... poněkud později, než jsem zamýšlela, a až po návratu z USA, vkládám druhou část článku o tom, jak se pozná správný obyvatel New Yorku. A jak tak pročítám ony vlastnosti, po těch třech týdnech jsme byly téměř dokonalé obyvatelky NYC :)
Your idea of personal space is no one actually standing on your toes.
$50 worth of groceries fit in one paper bag.
You have a minimum of five "worst cab ride ever" stories.
You don't notice sirens anymore.
You live in a building with a larger population than most American towns.
Your doorman is Russian, your grocer is Korean your deli man is Israeli, your building super is Italian, your laundry guy is Chinese, your favorite bartender is Irish, your favorite diner owner is Greek, the watchseller on your corner is Senegalese, your last cabbie was Pakistani, your newsstand guy is Indian and your favorite falafel guy is Egyptian.
You're suspicious of strangers who are actually nice to you.
You secretly envy cabbies for their driving skills.
You think $7.00 to cross a bridge is a fair price.
Your door has more than three locks.
Your favorite movie has DeNiro in it.
You consider eye contact an act of overt aggression.
You run when you see a flashing "Do Not Walk" sign at the intersection.
You're 35 years old and don't have a driver's license.
You ride in a subway car with no air conditioning just because there are seats available.
You're willing to take in strange people as roommates simply to help pay the rent.
There is no North and South. It's uptown or downtown.
When you're away from home, you miss "real" pizza and "real" bagels.
You know the differences between all the different Ray's Pizzas.
You're not in 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 regulations are in effect.
You know what a bodega is.
You know how to fold the New York Times in half, vertically, so that you can read it on the subway or bus without knocking off other passenger's hats.
Someone bumps into you, and you check for your wallet...
You cringe at hearing people pronounce Houston St. like the city in Texas.
Film crews on your block annoy you, not excite you.
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