As a proud New Yorker, I root for the Boston Red Sox. I know: I’m a crazy, blasphemous, heretical citizen of NY who doesn't even deserve to be called a New Yorker: believe me, I am a New Yorker. Even though I now attend college and live in NYC, I grew up in the suburbs, just an hour north of the city and attended high school in New Jersey. Once again, you naysayers out there may claim that all of these facts de-legitimize my “New Yorker-ness,” however I have proof that I do, indeed, have NY blood running through my veins.

I am as jaded as they come. If someone on the street smiles at me on the way to school, I look over my shoulder assuming that the smile had a different intended recipient. Why would a perfect stranger be giving me a smile to brighten up my day and maybe inspire me to pass it on? That would be absolutely ludicrous.

From a young age, I was taught that you hear a human sounding noise coming from behind you, don’t turn around, and if for some unexplainable reason you do, under no circumstances should eye contact be made. There are some crazy people in the world (especially underground in the subway stations, which is where this lesson was taught) and we should not take any chances and communicate with them in any way.

Even more so then responding to people who start a conversation with us, we should never, Heaven forbid, start a conversation with a stranger. I realized recently just how strongly that particular lesson was ingrained in me. I was crossing the street in Midtown (carefully avoiding eye contact with anyone) behind a young family which included a mother, father, a toddler walking and a younger child in a stroller. I noticed a glove falling out of the stroller unbeknownst to the parents, so being the decent human being that I consider myself to be, I bent down to pick it up. Now came the challenging part; how am I supposed to return a glove when I, on principle, don't talk to strangers?

I was in a real quandary so I decided to do what any rational New Yorker would do, I kind of grunted the word “here” as I thrust the glove at them and quickly walked away. Upon reflection, I realized that there may have been a nicer way to hand the glove back and that this cute family wasn't actually threatening my well-being in any way. But what can I say, I’m a jaded New Yorker.

I was recently educated on the social norms of “out-of-towners,” courtesy of some out of town friends. College really does provide an education and teach you new things while broadening your horizons. Who woulda thunk? Anyway, it seems that outside of “the city that never sleeps,” greeting a stranger with a smile gets a response of a genuine, “How are you?” and that’s normal. Going out for coffee with someone you met through the grapevine is 100 percent acceptable.

Apologizing when you walk into someone in the street, or even a pole, is not only accepted but expected. And of course, having a sense of entitlement is definitely not as socially acceptable as New Yorkers pretend it is.
A few months ago, my grandmother was in a taxi en route to the Hospital for Special Surgeries; because it’s a large complex in the city with multiple parking garages and entrances, she was having some difficulty finding the right one. She found the driver to be extremely helpful in finding the proper entrance.

Taken slightly aback by this total accommodation, she felt compelled to ask where he was from because there was no way he was a New Yorker. I would like to say that she was mistaken and there is indeed hope for the future of New Yorkers, however, I cannot, for he ascertained that he was in fact from Seattle, Washington. Out-of-towners — one, New Yorkers — zero.

So why do I root for the Boston Red Sox? Because I want to be associated with some of the best, most passionate fans in the world. I strive to be as nice and kind as Bostonians (sans the accent). I want to be able to go to a game without fear of being hated on because I am not rooting for a specific team. But most of all, I want to be able to go to a baseball game where I can buy a soda with the cover still screwed on.