Oppression is somewhat like a food chain. As an office worker in Midtown, you’re beneath the mid-level and higher-up management permitted to endlessly ream you (whether figuratively or sexually). And so, when the office worker is unleashed onto the tourist-ridden streets of nearby Times Square, his only recourse is to let out his aggression toward anyone he feels is an annoying outsider.
This rage is particularly present during the lunch hour a.k.a. Midtown feeding frenzy, when hunger is fueling the irritation and ire within every time-deprived shill circling the five-mile radius. Thus, the doe-eyed, enthusiastic, lumbering tourists overrunning the vicinity are the only fair game for an office worker to channel his anger at New York and the world.