“I’m writing up the slide for [insert article slug here]. Can you send me the URL? Thanks.”
I fired this email off the other day at work. I went back to look at the email later, and wondered when my communication style became so East Coast. No please. No greeting. Just the business and an insincere thanks.
I pinged my born and bred New Yorker co-worker to tell him how New Yorker I am. “Well, you know what they say. In New York ‘wait’ is a four-letter word. I think it’s a good email.”
He told me if I hadn’t told him where I am from on his first day, he would have guessed I was a New Yorker (“Except you don’t pronounce ‘water’ and ‘coffee’ right.”) This made me stop in my tracks. Really? I’m not sure if that is compliment or not. I told him as much and he told me as a New Yorker, he meant it as a compliment.
“You know there’s no better place,” he typed back.
I told him the story of when I visited the New York office a couple months before I took the job here. Two of my co-workers told me they hate having to tell the West Coast editors they did something wrong because they’re so sensitive.
“It’s like you’re all going to cry all the time,” they said.
Ouch! I told them to toughen me up. They promised they would. And did they ever. I’ve now tricked people into thinking I’m a New Yorker. Plus, I defended my dryer at the laundromat on a busy Sunday. “Hey! That’s mine and I’m adding to it,” I told a woman who tried to take my quilt out as I put my body between her and my dryer.
And I just about lost my shit on the 1 train today. Dammit, people! Why is it so hard to ride a train? You get on, you stand still and avoid eye contact, you get off. Let’s not make it harder than it is.
I’m a journalist, content strategist, doting auntie, amateur bobsledder, fitness enthusiast, and wannabe health nut (who loves chocolate and pizza too much to fully commit). I don't want you to think my life is perfect. It's not.