The Paradox of New York City: Friendliness Where You Least Expect It

So as most of you know, I went home for a few days for my Grandpa's 70th birthday... I know... I am lucky to have such young grandparents. (Note: the following is a major digression, please stay tuned for a return to the point) It was a very strange experience because it was the first time I left married life and essentially went back to my single life- living at home, hanging out with my family, eating lots of In N Out. It was a bit of a time warp, but it was nice. The whole time I was home I felt like my right arm was missing because Kevin wasn't there. I haven't ever left Kevin to go anywhere. I know I have grown extremely attached to him since we've been married but I guess it is hard to wrap your head around how much you are used to someone's presence until they aren't there. Usually I am homesick when I am in NYC but this time I was homesick in CA. I am a nut.
I returned to NYC after two planes and one train totaling 9 hours of travel. I arrived in Penn Station with far too many bags to manage on a subway, but I am used to being the clumsy girl stumbling through the city. My return to NYC was greeted with the usual rushed and rude response from fellow New Yorkers. One man in the subway station went through the turnstile toward me just as I was about to swipe my card and go through. "Thanks!" I yelled. "Anytime!" was the response I received. Aargh!
I then proceeded to drag my bags up the stairs to the platform, during rush hour mind you, with people shoving past me going both directions. I was really loving being back in NYC at this point. I finally got on the train and arrived in Harlem in a far worse mood than I had been in when I started off. I got my bags through the turnstile and began lugging them upstairs to the street when, not one, but TWO people stopped to ask if I needed help. I was SHOCKED!!! This goes to show you that people in Harlem are much more friendly than people downtown who act like you don't exist.