YOU HAVE NOTHING TO LOSE
Kicking in a windshield is fun, no question. But for us, to do so means we might run into a family friend knee-deep in safety glass. You guys are essentially on permanent vacation. We deal with all the same bullshit of any hometown — just neatly numbered and divided into little rectangles. We have no escape plan. If shit goes down, I can’t hop on a plane and just kick it with mom and dad for two weeks downloading porn.

YOU CARE ABOUT SHIT
We couldn’t give a fuck about a bike lane or a new taxi design. These things happen every day. Buildings come and go and it can be sad, but we’re used to it and you will be soon. Domino sugar factory will be torn down or turned into condos and somehow people will be mad either way. We just don’t understand the need to talk about it. The only thing that bothers me is the cost of pizza rising, and it bothers me so little that this is the first time I’ve ever thought of it.

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WE’RE RICH AND WON’T ADMIT IT
Any young adult you’ve met living in New York is rich. Angry natives who “hate the trust fund NYU kids” have parents even richer than yours. They might know a good bar that doesn’t card and they’ll tell you about that time on 86th street when a bunch of other private schoolers chased them with a knife. But these kind of situations present themselves to anyone who has lived in a major city long enough. Natives used these stories to build up an “old New York” that never really was, mostly just to contend with the old guys who actually lived in the Taxi Driver era.

NATIVES BOTHER THE SHIT OUT OF US MORE THAN YOU
What’s more annoying than a 60-year-old talking to you about the “good old days?” Having him speak to you for an extra 20-minutes because you arbitrarily were reared in the same fucking place.

YOU HATE PEOPLE FROM OUT OF TOWN
“Go back to Jersey!” is something I only hear shouted by transplants. At least the Jersey crowd goes home on Sunday. Shouting that shit only makes us remember that you are the rent-raisers here. The truth is, most natives really don’t have a problem with you guys until you start to really claim New York residency as some badge of honor. How long we’ve lived here never crosses our minds, but if you make it a pissing contest, we will always win.

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YOU GENTRIFY POOR NEIGHBORHOOD (AND LIKE IT)
This really only applies to the residents of neighborhoods mentioned in rap songs, discounting any new Jay-Z joints. But come on: I’ve lived in Manhattan my whole life besides two years in Greenpoint (in diapers). It’s stupid easy to find apartments for any price. On average, I’ve paid around $700 a month to live in lower Manhattan. Bed-Stuy and Bushwick are NOT your only option.

You have to admit that part of you loves living in the “dangerous” (i.e. ethnic) part of New York. And you know that if you keep it, it will be worth double in ten years. You screwed the pooch on a pretty sweet deal. Young Puerto Ricans were paying $200 a month for duplexes, as basically their main “fuck you” to the system — and now you don’t even smile when they cat call you. The worst part is that Bed-Stuy isn’t even all poor, it’s just cheaper and black, which translates to “tough” for a lot of you.

YOU WANT NEW YORK TO CATER TO YOU
Newsflash! It already does. Macrobiotic food may not be in your five-block radius, but it’s out there. Why then is it necessary to open a food co-op on Morgan Ave? Do you really think that the residents of that neighborhood are grateful? A food co-op is basically a burning cross for any person living in the ghetto (excuse me, “underprivileged community”); they know they can either leave now or wait until the landlord condemns their building, then rebuilds it as a condo (this happens a lot, BTW). What’s worse is, the next thing you know, your Bushwick fried chicken place suddenly has organic fruit smoothies. Doesn’t that make you cringe a bit?

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YOU TREAT US AS IF WE’RE STREET-SAVVY SWAMIS
We don’t know shit. If you have a map of NYC, then you already know more than me. I have nothing interesting to tell you about growing up on pavement versus growing up on grass.

WE’VE DONE THIS A MILLION TIMES ALREADY
This one is probably the most by hated by transplants but that doesn’t make it untrue. I don’t feel like listing the things I’ve done because it’s boring me to even think about it. But that’s my point: I have had only a quarter of a century of shit happen to me and I’m already exhausted just thinking about it. More importantly, I have heard thousands of stories from hundreds of people who have lived here for upwards of six decades. I can’t imagine you had a night more exciting than the one I heard about from an ex-gangbanger-now-tranny. The funny thing is, tell me a good story about trucks and cornfields and there’s a good chance I’ll be genuinely captivated.

YOU SAY “IT AIN’T WHERE YOU’RE FROM, IT’S WHERE YOU’RE AT”
I call bullshit on this. Yoko Ono has lived here for what, 60 years? And she still talks all FOB-y. There’s a reason people keep their accents and mannerisms: It’s who they are. I’m a big nurture over nature guy, but you have to be nurtured somewhere. While you may be the sore thumb in the family photo, your hometown is where you learned to become a human being. You’re probably a better person for not growing up in this place.