New New Yorkers

An article in the NYTimes recently had me thinking about my first days and months as a New Yorker. Almost exactly 15 years ago, when I left Texas for graduate school in the city. Oh, how terrified and excited and proud I was. Most of my friends and family had never been to NYC, much less lived there. Of course, the majority of them thought I was nuts, but I think my mom, while also terrified (apparently she cried all the way back to Texas), understood.

But oh, those first few days. I'd read a number of guides to NYC, though all tourist guides, not for living there. Someone really needs to write a guide to living in NY for newbies. Somewhere I read not to look at anyone. And if, goddess forbid, you did make eye contact: Don't. Ever. Smile. Practice looking pissed, maybe even slightly crazy, for the best protection. Also, don't chitchat, which means no making pleasant conversation about the weather in the elevator or in line at the store or with any service person (waitress, check out guy, whomever). Always, always keep moving on the sidewalk. Only tourists stop in the middle of a sidewalk. And never look up. Only tourists look up. And never ever ever ever consult any kind of map when you are trying to find your way. Just keep walking. Even against the light. Real New Yorkers don't wait for the crossing light. Only tourists cross when told. Obviously, not being a tourist was the main definition for being a real New Yorker.

Besides these behavioral modifications, many of which I found intimidating and even difficult (like no small talk), there was the sound. And the smell. And the feel that I remember. Oh, how dirty my hands felt all the time those first few weeks. And this was before Purell. I wish I'd known to buy baby wipes. I just felt grimy. Mind you, this was August and so it was hot--the city is skanky in August. That first night we slept in my grad housing, we tried to sleep with the fan in the window to keep us moderately cool but it was so noisy from traffic and sirens that we closed the windows and then sweltered all night.

Navigating the subway was never that much of a problem for me, mainly because I mapped out my route and memorized it before I left. Also, I only ever took the (then) 1/9 or the M104. This was before Google or much internet usage (I didn't even have a computer!!!) so I kept maps of the city stuck everywhere--my room, my backback, my purse--in all sizes from business card (bought near Central Park), to small fold out, to Streetwise NY (from Barnes and Noble). Of course, in the beginning, I was only venturing to well-known tourist places anyway. (Even though that quickly qualified me as not a real New Yorker, but about this one thing, I didn't care. I preferred riding the bus--better view, easier to cope with a delay--but always, always stressed about getting off at the right stop or through a crowded bus. I still stand up too soon.)

And when we walked into the Met for the first time, I cried. And immediately bought a membership. I loved it and it is always, along with Times Square and Grand Central, one of the first places I return to in NYC. It was also a convenient bathroom stop on the way downtown, if need be, I kid you not. Because of my IBS, I know the tricks of finding bathrooms and the best ones to go to. And this was before Starbucks.

Going to grad school provided me an instant network and sense of place in the bustling city, something the youngsters in the article have trouble connecting with. It would have been much harder on my own. And I was never interested in being hip or part of the "real" NY scene, so finding the right club or restaurant didn't bother me. This was before Sex and the City, too, more in the days of that show with Kerri Russell, what was that called? Besides, I was a serious grad student.

The article talks about how new New Yorkers feel when going "home" to their land of origin the first few times. I remember thinking my hands weren't as dirty. And that people walked--when they ever walked!--slowly. And that everyone moved through lines slowly. Especially with all that extra chitchat. And that non-urban grocery stores were soooo much nicer than the urban marts.

Other things I learned:

• Never buy more than you can carry.
• Always have cash for a cab.
• When tipping a cabbie, it's easier to tell them exactly how much you want back (instead of getting all the change and then having to pass the tip back over).
• Don't rely on finding a cab between 5-9 p.m. in Midtown.
• Avoid Times Square 15-30 minutes before curtain.
• Know what you want when you get to the front of the line.
• Don't hang back if there is not an obvious line. And beware of the one line feeds all registers vs. one line for each register. And of course, New Yorkers stand online. Which sounds even sillier now in the internet age.

That's all I can think of now, especially because I don't live there anymore. It was a wonderful run--off and on across 8 years. But, when I go back, I fall into my old habits: I still won't smile at anyone, even if I chitchat more than when I lived there. I think, once a New Yorker, always a New Yorker, even if an "ex-pat" in the suburbs. Where I and the other ex-pats still refer to it as "THE City."