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conuly
Yeah. That's 'cuz I do. Backtracking makes you look like you don't know where you're going, or like you can't tell uptown from downtown. THAT makes you look like a tourist.
While not all New Yorkers fall into this trap, plenty of otherwise sensible people can be found quickly popping into stores or walking three blocks out of their way to make total strangers they'll never see again think that they meant to go the way they were going. This is the same impulse that causes me (and I know I'm not alone in this) to walk faster than usual when I find myself in a gaggle of slow-moving tourists. My normal pace is *already* faster than theirs, so why do I speed up? Because I'm not them.
Other day, on the train, Evangeline had an open-lidded drink. (Bad move on my part, I know.) Train stopped suddenly and she got it all over herself. Whoops! As I asked for napkins, I reassured her (and the whole car) that she'd 1. change her clothes at home and 2. that I hate it when there's unidentified liquids on the seat on the train, I don't want to leave it like that and 3. that we'll be home soon. Why? Well, first to make sure everybody knows that the fact that I'm leaving a spill on the seat isn't through choice (seriously), but also, I worked out after the fact, so that everybody knows home is nearby - despite my n00b move, I Am Not A Tourist.
*thinks*
At least, I think that's why I did that. It was nervous chatter, but that particular nervous chatter seems to fit in with the whole "step into Duane Reade and everybody will think you went shopping" idea. (It's a silly habit, the refusing to backtrack. I'm trying to break myself of it.)
While not all New Yorkers fall into this trap, plenty of otherwise sensible people can be found quickly popping into stores or walking three blocks out of their way to make total strangers they'll never see again think that they meant to go the way they were going. This is the same impulse that causes me (and I know I'm not alone in this) to walk faster than usual when I find myself in a gaggle of slow-moving tourists. My normal pace is *already* faster than theirs, so why do I speed up? Because I'm not them.
Other day, on the train, Evangeline had an open-lidded drink. (Bad move on my part, I know.) Train stopped suddenly and she got it all over herself. Whoops! As I asked for napkins, I reassured her (and the whole car) that she'd 1. change her clothes at home and 2. that I hate it when there's unidentified liquids on the seat on the train, I don't want to leave it like that and 3. that we'll be home soon. Why? Well, first to make sure everybody knows that the fact that I'm leaving a spill on the seat isn't through choice (seriously), but also, I worked out after the fact, so that everybody knows home is nearby - despite my n00b move, I Am Not A Tourist.
*thinks*
At least, I think that's why I did that. It was nervous chatter, but that particular nervous chatter seems to fit in with the whole "step into Duane Reade and everybody will think you went shopping" idea. (It's a silly habit, the refusing to backtrack. I'm trying to break myself of it.)
