That’s the first question we heard last week.
We had just arrived. We were in the lush tropical courtyard of the Key West Harbor Inn. It was happy hour. Several of our inn-mates had already taken up residence by the pool, drinks in hand. Jeremy and I looked at each other uneasily. For two New Yorkers living in the Midwest, this is a loaded question. I piped up. “We’re from Michigan.”
I caught Jeremy’s look of surprise. Its not everyday I admit I’m a Michigander. Normally I can’t wait to tell people I’m a New Yorker. I’ll even provide cross streets of my last known address if necessary. But this time I wasn’t having it. You see I’ve vacationed as a New Yorker before, and it's not fun.
On vacation you meet people from all over the country. Invariably the first question asked is “where are you from?” Responding “New York” yields one of two responses: absolute love or intense hatred. The person who loves New York asks a million questions. They want to know where you shop, eat, live. They gush about the one time they visited New York and saw Times Square or they bemoan the fact that they’ve never been there.
On the other end of the spectrum is the person who loathes New York. They mention the dirt, the crime, the pollution, the expense. Most of their information is accurate circa Summer of Sam, but they insist they know the truth, regardless of the fact they’ve never stepped foot on the island of Manhattan. I like to think most of those people are jealous
For a short time after 2001, we became 9/11 New Yorkers. Every question asked, while empathetic, was morbidly curious. No, I didn’t see the Towers collapse, No, I didn’t know anyone that died and No, I’m not afraid to continue living in New York.
The problem with all of these questions is they’re not personal. Once you tell someone you’re a New Yorker, you cease to become an individual. You become an ambassador for your city and are expected to provide restaurant and Broadway show recommendations on demand.
So on that sunny, humid day, mere steps from the Southernmost point in the United States, I grabbed a beer, smiled and said “I’m from Michigan.”
