Falling In (heart Symbol), Sort Of, With New York`s New Civility

May 06, 1990|By Dave Barry.

You residents of rustic, tractor-intensive regions such as Ohio will be pleased to hear that New York City has decided to become polite.

Really. There`s a new outfit called New York Pride that is attempting to get New Yorkers to at least pretend that they don`t hate everybody. This program resulted from a survey in which researchers asked tourists how come they didn`t want to come back to New York, and the tourists said it was because there was so much mean-spiritedness. So the researchers spat on them. No, seriously, I think New York is very sincere about this. I was in the city recently, and right off the bat I noted that the Teen-Age Mutant Ninja Taxi Driver who took me to the hotel was very thoughtfully allowing pedestrians as much as .3 nanoseconds to get out of his way, which many of them graciously did, even though a taxi does not, technically, have the right- of-way on the sidewalk.

The driver was also careful to observe the strict New York City Vehicle Horn Code, under which it is illegal to honk your horn except to communicate one of the following emergency messages:

1. The light is green.

2. The light is red.

3. I hate you.

4. This vehicle is equipped with a horn.

Even very late at night, when there were probably only a few dozen vehicles still operating in the entire city, they`d all gather under my hotel window every few minutes to exchange these vital communications.

Another example of politeness I noticed was that nobody ridiculed my clothes. Everybody in New York, including police horses, dresses fashionably, and whenever I`m there, even in my sharpest funeral-quality suit with no visible ketchup stains, I feel as if I`m wearing a Hefty trash bag. And it`s LAST YEAR`S Hefty trash bag.

On this trip I also became paranoid about my haircut. After 20 years of having the same haircut, I recently got a more modernistic style that`s a little longer in the back, and I was feeling like one hep ``dude`` until I got to New York, where the fashionable guys all had haircuts in which the hair is real long on top but abruptly stops halfway down the head, forming a dramatic Ledge of Hair that depressed lice could commit suicide by jumping from.

Nobody has had my haircut in New York since 1978. Pigeons were coming from as far away as Staten Island to void themselves on it. But the New Yorkers themselves politely said nothing.

Aside from this courtesy epidemic, the other big story in New York is that-get ready for a Flash Bulletin-the United Nations STILL EXISTS. Yes! Like you, I thought that the UN had been converted to luxury condominiums years ago, but in fact it`s still there, performing the vital function that it was established to perform in this troubled, turmoil-filled world- namely, hold receptions.

In fact, using the advanced journalism technique of having a friend give me his invitation, I was able to get into a reception hosted by the U.S. ambassador, who is, in my candid assessment, a tall man named ``Tom`` with a lot of armed guards.

After shaking hands with Tom, I proceeded into the reception area, which was filled with representatives of nations large and small, rich and poor, from all over the world; and although I sometimes tend to be cynical, I could not help but be deeply moved, as a journalist and a human being, when I saw that some of these people had haircuts EVEN WORSE THAN MINE. This was particularly true of the Eastern Bloc men, who looked as if they received their haircuts from the Motherland via fax machine.

But the important thing was, everyone had a good time. People would arrive filled with international tension, but after several drinks and a couple of pounds of shrimp, they`d mellow right out, ready to continue the vital UN work of going to the next reception.

I decided that, since I was there, I might as well use proven journalism techniques to find out if any World Events were going on. So I conducted the following interview with a person standing next to me:

ME: So! Who are you?

PERSON: I`m a (something about economics) from (some country that sounded like ``Insomnia``).

ME: Ah! And how are things there?

PERSON: Better.

ME: Ah! (Pause) What continent is that in, again?

Unfortunately, at that point the person had to edge away, but nevertheless I had what we journalists call the ``main thrust`` of the story, namely: Things are better in Insomnia. It was definitely a load off my mind, and as I walked out into the brisk New York evening, I experienced a sense of renewed hope, which was diminished only slightly by the knowledge that taxis had been sighted in the area and I would never make it back to the hotel alive.