Here in Gotham, we call it moxie. Or hutzpah. Or balls.
Elsewhere, they call it rude.
I was schlepping up to Grand Central around 5:15 yesterday, waiting to cross 32nd at Park. A middle-aged woman was crossing from the north. Unlike every other pedestrian at the intersection who waited patiently, or at least semi-patiently, she strolled across the street and blocked traffic.
A cab was at the front of the line, unable to proceed through a green because Mrs. Herself was crossing.
Mind you, Herself was hardly hustling across 32nd. No, she took her own sweet time, much to the consternation of the cab driver, the cabbie behind him, and the other dozen drivers waiting to go.
Ah, but Mrs. Herself did not merely stop there. No, once she’d just about cleared the way for the cab to go through the fading green, she in fact hailed that very same cab–thus holding up the line a few more moments until she’d poured the whole of herself into the taxi.
The driver let out an exasperated breath and pushed himself to be civil. The light turned red and the cars were stuck in place.
I was still chewing on this rare show of bravado when I encountered some similar, er, moxie at 34th. The bright red Water Way bus was pulling out of 34th and Park and heading west. A man had clearly missed the bus. He took a large rolled up umbrella by the point and whacked the ass-end of the bus three times good and hard with its wooden hook handle. Thwack, Thwack, THWACK, it went, as all eyes turned to see the source of the noise.
Inexplicably, at least from where we stood, the bus driver stopped and let the man board.
As the Times’ Metropolitan Diary might gush, only in New York!