Recently I had a series of national flights that involved connections. In the process I got to see the odd mixture of local marketing ("North Carolina, the nation's leading sponsor of the arts!" "Malibu Foods") and New York exports ("Nathan's Hot Dogs," "Hudson News") competing in the airport terminals.
The mixed flights--varied groups traveling to disparate destinations--were usually the same: an orderly procession of calm and considerate people settling in, calmly listening to instructions, smiling at each other in silence. They were peaceful. Accommodating people calmly fulfilling the passenger role.
But I knew when I was in a jet full of New Yorkers.
Flights of New Yorkers heading back to La Guardia are always part circus. Noisy people, all of them kvetching about minor discomforts, noncompliant, ignoring flight attendants, aggressive, disregarding instructions. Boarding one NY-bound flight took at least half an hour. Everybody preening themselves as they sat. A woman with a tennis racket running from the rear of the plane to the front trying to find just the right overhead storage bin for her gear. One man deciding in a huff that he was not going, pushing against crowd traffic to get to the front; another disregarding the flight attendant, insisting on stuffing his bag in the overhead by playing Rubric's Cube with the other luggage there, and succeeding after ten minutes. Nobody listening to the broadcast routine about how seat belts work or how to respond in an emergency. People asking for esoteric concoctions when the drinks were brought round.
Forget US exceptionalism. New Yorker exceptionalism is the most profound. You even notice this when biking. People standing in the street as cabs whiz toward them, and you can almost hear them thinking, "He won't hit me. It's me-eeeee."
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