Someone sent me these “You Know You’re From New York When…” items and I am assuming that they are public domain. Besides, I’ve added a few of my own. PLEASE ADD YOURS. yOU KNOW, YOU GOTTA LOVE EM!
YOU KNOW YOU ARE FROM NEW YORK WHEN:…
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 take the seat next to the man raving to himself and the woman with the snake around her neck because there is an available seat.
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 “regular” coffee is NOT milk & sugar.
You know that “the City” is not Manhattan alone — it’s also Brooklyn, the Bronx, Queens and Staten Island.
You it’s “the Bronx,” not just “Bronx.”
There is no north and south. It’s “uptown” or “downtown.” And east or west is “crosstown.”
You cross the street anywhere but on the corners and you don’t wait for the green light (as long as you’ve looked right and left and no cars are coming) and you yell at cars for not respecting your right to do it.
All your best friends are in New York even though you haven’t lived there for more than a decade.
People can tell you’re from New York the minute you open your mouth.
You know that New York has the only “real” pizzas and “real” bagels.
A 500 square foot apartment is large.
A 500 square foot apartment with a separate alcove that fits just a single bed is a “one bedroom.”
A 500 square foot apartment with an “L-shaped” room and one that fits just a double bed is a “junior two.”
You are not under the mistaken impression that any human being would be able to actually understand a p.a. Announcement on the subway.
You’re not the least bit interested in going to Times Square on New Year’s eve.
You know that “The Lion King” (however cute) is just for the tourists.
You long for the days when Times Square was “nasty” but real.
You would never go to a theme restaurant in the City.
You will turn down social engagements if your car has a parking spot good for the weekend.
Someone bumps into you, and you check for your wallet.
You don’t look up when the naked man with the ratty blanket screams that he’ll drop it if you don’t give him a dollar. You don’t even blink, when he does.
Presidential visits are pains in the (whatever!), not an honor.
The deli guy gives you a straw with any beverage you buy, even if it’s a beer.
You know what “one with” means.
A garden apartment is a “city park”