New Yorkers aren't assholes

Ha! It's my second post of the day, just in case you suspected my devotion had wavered. It has not. Plus, I had something blogworthy to write about.

As I was walking home from work-->train-->grocery store, I passed an old man on my block, just a few buildings down from mine. I had my headphones in, and as is the norm, I was just looking straight ahead, trying to avoid eye contact. (In New York, this is The Way. It's not because people are rude, it's just The Way it is.) But I could feel this man pause, and I could feel his eyes following me as I walked by. Not in a creepy way, but in a sweet old-man-wants-to-say-hello way. Something inside me stopped me and told me to take out my damn headphones and actually talk to the man. So I did.

He said, "You watching the parade today?" Never the biggest fan of St. Patrick's Day, I said, no, I'm not, and smiled.

He said, "Oh, well you look like you could pass as being Irish. Are you Irish?" I was charmed at this point.

"No, unfortunately, I'm not; not that I know of, anyway," I told him.

He said, "Oh, well you look like a beautiful Irish girl. I mean, you're a beautiful girl, of any nationality." Then he smiled and waved and we said our goodbyes.

It seems that every time I actually stop to talk to someone in New York, they're actually really friendly. True, most guys eyeballing me as I walk by are total creepsters, but this man lives a few buildings down from me and now we sort of know each other. I wish I had gotten his name and all that, but oh well. I'm sure I'll see him again.

Sigh, NYC. Just when I think I might be over you for good, you go and win my heart back. It's true what they say about living in and loving New York: it really is like a relationship. There are ebbs and flows, moments of love and moments of hate. But for those of us who truly love this city, it's an undying love, a marriage. For better or for worse.

Until next time.