I had been unhappy about the quality of people I have met here in Merida. I found them to be either raging alcoholics incapable of a decent conversation, uninteresting, not in their own right, but in terms of matching my interests, or from some place on the planet that infers that New Yorkers are obnoxious and to be avoided. There is truth in a language spoken and shared; being sometimes a relationship of immediate understanding. When I was introduced to C, a fellow New Yorker, I was made happy by her snide comments and fast clipped talking and constant interruptions. It made me feel 'at home'. And I knew that my reciprocation of equally snide remarks and interruptions were well received too. Try doing that with any other state member and you will see people flinch and look annoyed. As they wander away, you can hear them mutter things about your rudeness all with an air that is supposed to convince me they went to elocution school and graduated from Bryn Mawr.
At anytime I can pull rank and put you to shame with my upbringing and educational background, but why bother? That info is shared with those that 'get me'. You think you know who I am? You don't know diddly squat. All I think, if you can see the bubble over my head, is Oi Vey! I am what I am. Take it or leave it. People claim to be open and tolerant but I think what this really translates to is: If I can understand you and you behave by my standards I am willing to possibly, maybe, accept you. If you are within the scope of my stereotypes then: welcome. If not, I will traipse away convinced of the cloud I float in.
I get upset and angry sometimes. Usually with good reason. Sometimes it is over the top, but the root is usually never wrong. Your anger or upset with me never translates to "I hate you," I only see it as a feeling you are having at the moment. When did upset or anger become a feeling that shouldn't be expressed? (We are not talking about physical intimidation or violence here). Anyone with half a brain, I think, would see that unexpressed anger that keeps going along, quickly turns into a passive-aggressive entity. That's psych 101. Despite all of our loud, interruptive behaviours, I really feel that New Yorkers are more aware of others than almost any other group of people out there.
Todays' essay is an attempt to give outsiders an insiders' look at the behaviour of New Yorkers. Not people from Buffalo or Syracuse, but those that reside in the five boroughs of New York City. I want you to see life from my perspective.
I am not rude, I just have shit to do, and no time, right now, for your shit. I'll get back to your shit in a minute but first I have to do this shit. If you insist that your shit is important I will stop doing my shit and listen to your shit, determine if it is as important, as you claim it is, and then compromise, so you feel heard. We can then come to an agreement that you were right,-your shit is more important- or no, my shit is more important. And I am going to try and figure out this shit, in a New York Minute.
For the moment, let's look at this more closely. I love Judge Judy. Judge Judy is the number one daytime reality show of all time. She is an impatient, no bullshit allowed woman that will tell you off in a heart beat. She was once interviewed and asked why she thought her show was so popular. She stated: People want others to do the right thing in situations. People have failed to take responsibility for their actions and at the same time they want to learn. I, (Judy Sheindlin), have a talent for cutting through the crap and getting people to take responsibility for themselves. I am not Mrs. Sheindlin, but I think part of how she came to be, has a great deal to do with being a New Yorker. Being a New Yorker means that you learn to spot bullshit, trouble, and random tall tales, fast.
Everything is moving fast in New York and while you may want to take your time and laze about, doing so, may get you run over. We are crammed together in subways, restaurants, buses, sidewalks and apartments. We learn how to ride the subway jammed next to your strange body and still give you space. We immediately behave like dominoes, and take off running when the person next to us hits the panic button. We know that if you see someone running, you'd better run too. Ask questions later. We overhear everyone talking near to us, and if we like what we hear and can be helpful, we join the conversation. We don't see this as rude, we feel this as helpful and we like to offer our opinions to you whether you asked for them or not. This is really what a New York Minute is about. In one minute I can give you directions, tell you were to go to eat, tell you why you should leave your wife/husband and where to go for support. The only time I might chose not to do this, is if, I get the feeling that you are crazy. A New York Minute is what defines New Yorkers. We will tell you all kinds of personal things in a minute. We are not closed up people struggling to share our feelings. Giving our opinions to strangers is what NewYorkers do best. We are not intimidated when others share intimate feelings in return. We assume you will. We feel gratified when our sharing allows you to share. When you don't share back you just seem like a stick in the mud. We thrive on these sorts of interactions. It makes us feel connected and useful. We savor these encounters. They are like M&M's; melt in your mouth, delicious.
We like people to get to the point. If you are miserable tell me what the misery is about. I don't care about what you were wearing when the misery came. I don't want to hear about the journey that got you there, unless it is The Reader's Digest version. All I need to know is what you are feeling now, and then I can send you on your misery laden way, with a good solution. New Yorkers know where the solution is to all your problems and we like to share that information with you. You're horny? You can either go to 11th Avenue for some prostitutes, or Plato's Retreat for some swinging action, (I can't remember the address but they're in the book). If you want it a bit more kinky go over to the Meat Packing District in Chelsea; they have everything over there. Some of it is crawling with Hassidim but hey, it just adds to the 'kink'. Or maybe you want some sex toys and feel shy. Go on up to 57th Street to Eve's Garden. Only women are allowed in there... We like to give you want you want. We don't have time for the drivel. When we hear the drivel we immediately think: You aren't from New York. More likely California, that state of droning on about your feelings.That state where you are given so much space to be yourself that the isolation turns you into a serial killer. Or you become some sort of organic munching vegan with too much interest in your bowels... I prefer the serial killers, personally.
Or you come from one of those states between California and New York that no one knows the name of. I'll admit it: slow talking individuals, with vague opinions get on my nerves. Not because they aren't interesting (to someone) but because I have to struggle to pay attention to the minutia. People think the minutia of their lives is fascinating. I feel it interferes with joy. Get to the point - all that other stuff is useless to you, and it bores the heck out of me.
Whether you spent time on a couch getting analyzed or not, New Yorkers, are very self aware. We are not hidden things that wait around hoping for someone to ask us out into life. Or that hide in the shadows trying to blend in and not make waves. We are the ones trying to make some waves to liven this shit up. We are intense. We have opinions about everything and we don't necessarily have to know, first hand, what the subject is about to have an opinion. We are very aware and polite. How do I come up with this dichotomy you ask?
When you live in a city like New York you have to be aware of every single thing that is going on around you within one block at all times. We have to be aware of when the energy suddenly shifts around you so you can be ready to react accordingly. No matter your ethnic background, if you are from New York, you are, by default, slightly neurotic and Jewish. But you are also Italian, Irish, Puerto Rican, Polish, Hindu, Korean, and Chinese or Greek by default as well. Every New Yorker has tried analysis. We know the format. We go to analysis not because we feel crazy but rather because we need or want to understand something about ourselves better. We view analysis as a responsible thing to do rather than resort to homicide. And if we can't afford analysis all we have to do is ask a fellow New Yorker what they think. Usually that route is cheaper and gives the same results. Because we value what another New Yorker has to say. And most times they are spot on.
We know someone is behind us, (someone is ALWAYS behind us), so we always hold the door open for the next fellow. When we see elderly people struggling with something we rush to help them because with so many people about why in the world wouldn't you? Men give their seats up to woman and both genders give up their seats to pregnant women. Why? Because you'd be ridiculed to death if you were a man and a pregnant women boarded the bus or subway and stood in front of you and you didn't get up. The entire subway car would yell at you or call you an asshole until you got up. We wait about 30 seconds to see if you will get up, and if you don't, someone will make a grand gesture, get up, and try their best to make you feel the asshole for not having done so. Every New Yorker knows that the person who gets the seat is the one standing over the person rising to exit. Anyone else who tries to take the seat is a cheating rat bastard. And it is the next person to sit who gets to give that seat up to pregnant women, those with peg legs or any other infirmity. All of this is true unless you are a non-English speaking Chinese person, in which case, you have figured out how to get to the seat even if you are in another car or on another train line altogether. Chinese people will take that seat from the pregnant, the one legged, and those that just fell to the floor ill. And once they settle in they will beam up at you, smiling like they won the lottery, and want you to share in the joy. Chinese folk have mastered, I said mastered, seat stealing. They look so happy when they do it that you have to wonder what it must be like in China for them. I always imagine sudden outburst of applause when Chinese get seats in China. There must be some real 'rooting and tooting' going on over there. When I was in the UK recently my friend had a book of silly inventions that had been invented by the Japanese. Way too many of them were designs that allowed you to sit on the train when there was not enough space to do so, or to fall asleep standing... One was a pop up seat that you could use by placing the poles between two thighs, with only half and inch to spare, and pop up a seat which allowed you to sit down about a foot or two over the two passengers on either side of you. Another was a camp chair on a tripod that you could unfold in the train, rest your chin on and fall asleep. It even had a place to hang your briefcase or purse.
I digress.
New Yorkers, will give you money, in the grocery store, if you've gotten to check out and see that you are short with money. We will dig deep if we see that the shit you are trying to purchase is real food and diapers. And you have to decide to give back either the eggs or the milk? Shit! We will give you money so you can go home with food for your family. We all struggle so when we see that kind of choice having to be made, we dig deep and we usually say: Keep the change! If you come up short trying to buy booze in front of us, you can go fuck yourself.
If you fall by accident, oodles of people will rush to your aid and no matter your size, they will get you standing again, brush you off, and offer to get you where you were going, safely. If you are dead on the streets of New York people will step over you and pass by until someone notices that you are really dead and not just drunk and annoying. Once we realize that you are truly dead, a small crowd will gather, say prayers for you, and stay until the NYFD or NYPD arrives. We stay, not because we like to ogle dead things, but rather because we know it could have been us. No one should die alone... If you live in the neighbourhood of the anonymous dead person, and might have passed by and saw that person on the night of their death, someone will have left flowers, the day after the demise, on the spot of your death, in memory of your life, in a small gesture and acknowledgement of the life you once lived. We are a kind and caring bunch, us New Yorkers. If you are a celebrity, you like living in New York because 'fans' will never bother you. We will see you out of the corner of our eye, and we may well turn around after you pass and whisper your name, but we will never run up to you revealing we are star struck. We learned our lesson after Lennon and we will kick ass to prevent another incident like that. And may I point out that Lennon's assassin was not a New Yorker. He was a deranged autograph hound from out of state. And the only people who view Ground Zero or The Dakota as attractions are non-New Yorkers. New Yorkers go to Strawberry Fields to pay homage.
If you are a politician we will run you through the muck. We will call you names, heckle and ridicule you, if you think you deserve office and we think otherwise. We will say all of this to your face. We are fearless if we think you have done something wrong and we are not alone with you in an alleyway and you have a weapon. If you don't have a weapon, we're going to take you on. A third of us will rant at you, another third will dial 911 and take videos from our cell phones and the last third will kick your ass. If you are doing anything bad to a child, and we see it, and are strangers to the child, we will attempt to kill you.
New Yorkers find you questionable if you refuse to eat certain foods based upon: I never tried that before... We imagine you to be from elsewhere and we feel tinges of pity. We think you were raised with not much exposure to great things. We refer to The United States as the East coast or the West coast. Nothing of consequence lays in between. If you feel angry at having read this let me ask you a question: When you were in Bulgaria, Bangkok, Budapest or Banff, and you mentioned you were from Kansas, were people readily able to know where the fuck you were from? No! If you are lucky they will say: The Wizard of Oz. And that's if you are lucky. I can go to these same places and immediately people smile and say: The Big Apple! I am a rock star in the world of travel. Jealous? Tough Nookies.
New Yorkers know that if pineapple is a choice to have on your pizza, and you order it, we immediately know two things. One: you are not from New York (AND we can probably narrow it down to California or Oregon), and two, you were probably standing in Sbarros. If you ask for a fork and knife to eat the pizza then we seriously begin to wonder if the relationship can last. Outside of your view, me and the pizza guy share glances that convey pity, and we follow it up with shrugged shoulders. It takes 'all kinds' we are saying. If I am the one accompanying you, I genuinely feel embarrassed. Like I am with a drunk date. Where can I ditch this person? You're worried about the oil dripping onto your clothes? About etiquette? Then go to The Waldorf for lunch. Carry a bib or a Tide laundry pen. Do what you have to do but for goodness sake act normal in public.
If I am talking to you and you don't interrupt me with your opinion but rather have a look of genuine interest that is devoid of any visible pressing rebuttals, you make me feel nervous. You make me wonder if you really like me. You make me feel as though you are simply tolerating me. Genuine interest is nice but you had better have that look that translates to: I can't wait to reply.
I happily accept knitted brows, grimaces, hand waving, hands raised like in school, rolled eyes, a blurted out, "I have a lot to say about this, but I will wait until you are done" (and it's OK to say this phrase ten times). I will never be upset if you suddenly look at your watch. I interpret all of these things as you having something to say too. And I can't wait to hear it.
I like being a New Yorker. I like being around other New Yorkers. I don't really care where you are from but I resent being told I am rude. I'm not rude, I am engaged. And if people having an opinion, or a feeling about something, makes you nervous, then I bet you are from someplace, unknown to most of humanity, that can only be defined as, outside New York City.
At anytime I can pull rank and put you to shame with my upbringing and educational background, but why bother? That info is shared with those that 'get me'. You think you know who I am? You don't know diddly squat. All I think, if you can see the bubble over my head, is Oi Vey! I am what I am. Take it or leave it. People claim to be open and tolerant but I think what this really translates to is: If I can understand you and you behave by my standards I am willing to possibly, maybe, accept you. If you are within the scope of my stereotypes then: welcome. If not, I will traipse away convinced of the cloud I float in.
I get upset and angry sometimes. Usually with good reason. Sometimes it is over the top, but the root is usually never wrong. Your anger or upset with me never translates to "I hate you," I only see it as a feeling you are having at the moment. When did upset or anger become a feeling that shouldn't be expressed? (We are not talking about physical intimidation or violence here). Anyone with half a brain, I think, would see that unexpressed anger that keeps going along, quickly turns into a passive-aggressive entity. That's psych 101. Despite all of our loud, interruptive behaviours, I really feel that New Yorkers are more aware of others than almost any other group of people out there.
Todays' essay is an attempt to give outsiders an insiders' look at the behaviour of New Yorkers. Not people from Buffalo or Syracuse, but those that reside in the five boroughs of New York City. I want you to see life from my perspective.
I am not rude, I just have shit to do, and no time, right now, for your shit. I'll get back to your shit in a minute but first I have to do this shit. If you insist that your shit is important I will stop doing my shit and listen to your shit, determine if it is as important, as you claim it is, and then compromise, so you feel heard. We can then come to an agreement that you were right,-your shit is more important- or no, my shit is more important. And I am going to try and figure out this shit, in a New York Minute.
For the moment, let's look at this more closely. I love Judge Judy. Judge Judy is the number one daytime reality show of all time. She is an impatient, no bullshit allowed woman that will tell you off in a heart beat. She was once interviewed and asked why she thought her show was so popular. She stated: People want others to do the right thing in situations. People have failed to take responsibility for their actions and at the same time they want to learn. I, (Judy Sheindlin), have a talent for cutting through the crap and getting people to take responsibility for themselves. I am not Mrs. Sheindlin, but I think part of how she came to be, has a great deal to do with being a New Yorker. Being a New Yorker means that you learn to spot bullshit, trouble, and random tall tales, fast.
Everything is moving fast in New York and while you may want to take your time and laze about, doing so, may get you run over. We are crammed together in subways, restaurants, buses, sidewalks and apartments. We learn how to ride the subway jammed next to your strange body and still give you space. We immediately behave like dominoes, and take off running when the person next to us hits the panic button. We know that if you see someone running, you'd better run too. Ask questions later. We overhear everyone talking near to us, and if we like what we hear and can be helpful, we join the conversation. We don't see this as rude, we feel this as helpful and we like to offer our opinions to you whether you asked for them or not. This is really what a New York Minute is about. In one minute I can give you directions, tell you were to go to eat, tell you why you should leave your wife/husband and where to go for support. The only time I might chose not to do this, is if, I get the feeling that you are crazy. A New York Minute is what defines New Yorkers. We will tell you all kinds of personal things in a minute. We are not closed up people struggling to share our feelings. Giving our opinions to strangers is what NewYorkers do best. We are not intimidated when others share intimate feelings in return. We assume you will. We feel gratified when our sharing allows you to share. When you don't share back you just seem like a stick in the mud. We thrive on these sorts of interactions. It makes us feel connected and useful. We savor these encounters. They are like M&M's; melt in your mouth, delicious.
We like people to get to the point. If you are miserable tell me what the misery is about. I don't care about what you were wearing when the misery came. I don't want to hear about the journey that got you there, unless it is The Reader's Digest version. All I need to know is what you are feeling now, and then I can send you on your misery laden way, with a good solution. New Yorkers know where the solution is to all your problems and we like to share that information with you. You're horny? You can either go to 11th Avenue for some prostitutes, or Plato's Retreat for some swinging action, (I can't remember the address but they're in the book). If you want it a bit more kinky go over to the Meat Packing District in Chelsea; they have everything over there. Some of it is crawling with Hassidim but hey, it just adds to the 'kink'. Or maybe you want some sex toys and feel shy. Go on up to 57th Street to Eve's Garden. Only women are allowed in there... We like to give you want you want. We don't have time for the drivel. When we hear the drivel we immediately think: You aren't from New York. More likely California, that state of droning on about your feelings.That state where you are given so much space to be yourself that the isolation turns you into a serial killer. Or you become some sort of organic munching vegan with too much interest in your bowels... I prefer the serial killers, personally.
Or you come from one of those states between California and New York that no one knows the name of. I'll admit it: slow talking individuals, with vague opinions get on my nerves. Not because they aren't interesting (to someone) but because I have to struggle to pay attention to the minutia. People think the minutia of their lives is fascinating. I feel it interferes with joy. Get to the point - all that other stuff is useless to you, and it bores the heck out of me.
Whether you spent time on a couch getting analyzed or not, New Yorkers, are very self aware. We are not hidden things that wait around hoping for someone to ask us out into life. Or that hide in the shadows trying to blend in and not make waves. We are the ones trying to make some waves to liven this shit up. We are intense. We have opinions about everything and we don't necessarily have to know, first hand, what the subject is about to have an opinion. We are very aware and polite. How do I come up with this dichotomy you ask?
When you live in a city like New York you have to be aware of every single thing that is going on around you within one block at all times. We have to be aware of when the energy suddenly shifts around you so you can be ready to react accordingly. No matter your ethnic background, if you are from New York, you are, by default, slightly neurotic and Jewish. But you are also Italian, Irish, Puerto Rican, Polish, Hindu, Korean, and Chinese or Greek by default as well. Every New Yorker has tried analysis. We know the format. We go to analysis not because we feel crazy but rather because we need or want to understand something about ourselves better. We view analysis as a responsible thing to do rather than resort to homicide. And if we can't afford analysis all we have to do is ask a fellow New Yorker what they think. Usually that route is cheaper and gives the same results. Because we value what another New Yorker has to say. And most times they are spot on.
We know someone is behind us, (someone is ALWAYS behind us), so we always hold the door open for the next fellow. When we see elderly people struggling with something we rush to help them because with so many people about why in the world wouldn't you? Men give their seats up to woman and both genders give up their seats to pregnant women. Why? Because you'd be ridiculed to death if you were a man and a pregnant women boarded the bus or subway and stood in front of you and you didn't get up. The entire subway car would yell at you or call you an asshole until you got up. We wait about 30 seconds to see if you will get up, and if you don't, someone will make a grand gesture, get up, and try their best to make you feel the asshole for not having done so. Every New Yorker knows that the person who gets the seat is the one standing over the person rising to exit. Anyone else who tries to take the seat is a cheating rat bastard. And it is the next person to sit who gets to give that seat up to pregnant women, those with peg legs or any other infirmity. All of this is true unless you are a non-English speaking Chinese person, in which case, you have figured out how to get to the seat even if you are in another car or on another train line altogether. Chinese people will take that seat from the pregnant, the one legged, and those that just fell to the floor ill. And once they settle in they will beam up at you, smiling like they won the lottery, and want you to share in the joy. Chinese folk have mastered, I said mastered, seat stealing. They look so happy when they do it that you have to wonder what it must be like in China for them. I always imagine sudden outburst of applause when Chinese get seats in China. There must be some real 'rooting and tooting' going on over there. When I was in the UK recently my friend had a book of silly inventions that had been invented by the Japanese. Way too many of them were designs that allowed you to sit on the train when there was not enough space to do so, or to fall asleep standing... One was a pop up seat that you could use by placing the poles between two thighs, with only half and inch to spare, and pop up a seat which allowed you to sit down about a foot or two over the two passengers on either side of you. Another was a camp chair on a tripod that you could unfold in the train, rest your chin on and fall asleep. It even had a place to hang your briefcase or purse.
I digress.
New Yorkers, will give you money, in the grocery store, if you've gotten to check out and see that you are short with money. We will dig deep if we see that the shit you are trying to purchase is real food and diapers. And you have to decide to give back either the eggs or the milk? Shit! We will give you money so you can go home with food for your family. We all struggle so when we see that kind of choice having to be made, we dig deep and we usually say: Keep the change! If you come up short trying to buy booze in front of us, you can go fuck yourself.
If you fall by accident, oodles of people will rush to your aid and no matter your size, they will get you standing again, brush you off, and offer to get you where you were going, safely. If you are dead on the streets of New York people will step over you and pass by until someone notices that you are really dead and not just drunk and annoying. Once we realize that you are truly dead, a small crowd will gather, say prayers for you, and stay until the NYFD or NYPD arrives. We stay, not because we like to ogle dead things, but rather because we know it could have been us. No one should die alone... If you live in the neighbourhood of the anonymous dead person, and might have passed by and saw that person on the night of their death, someone will have left flowers, the day after the demise, on the spot of your death, in memory of your life, in a small gesture and acknowledgement of the life you once lived. We are a kind and caring bunch, us New Yorkers. If you are a celebrity, you like living in New York because 'fans' will never bother you. We will see you out of the corner of our eye, and we may well turn around after you pass and whisper your name, but we will never run up to you revealing we are star struck. We learned our lesson after Lennon and we will kick ass to prevent another incident like that. And may I point out that Lennon's assassin was not a New Yorker. He was a deranged autograph hound from out of state. And the only people who view Ground Zero or The Dakota as attractions are non-New Yorkers. New Yorkers go to Strawberry Fields to pay homage.
If you are a politician we will run you through the muck. We will call you names, heckle and ridicule you, if you think you deserve office and we think otherwise. We will say all of this to your face. We are fearless if we think you have done something wrong and we are not alone with you in an alleyway and you have a weapon. If you don't have a weapon, we're going to take you on. A third of us will rant at you, another third will dial 911 and take videos from our cell phones and the last third will kick your ass. If you are doing anything bad to a child, and we see it, and are strangers to the child, we will attempt to kill you.
New Yorkers find you questionable if you refuse to eat certain foods based upon: I never tried that before... We imagine you to be from elsewhere and we feel tinges of pity. We think you were raised with not much exposure to great things. We refer to The United States as the East coast or the West coast. Nothing of consequence lays in between. If you feel angry at having read this let me ask you a question: When you were in Bulgaria, Bangkok, Budapest or Banff, and you mentioned you were from Kansas, were people readily able to know where the fuck you were from? No! If you are lucky they will say: The Wizard of Oz. And that's if you are lucky. I can go to these same places and immediately people smile and say: The Big Apple! I am a rock star in the world of travel. Jealous? Tough Nookies.
New Yorkers know that if pineapple is a choice to have on your pizza, and you order it, we immediately know two things. One: you are not from New York (AND we can probably narrow it down to California or Oregon), and two, you were probably standing in Sbarros. If you ask for a fork and knife to eat the pizza then we seriously begin to wonder if the relationship can last. Outside of your view, me and the pizza guy share glances that convey pity, and we follow it up with shrugged shoulders. It takes 'all kinds' we are saying. If I am the one accompanying you, I genuinely feel embarrassed. Like I am with a drunk date. Where can I ditch this person? You're worried about the oil dripping onto your clothes? About etiquette? Then go to The Waldorf for lunch. Carry a bib or a Tide laundry pen. Do what you have to do but for goodness sake act normal in public.
If I am talking to you and you don't interrupt me with your opinion but rather have a look of genuine interest that is devoid of any visible pressing rebuttals, you make me feel nervous. You make me wonder if you really like me. You make me feel as though you are simply tolerating me. Genuine interest is nice but you had better have that look that translates to: I can't wait to reply.
I happily accept knitted brows, grimaces, hand waving, hands raised like in school, rolled eyes, a blurted out, "I have a lot to say about this, but I will wait until you are done" (and it's OK to say this phrase ten times). I will never be upset if you suddenly look at your watch. I interpret all of these things as you having something to say too. And I can't wait to hear it.
I like being a New Yorker. I like being around other New Yorkers. I don't really care where you are from but I resent being told I am rude. I'm not rude, I am engaged. And if people having an opinion, or a feeling about something, makes you nervous, then I bet you are from someplace, unknown to most of humanity, that can only be defined as, outside New York City.
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