You're in the wrong place, my friend. You'd better leave.

This past weekend, I ventured into the city of Philadelphia for the first time in about 4 years. Without getting into too much detail, the summer I spent living in North Philly was one of the absolute worst times in my life, and I had never felt the strength or desire to go back. Philadelphia, despite being part of the greatest commonwealth on earth, was the one place that I swore I would never go again. And then I had to go and fall for a guy from just that particular area. Karma is an ironic bitch.

I will say, however, that I had a very lovely time and at no point found myself fearing for my life or being inappropriately touched by drunk strangers. This is a feat in and of itself. I enjoyed my time in Philadelphia and will probably return, but this kind of healing involves baby steps, and I am in no way ready to discuss how wonderful the city is with, oh, I don't know, say a camera crew. Which brings us to Monday morning.

I was minding my own business at Reading Terminal, standing in (not on, you crazy New Yorkers) line for your run of the mill bagel with cream cheese. I noticed a film crew filming a Food Network-esque segment, talking about the diversity and wonder of this particular food court. Having lived in New York since that fateful day that I left Philadelphia oh-those-many-years ago, I don't pay much attention to film crews or their purposes. Which also means that I don't notice when they sneak up behind me.

I grabbed my bagel from the counter and turned around quickly, blissfully unaware of the camera that was only inches from my face. Suddenly, I was hit with a barrage of questions: How often do you come here? Who told you about Reading Terminal? Have you heard it is the best place to eat in Philadelphia? Is that going to be the greatest bagel you have ever tasted?

My mind began to reel. TELL THEM! it screamed. Tell them that Primanti Bros., pierogies and gobs will always beat anything that Philadelphia can produce! Tell them that a New York bagel far outshines a bagel made from anywhere else on earth, even if it IS the best bagel place in Philadelphia (which assuredly, this was not)! But then I took stock of my situation, realized that Philly had been good to me the past few days, and that I couldn't let former prejudices flow back just because there was a random camera in my face. I calmly stated that I was from New York, that my boyfriend had suggested the place, and it was conveniently located because we were meeting a friend.

And then I ran like hell. Mostly because I was 5 seconds from yelling, "Six superbowl rings, bitches!!"