The other day a thunderstorm passed over NYC. It was a notable thunderstorm, but not anything we haven’t seen on a typical stormy summer afternoon in the Midwest.
As the sheets of rain hit the New York streets, my co-workers were roused from their desks by the sounds of rain and distant thunder. I work in one of the only offices with a huge window, so a lot of the reporters filed into my room to take a look at what was happening outside.
After a few minutes it started hailing. The hail was a few centimeters wide, and melted almost instantaneously as it hit the city’s street.
Although the hail seemed innocuous to me, my co-workers (most of whom grew up either in New York or Southern California) started to freak out.
“What’s going on! It only hails in the winter!” yelled a one.
“How do you know that? It could be really cold out there — storms are dangerous!” said another.
“Do you think the flood will come up to here?”
… We work on the third floor. It never hails in the winter. The rain is frozen because of how cold it is hundreds of feet above the clouds.
I held back. But I couldn’t believe how little “whether” the people of my office had been exposed to. I refuse to say anything bad about the people of New York, despite what I have been told, New Yorker’s have been nothing, but nice to me. They maybe a little rough around the edges, but when asked for help, I have never been disappointed.
I will say this though, New Yorker’s — those that grew up here and those who came from California — pay little attention to us fly-over states.
The concept of hail, tornadoes or even that Cincinnati isn’t in Idaho or St. Louis isn’t a state is lost on many of them.
I guess that when you know what you like, you hone in on it. True New Yorker’s love New York. There’s no need for anything else.