Only in New York

The first time I heard the phrase "Welcome to New York" I was 18, and sitting with a friend on a people-packed pier overlooking the Hudson on the 4th of July in 1991.
Tom and I had arrived a few weeks earlier on a Greyhound bus. Our journey had begun at the bus depot in Portland, Oregon two weeks before, and after three sweaty, sleepless, smelly, crowded and delirious days sitting vertically, we rolled into Port Authority with awe, fear, and a sense of destiny.
I was a hopelessly naive dreamer with little sense of self and I new one thing, and one thing only: this is where I want to be somehow, someday. Tom felt the same, though as he was soon to find out, he had more practical know-how when it came to navigating our dream adventure. I hadn't much experience thinking for myself, so I was content to follow his lead.
We were staying with family friends in Rutherford, New Jersey, and they took very good care of us, treating us like family. There are only two times I can remember being remotely uncomfortable wrapped in their family fold - one instance was accepting their generous hand-out of an unlimited supply of bus fares. They had a huge roll of red carnival tickets that they left sitting out on the banister for us each morning. We chose to spend the 80-cents-each on our daily journeys to "the City" as they called it.
The other time I recall feeling odd was when the family's two teen-aged sons tried to coerce Tom into a game of basketball in the driveway court. He refused each time, to their dismay and confusion. Tom was preternaturally tall and lanky, a seemingly perfect candidate. I remember how uncomfortable and embarrassed Tom became with their repeated invitations. I understand now that as a gay 17 year old, Tom was being invited into his own personal hell. I vaguely recall him telling me that he took PE in the form of summer school, and only because it was required for graduation.
But we were on our dream trip. I had found in Tom the perfect pal to sing along with to every musical, to dream about our futures on Broadway, and to pretend I had a boyfriend. We even talked about getting married. His vision included a boyfriend that lived in a room above the garage.
We had given ourselves a month to experience New York, using 3 days to get there, and 3 days to get back, and a few days visiting Tom's grandmother in Santa Cruz. Each muggy summer day was spent meandering the mean streets between Central Park and the East Village.
What a treat to be in NYC on the 4th of July. We felt like we were part of something important, and part of history. I imagine that every tourist wandering the maze of Manhattan feels the same way.
We were sitting on the splintery pier, sardines exchanging sweat with strangers, waiting for those colorful explosions that summon nostalgia and romance. The problem was that there was only one way on and off the pier, and to leave the pier meant abandoning our front row seats. We looked over our shoulders to the street below, and realized we hadn't eaten dinner. Our meals in general were sharing a "stuffed slice" from Sbarro (the best pizza ever! Why didn't this exist everywhere!?) and a Snapple (the best drink ever! Why couldn't we get this everywhere!?). But our growling stomachs were making us desperate, and the hot dog vendors on the street behind and below were desperately out of reach.
I said aloud to Tom "why can't one of those hot dog carts come up here - on the pier? I'm sure they'd sell tons!"
From the swelling crowd, a sardine said "Ha. Fat chance. Welcome to New York!"
His sarcasm was effective, and we were embarrassed into solemn silence.
About a half an hour later, a hot dog vendor labored his cart down the pier, setting up shop 3 yards away. So there. Welcome to New York, indeed.

That man's comment, so oft repeated in the bodegas, subways, sidewalks and streets of New York is the very essence of New York. It is the attitude, the smugness and the buttinskyness that rubs against us and gets under our nails every day. It is synonymous with the phrase "Only in New York", and uttered with the same contempt towards others and the City itself.

I have now lived in New York for 10 years. I experience daily what it means to be a New Yorker - the ethereal highs and devastating lows. In this city of extremes, each individual asks themselves alternately "how on EARTH can I continue to live here?!" and "how on EARTH can I imagine living anywhere else?" on a daily basis.

We are smug, jaded, tired, rude, cranky, pushy, opinionated, opportunistic, driven, selfish, impatient know-it-alls and we and we alone know what it takes to make it here day to day; All of the extremes above mixed with extreme tolerance and awareness which we derive from rubbing literal elbows with every race and class of people, nearly every moment of every day. We live on top of each other, and somehow find a way to maintain our autonomy. We mind our own business, but passively observe everybody elses. We speak our minds when it matters, and force our brethren to open theirs. We've seen it all, or so we think - because every day there's a moment, an occurrence - some strange thing that forces us to say "huh - only in New York!"