East Coast instincts -- not quite there yet

Minnesota Nice doesn't exist around these parts, unless on a rare occasion you might run into a Minnesota native. Even then, this person may have already crossed over, abandoning his or her Minnesota niceness in order to survive.

At the bus station on Friday, I was Minnesota Nice for about five minutes. But while I was waiting in line to print out my ticket to New York, a young woman walked in front of me and up to the machine. Stunned, I walked up right behind her and just paused -- I wasn't so close that it was stalker-like, but I clearly stood at a not normal distance. She turned around (the machine didn't work for her), and noticed she had budged. She apologized, moved out of the way and I glided up to the machine barely acknowledging her "I'm sorry, were you in line?"

Yes, my inner bitch came out to say hello.

It reappeared when I was about three hours into the bus ride, and about a dozen riders had been ignoring the driver's message the minute he told us to use cell phones for emergencies only. I was a good girl. I was Minnesota Nice, and turned my phone setting to vibrate and only used it a few minutes outside NYC to let Ben know my location. But this Minnesota Nice was not so nice when the man sitting behind me decided to have several conversations throughout the ride. There's little leg room as is, so I decided to crank my seat back. How did he like being uncomfortable? But my seat was locked in its upright position.

I apparently haven't nurtured my East Coast diva enough.

I wasn't prepared to get scammed around midnight Friday at the Port Authority when I made it to the Big Apple. As soon as I got off the bus, a pushy man kept asking whether riders needed a taxi. I did, but I should have known better than to take his help. Nothing is free. Especially in New York City. He proceeded to take my bag, tell me the regular stop for taxis was under construction and that he would hail a cab for me. I should have stopped him, warned I would flag a cop. Instead, I only asked for my bag back and that I was a big enough girl to get my own cab. It didn't work (where is that inner Miranda Priestly when you need her?). I've done it plenty of times before. But this short man (I sized him up -- or down -- in case he tried to pull something) insisted on helping. I know you guys back home are probably shocked and will e-mail me warnings that I should never follow a strange man, but I was in a very public area. Besides, I haven't worked on speed training for nothin'. Already too long story made short, he hailed a cab and charged me $5.

I can be Minnesota Nice and East Coast take-charge girl at the same time.

So the next time a guy tries to take my bag, he better think again. Because I might be a little more East Coast diva than Minnesota Nice girl.