are urbanites doomed to become antisocial?

the antisocial act I pulled today bordered on pathetic.
maybe I acted the way I did because I was getting myself through the day with barely 2 or 3 hours of (INTERRUPTED) sleep but my old - austrian&well-mannered self would have pulled me to the side for some serious scolding (if it weren't buried so deep in my new ego-centric been-in-nyc-too-long self).
So, anyway... as the day passed by (me mostly being an uproductive crank-head) I had repeatedly expressed my reluctance to have any "guests" over tonight, for Dario kept on mentioning that an old roomate of ours (who somehow keeps herself in the picture...no comment here. it's a story in itself.) was going to maybe pass by with her husband and kid, both of whom are actually really nice. daugther - nice kid & husband - TV-addicted but otherwise very nice dude.
Anyway, when the bell rang in the late afternoon I began to panic. Oh no, D didn't make up any excuses on why today wasn't a good day for visiting. So I ran. Literally. I grabbed my bag, a book, a netflix movie, and dashed out the door shouting, "ok, D. I'll be upstairs then (at R.s house)". Maia in anticipation of visitors tried to follow me into the hallway but since I hadn't had the time to grab a key I couldn't just lock the door assuring her safety.
So, there I am in the hallway, my eyes frantically oscillating between elevator floor status display and Maia at door, threatening her like I would Trouble (with stomping my foot on the floor and instructing with deep, authoritative voice to go and stay inside. Close the door in front of her, again and run back to the emergency stairs. Stay there until elevator hits our floor and peek back to make sure Maia who, of course, has opened the door again isn't letting in strangers but in fact our unexpected guests. I hear familiar voices and silently close the emergency exit stair door.
Knock on R's door with request to accept refugee status of mine. She accepts and I get to plomp myself on the couch with my book.
20 minutes later the phone rings.
Turns out, Dario and our guests thought I am in the bedroom with screaming baby (trying the cry-out method or something) until D finally goes to check why the baby is so unusually hysterical. Finds Maia by herself in bedroom with baby (on bed), applying lotion all over her little sister. Eyes and everything.
I drop everything and run downstairs.
Baby seems ok. Her hair is quite funky looking and her eyes a bit reddened and she still seems to be recovering from traumatic Maia-balming but otherwise all is fine.
Maia is crying on her time-out chair. Poor thing. Didn't mean bad but explains that she just wanted baby to be "all cleean and beauutiful".
I run down "things-not-to-do-with-the-baby" with her again and let her go.
So much for my pretend-I'm working on co-op board stuff with Rosa. Have to stay now and watch super-loud cops, america's most wanted and the apprentice, for tv-addicted hubby cannot and must not miss any show, never mind the fact that he's engaging in supposed social event ... visit at our place. but who am I to judge, right ;)