So When Are You, Like, a Real New Yorker?

Maybe this is one qualifier:

When one of the largest March snowstorms in recent memory is predicted and you re-book your flight for a day later, betting that your scheduled flight will be among the hundreds cancelled, only to find that it left a mere 45 minutes late and arrived, amidst the eight inches or whatever, only 40 minutes late this morning.

Leaving you unmoored in what has been for decades your favorite city in the US, on a changeable, but mostly fine, Pacific Northwest day, and little you can find to do except ask when you get to leave for the airport.