neighborhood veterans, young people, and elders. Thinking back on these interactions, there are 5 major things that I learned from my bodega man.

1. ‘You’ll be alright’ I’m convinced that people who manage/ work in bodegas are therapists who sell plantain chips. They see so many people day in and day out and I believe that they can quickly tell someone’s vibe, mood, and even if the guy you’re currently dating is a dud or not just by a once over. If I ever needed a laugh or if I was going through a tough time I could always, though I never expected it, count on my bodega man to make me smile or crack up when I went in. I remember times when I would go there stale-faced, determined not to laugh or smile, in my own world and he would say some random funny sentence before handing me my bag. I would have no choice but to give in and laugh. Instant smiles. Day saved. It really taught me to take life as it comes.

   
   

2. Respect everyone, but take no mess. Everyone (well unless you got on his bad side) was welcome and was treated well. There weren’t too many times that I saw him angry, but he definitely had a switch. I’ll never forget his curt reaction to a patron who lived in the building above the bodega and would frequent. He told the patron to get out immediately (with more colorful language) and didn’t care that they didn’t purchase anything. I suppose another lesson here is that money doesn’t make you richer if you have to sacrifice your self-worth or integrity to earn it.

   
   

3. Keep the lights on. This place was always open. Even during blizzards and storms, the lights would be on and there would always be food behind the counter ready to be prepared or served. When everything else was closed, he was open. It reminded me of my sports days and how powerful consistency is. Bigger than this - in these moments - he became an anchor. A person that our neighborhood could rely on.

   
   

4. Humor just makes everything better. Bad hair day - humor. Breakup - humor. Stepped in dog crap on your way to work - humor. I think New Yorkers in general are great at this, but for my bodega man - humor was an entry point for communication and a way to break tension in five seconds or less. When writing this, I did my best to remember one particular funny thing he said - but I can’t. Maybe because everything was pretty funny…

   
   

5. Community is currency. This past summer at EY I created a presentation about different types of wealth/ currencies. I was inspired by a presentation given at a United Way mentor session, but I had learned this before from none other than my bodega man. When I was living in NYC I had a very interesting life (once again - stories for another time) but there were seasons when I had some cash and seasons/ days when I was basically…well, I was just BROKE. So there would be days when I had to crack open my change jar to pay for my sandwich. He never judged me for paying with quarters, dimes, or even - yes - pennies on an odd day or week. I’m not talking a few pennies - I mean like a counter full of pennies to pay for my sandwich. He politely counted every one - no judgment.

   
   

   I’ll never forget one special moment. One day when I was waiting for my sandwich, he looked up at me and said - ‘My friend, you got money you eat. You don’t got money - you eat’. Now I would never think to go there and order food that I couldn’t pay for (hence the pennies) but the look in his eyes said ‘I got you’. For me - a NYC transplant from Texas who had lived in different places for college and my early adulthood, that meant everything. To me it meant family.

There were other people in that community who made me feel like family - stories that deserve their own blog, but man do I miss my bodega. So much so that on one of my trips back to NYC - I made my husband come with me to all my local spots in Harlem and yes - the bodega was on the list. I didn’t ask if he remembered me. It was enough that I remembered him.