For anyone who grew up or lived in NYC (or wish that they did):

There is no north and south, it’s Uptown or Downtown, and east or west is Cross-town.

You know how to make an egg cream.

You ride in a subway car with no air conditioning just because there are seats available.

You take the train home and you know exactly where on the platform the doors will open that will leave you right in front of the exit stairway.

You know what a regular coffee is.

It’s not Manhattan, it’s The City.

You cross the street anywhere but on the corners and you yell at cars for not respecting your right to do it.

You move 3,000 miles away, spend 10 years learning the local language and people still know you’re from the Bronx, Brooklyn, or Long Island, the minute you open your mouth.

You return after 10 years and the first foods you want are a real pizza from Denino’s or Joe & Pats, and a real bagel.

A 500 square foot apartment is large.

You are not under the mistaken impression that a human being should be able to understand a PA announcement on the subway.

You get ready to order dinner every night and must choose from the major food group menus: Chinese, Italian, Mexican or Indian.

You’re not the least bit interested in going to Times Square on New Year’s Eve.

Your internal clock is permanently set to know when alternate side of the street parking is in effect.

You know what (and where) a bodega is.

Someone bumps into you and you check for your wallet.

You don’t even notice the lady walking down the street having a perfectly normal conversation with herself.

You pay only $230 a month to park your car.

You cringe at hearing people pronounce Houston Street like the city in Texas. 

The presidential visit is a major traffic jam, not an honor.

You can nap on the subway and never miss your stop.

The deli guy gives you a straw with any beverage you buy, even if it’s a beer.

That, my friend, is being a New Yorker!


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