Get to my hotel. Informed my room is on the third floor. I know better than to accept a low room in Midtown Manhattan. Ask for a higher floor. Offered something on 10. “Anything higher?” I ask. The guy offers to show me a room on 22. “Great,” I say, and off we go.

As we take the elevator up, he asks what brings me to New York. I tell him I live in Israel and come here for work every month or so. We keep chatting.

He shows me the room. It’s great. I take it.

As we head back to the elevator, he asks where I live in Israel.

(I am familiar with this line of questioning)

Me: “I live in Jerusalem. Have you been?”
Him: “Yeah, I did Birthright in 2014.”

(Of course he did)

Me: “Oh, cool. How was it?”
Him: “It was amazing. Life-changing.”

(Naturally)

Me: “That’s so great. Have you been back since?”
Him: “Nah, I’d love to, but it’s hard with work.”

(An opening)

Me: “Have you heard of Masa…?”

Aaaaaaaand scene.

Only in New York, kids. Only in New York.

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