On a scale ranging from the quiet breadth of Eighth Avenue all the way to the iconic, bustling lights of Studio 8H, just how "New York" is a seasoned local? This is the central question behind NYQ, a signature series designed to measure the true urban grit and authenticity of notable New Yorkers. In a recent installment of the project, supervising social producer Zach Schiffman sat down with Saturday Night Live cast member Ben Marshall to put his local credentials to the test. Through a rapid-fire series of questions spanning housing woes, transit etiquette, street encounters, and city survival mechanisms, Marshall painted a vivid picture of what a thirteen-year residency in the five boroughs actually looks like.
Marshall’s journey in the city began thirteen years ago, though he is quick to add a comedic asterisk to his timeline. Four of those formative years were spent as a student at New York University, a tenure he humorously values at minus one million years in terms of authentic city seasoning. Over more than a decade of navigating the metropolis, Marshall has accumulated a staggering resume of domestic instability, having moved ten distinct times across the urban landscape. Among his shifting addresses, he confesses that the single worst move of his life occurred when an impending, last-minute trip out of the country forced him to deputize his roommate to handle the relocation—a favor he suspects his former roommate has never truly forgiven.
The comedian’s housing footprint reads like an itinerary of classic rental transitions, spanning the West Village, Gramercy, the East Village, Clinton Hill, Bushwick, a brief stint in an area he dubs the "Upper-Upper West Side," and finally the Upper West Side proper. Settling into these various neighborhoods has naturally brought its share of localized friction. On day one of moving into his most recent apartment, Marshall was greeted not with a welcome basket, but with a meticulous three-page letter from a disgruntled neighbor detailing the exact ways he was allegedly slamming his door.
When the conversation shifts to the daily trials of mass transit, Marshall offers pragmatic, if weary, views on subway culture. Asked to enact a single piece of subway etiquette into absolute law, he zeroes in on the cardinal sin of platform congestion: moving out of the way of the doors when arriving at a station to allow passengers to freely exit and enter. Yet, when faced with the classic confrontation of being bumped by a stranger inside a packed train car, Marshall admits his inner New Yorker leans heavily toward self-preservation rather than righteous indignation. While an impulsive "Excuse me!" might cross his mind, he notes that he would never actually say it out loud, adhering to the golden rule that you simply never know who might be unstable.
Transit disruptions, of course, are a staple of the local experience. When a train line goes down while he is already running late, Marshall describes the universally recognizable humiliation of breaking into the awkward half-walk, half-jog shuffle, ultimately arriving at his destination thoroughly sweaty and miserable. When it comes to street-level transportation above ground, however, he adopts a philosophy of passive surrender. Asked if he would ever interrupt a cabdriver taking a remarkably inefficient route, Marshall responds with a definitive "Let him rock," trusting that the driver inevitably knows better than he does.
Navigating the city on foot brings its own set of practiced avoidance tactics. Asked how he handles persistent individuals attempting to hand out flyers on the sidewalk, Marshall reveals a classic urban defense mechanism: pretending to spot an old friend from afar, shouting a convincing "Hey!", and briskly walking away. Traffic signals present a different kind of hazard entirely. Discussing the blinking red pedestrian light, Marshall admits he routinely crosses without waiting for the solid "Walk" signal—a habit born from a deeply ingrained misunderstanding. For many years, he genuinely believed the flashing signal meant walk, a misconception that famously caught up with him during a trip to Australia, where he breezily crossed against the light only to be sternly stopped by local police officers demanding to know what he thought he was doing.
Familiarity with the city also means dealing with visiting friends and family on short notice. Asked how he handles relatives who drop a visit request with a mere 24 hours of warning, Marshall jokes that he tries to secure them coveted Saturday Night Live tickets, only to find everyone annoyed with him because he asked far too late. His local expertise extends to the city’s infamous wildlife as well. Challenged on whether rats are actually cute, Marshall draws a strict biological boundary: he finds mice endearing, but classifies rats as far too fast and formidable to earn the same affection. And when it comes to the outer boroughs, Marshall makes a startling confession: despite his long tenure, he does not believe he has ever actually set foot in Staten Island, offering an immediate apology to Weekend Update co-anchor Colin Jost.
Living in Manhattan shapes how one speaks about geography, and Marshall confirms he refers to the borough simply as "Manhattan" rather than "the city." Yet, even after thirteen years, he admits to indulging in a classic tourist misstep: regularly checking his phone for navigation directions instead of memorizing the grid. When forced to weigh the absolute worst domestic pests, Marshall doesn’t hesitate, ranking roaches above bedbugs, and keeping roaches as his ultimate lesser of two evils when compared to rats.
Conversations about New York inevitably touch on local folklore and specialized knowledge. Asked how to master the elusive New York City accent, Marshall shares a tip he was once given: the secret entry point is simply pronouncing the word dental. His relationship with the urban landscape also includes the deeply traditional, if slightly questionable, practice of rescuing furniture left abandoned on the street—something he admits to doing far more often than he would care to admit. As for public transit hygiene, Marshall owns up to grabbing the subway poles, noting that he is simply not willing to risk falling flat on his face just to look nonchalant.
When the stresses of the city become too much, Marshall has a characteristically urban answer for where he goes to cry: the club, the subway, his office, or simply out in the open in public view. His early days in Manhattan were also marked by classic encounters with fame, including a first-week celebrity sighting where he spotted actor Michael Cera on the street and proceeded to talk his ear off for far too long, trapping Cera while he was out with friends—an interaction Marshall now acknowledges was entirely inappropriate.
Other aspects of daily life continue to baffle him, such as the surreal moment when a small child on a scooter rides directly into pedestrians. When asked to name a fake, Realtor-invented neighborhood, Marshall points to Manhattan Valley, which he describes as the "Upper-Upper West Side"—an area he once lived in, only to be met with blank stares whenever he used the term. Long enough in the tooth to remember when the Upright Citizens Brigade theatre was located underneath a Gristedes supermarket, Marshall also casts his vote for art critic Jerry Saltz when asked to name the sexiest New Yorker.
While he has long since abandoned the classic hot dog cart in favor of dry, unadorned pretzels, and assumes museum admission remains free for locals at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, Marshall still leverages his status when necessary. Asked the last time he used his public visibility to secure a perk in the city, he admits it got him into a New York Knicks game, a team whose fortunes have brought him genuine tears of joy, such as the emotional reaction he had when OG Anunoby hit a dramatic tip-in. Yet, performing and filming in the five boroughs come with their own distinct hazards. For Marshall, the absolute worst place to perform is any corporate event, while the worst place to film remains a public playground populated by children speeding by on scooters.
