in a New York minute

As I sat on the 4 train heading to class, I was grateful to get a seat and smiled at the woman sitting next to me. Apparently New Yorkers never do this- smile. The woman said to me, "You look happy. Why are you so happy?" I replied that it was just a good day.
"Are you going to vote?" she asked next.
"Yup," I replied as I attempted for the second time to put my earphones in and tune out the world. (Something most New Yorkers do).
"Who are you voting for, if you don't mind my asking?" she continued.
"Oh, well I'm waiting for the general election, so I'm not sure yet." And then I think, she is probably about to lecture me on how important it is to vote in the primaries, so I go on. "I recently moved from Arizona, and I didn't get an absentee ballot in time."
Suddenly, her world falls into place.

"You didn't seem like you were from New York. You're still too nice," she said. "So, what brings you to New York?"
I finally gave up on the earphones, turned off the iPod, and replied, "Grad school. I'm going to NYU."
"What's your major?"
"Publishing."
"REALLY?! Do you ever look at query letters?" ?" By this, she means letters sent to agents and/or publishers to ask them to consider an author's work.
"Yes, sometimes," I replied.
"Great! Would you mind taking a look at something?" Here is where I made the mistake of saying okay.

After I read her letter and gave her some feedback, she pulled out her manuscript for me to read as well. Fortunately, it was for a children's book, so it wasn't very long. After reading that as well, she asked me how I would rate it.
"Would you say it's fair, good, very good, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, A, B, C?" I couldn't believe this woman, but I didn't want to crush her. Even though it wasn't that good, she was right- I'm too nice.

"I guess I'd give it a B or a 7. It's pretty good," I told her. The story wasn't that bad. I told her I thought that with a good editor, maybe something could happen. I also told her that I don't know much about publishing children's literature. I felt so awkward, and I couldn't wait for my stop. Of course, when we got to 42nd St., she got up. Great! We had the same stop. As we got off the train she thanked me profusely and said how crazy it was that I happened to sit next to her and what can happen in New York and how nice I was to look over her story. I tried to say, "You're welcome," and escape, but she continued to thank me as I walked up the stairs. Finally I escaped as the crowds separated us.

I still don't know if I should have been more honest with her. She's just a stranger, and I didn't want to crush her dream. I think I will be more careful about announcing that I'm in publishing to future strangers on the subway.