The big city was a scary place. When I first got off the bus, and gazed at the wild world around me, I thought I was going to pass out. The giant crowds of people sweeping past me on the sidewalk, the mean faces, the noise. Everything was breathtaking for a girl like me raised in Red River, Tennessee.
Gawking at a skyscraper, I accidentally grazed somebody with an elbow. “Watch where you’re going, lady!” the woman screeched at me, her face red with rage.
“I’m so sorry, honey,” I said, giving her a gentle pat on the arm.
But she pulled away from my friendly gesture. “Hey, hands off before I call the cops!”
I didn’t understand why my kindness made her uncomfortable, or why she was so angry for bumping against her. I had a lot to learn about the big city.
Starving after the long bus ride, I made a hot dog stand my first destination. It seemed like the kind of thing to do in New York City. I could smell the mustard and relish as I politely stood there, waiting for him to offer his services.
Somebody elbowed past me and grunted to the man, “Give me a dog with extra ketchup!”
“Um… I’m sorry, sir. I believe I was here first,” I said.
The guy chuckled at me. “Where you from, lady?”
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