I cannot get on a subway without someone offering me a seat. Young, old, male, female, Hispanic, African American, Asian, Caucasian; everyone has offered me seats.
If I trip, ten people from ten different countries reach out to help me up and ask, “Are you all right?” Once, my life was saved by a woman who pulled me out of the path of a cyclist racing to deliver a pizza. And, I can’t count the times, when rushing for a train at Penn Station, someone has offered to carry my bag.
Recently, my husband and I spied a bookcase, in good condition, abandoned on the curb near our apartment house. Inveterate trash pickers that we are, we hauled it to the top of the three steps down to our entrance. We were contemplating the best way to get it down when two Hispanic women came running up, wrestled the bulky object down the steps, through the door, into the elevator, out of the elevator, into our apartment, and insisted on maneuvering it into place. When we tried to pay them for their services they laughed and left with a cheery farewell.
So, if you ever hear anyone calling New York a rude city, send them to me and I’ll set them straight, even if I have to hit them over the head to do it!