I was always told that New Yorkers were mean. I thought they would shove you out of the way into oncoming traffic and laugh about it. They would shout after me, “Watch it! I’m walking here!” as they sipped their deli coffee and ate that ever-so-perfect bagel.

Now, that might be the naïve perception of a young girl, colored by the countless episodes of sitcom tv set in NYC. Can you blame me for this jaded view? Has anyone ever said, “those New Yorkers are so nice!” Never. Midwesterners are nice. New Yorkers are not. They are a perfect breed of indifferent and maniacal. They are a lot like the cats that rule over the bodegas and judge you for your 2 am life choices.

Except that’s not true. Like most things in life, once you experience it, your perception changes. You gain insider knowledge that outsiders are not privy to.  No one hands you the sacred book of text explaining it, but after living in the city as an outsider for a while, listening, observing, and learning the ways of New York, its secrets become less opaque.

New Yorkers Are Kind.

I’ll say it again for those in the back. New Yorkers Are Kind.

There’s an old story:

People from New York City are kind, and people from Los Angeles are nice. Imagine you are walking along a street and you trip. The contents of your bag spill across the sidewalk.  A New Yorker will stop and help you pick up your stuff while saying nothing. They won’t wait for a thank you once you are back on your feet but will stride off, grumbling under their breath. It won’t feel like a nice encounter, but their help was kind.  An Angeleno, on the other hand will pause for a moment and say something like, “oh, I’m sorry. That’s a rough way to start the morning. Good luck.” Or some other nice phrase of encouragement. But, they won’t stop to help you pick it up.

Debate me on this, if you will. I don’t know where the story came from, probably some Tumblr meme shared on Facebook, and we all know how accurate those are. But, the point stands, New Yorkers are secretly kind. The issue is that there isn’t physical space in the city or on the trains to be nice to each other.

We are smashed up against each other. The last thing we want is more people in our little bubble. However, any New Yorker once inside is a different animal.

Once I was on the subway, minding my own business. At a stop, a man stumbled on, who was clearly not from here. He attempted to make sense of the faded subway map on the wall of the rocking train. It was clear he couldn’t understand it. I can’t either on a good day.

He asked the New Yorker next to him if this was the right train to the airport. English was not his first language. The New Yorker took his earphones out and showed the man the stop he needed to get off at. At the next stop, the New Yorker got off the train.

Before he did, he shouted to everyone one still on the train. “My man here is going to JFK. Anyone else headed that way?” A couple raised their hand. The man turned to the foreigner and said, “Get off the train when they do.” He exchanged glances with the couple to confirm their new companion was in good hands and exited the train.

This shows that New Yorkers are there for you in a pinch or in a real moment of need. I’ve heard countless stories about Hurricane Sandy or 9-11 and how the community pulled together to support one another.

New York is sprawling and huge, with every few blocks a different enclave. However, because people are so close to each other, and everything is walkable, there is a different sense of community when compared to places like LA or other car-dependent cities. We actually have to spend physical time together more regularly.

We might not say much to each other on the train, but you start to recognize the same faces of people on the same morning commute as you. Which is pretty amazing in a city of 10 million. We don’t have the luxury or disadvantage of isolating cars. Our reserved, quietness is how we conserve energy so we can use it when we want to. And people do care about each other.

I recently accompanied some out-of-town friends on a pilgrimage to Stonewall Inn in the Village. We hadn’t eaten dinner yet. I suggested we stop in the corner bodega since we were on a tight schedule, and the restaurants were pretty full.

There was nothing special about the bodega. It was small and crammed full of shelves, and stacked boxes somehow created three different isles.  There were two middle eastern men behind the counter and several people ordered sandwiches. While we were looking at the options, the cashier picked up the ringing phone.

 “Hello, Chris.” He answered easily, like someone who knew the speaker on the other line.

“Yeah, we still have chicken cutlet.”

While we waited for them to make our sandwiches, a black cat decided to check us out. Perched on the top of a pile of Le Croix boxes, she rubbed up against me, very interested in the bag of chips I was holding. Who doesn’t love a bodega cat? They are the heart and soul of New York. Check out @bodegacatsofinstagram if you want to have a glimpse of these glorious felines.

A few other people came in to pick up food, band-aids, or drinks, most of them greeting the men behind the counter. They all knew each other. The neighborhood is small. Finally, Chris showed up, and the man behind the counter already knew what sandwich he would order. He obviously ordered the same one regularly.

There is peaceful ease inside a bodega. Our paths cross for a moment in an oasis of calm crammed between the pretzels and trash bags. Here, we are more than a hurrying number on the street but a thriving community member.

The next time you make assumptions about New Yorkers, ask yourself if that’s the view of an outsider who isn’t attuned to the diverse city’s nuanced and beautiful social patterns. We are happy that you are here, enjoying our city. We think it’s the best city in the world.

But we don’t always have time to talk to you, particularly if it’s in Times Square or another place crowded with tourists. Catch us over a drink watching the US Open, at the grocery store checkout line, or on the bench at the dog park. I know so much about my hairdresser, my Uber drivers, and the people at my cafe. These are our spaces.

And, we will always stop if you ask us for directions, even if it is only to say, “look at Google maps like the rest of us.”