You know what, Out of Towners? In one regard, you have things easy:
Everyone assumes you're nice.
"So you are looking for an Out of Towner?" is a repeated reply if I mention the ubiquitous menschlachkeit.
"Well, um, I happen to believe that people are people all over, and, um, are you saying that there are no nice guys in New York?" I omit the tacit insult that I am, as a native, automatically uncouth.
It occurred to me, whilst tiredly circling dark Boro Park streets for a spot so I could attend my cousin's vort, that no wonder the OOT are pleasant: They don't have to worry about parking.
Parking is the crucible. It's easy to be affable when there are wide, empty lots begging to be filled, when every home comes equipped with a driveway. Ha! So, so easy.
New Yorkers are crabby because they usually require a car, yet they're surrounded by an unaccommodating city. After a restaurant date in the city, despite our careful analyzation of the signs, we emerged to discover his windshield plastered with fluttering tickets. Did I feel guilty (although the location was his choice).
Have the OOTers ever been tested in such a way? Nope. So na-na-la-kish-kish, big whoop you're nice.
Try parking, daily, in hell.