mother. fucking. transit. strike.
I guess this thing is turning into more of a quarterly newsletter than a blog. Oh well.
So things have happened in my absence from the world of online hackery. I went to a couple of parties and then some bars. Drinking was had, laughs were made and this Christmas season was generally on its way to being a heart-warming holiday.
Then the transit strike silently swept across the city during the night and all was lost.
On the grim winter morn that I discovered my beloved subterranean transport to be shut off and abandoned, I almost wept. But then I realized that it meant I would not have to work. Yay!
But I recalled that I also miss out on a day's pay. Boo!
Then the dog left angry green mayonnaise shits all over the living room floor. Unnecessary!
Shell-shocked and tired, I stayed in and played video games all day.
Thousands of hipsters crossed this very bridge to make you free!
But I had to go back to work at some point and this involved an hour and a half long trek across bridges and boroughs in the sub-40's cold to arrive at my underwhelming place of employment. The city has turned into a parody of those ensemble cast movies where dozens of zany characters race to the goal using every wacky mode of transportation they can. Tomorrow I plan on chartering a zepplin uptown where I will hitch a ride in the back of a chicken truck until I am picked up by a bus full of good-hearted gospel singers who can follow me to the goal: a million dollars in gold bullion! (Or another day at work.)
Police State!
Also, my second job has been cancelled until the strike is over due to the diminished Manhattan foot traffic. The fly-covered, distended belly of my malnourished bank account looks as though it might be ready to eat itself with overdraft fees if I don't do something soon.
I am an angry New Yorker.
The last time the TWU (Transit Worker's Union) had a strike was in 1980, and it lasted 11 days. This strike has only been two days long, and already I would give my good eye for the smell of fermenting urine and urban decay that meant I was only ten minutes from downtown. If this goes on much longer I might have to buy a pair of rollerblades. Or a car.
But some good has come out of all of this. On both ends of the Williamsburg bridge, the Red Cross was there to give me coffee and cookies and hot chocolate, which was about the best thing I could have ever asked for upon exiting a freezing throughway with high winds. And one of the awesome life long New Yorkers at my job told me that I was now an honorary New Yorker because I am living through some kind of bullshit. Apparently if you walk across a bridge because of some crisis or another, you get instant citizenship.
Ugh.
So things have happened in my absence from the world of online hackery. I went to a couple of parties and then some bars. Drinking was had, laughs were made and this Christmas season was generally on its way to being a heart-warming holiday.
Then the transit strike silently swept across the city during the night and all was lost.
On the grim winter morn that I discovered my beloved subterranean transport to be shut off and abandoned, I almost wept. But then I realized that it meant I would not have to work. Yay!
But I recalled that I also miss out on a day's pay. Boo!
Then the dog left angry green mayonnaise shits all over the living room floor. Unnecessary!
Shell-shocked and tired, I stayed in and played video games all day.
Thousands of hipsters crossed this very bridge to make you free!
But I had to go back to work at some point and this involved an hour and a half long trek across bridges and boroughs in the sub-40's cold to arrive at my underwhelming place of employment. The city has turned into a parody of those ensemble cast movies where dozens of zany characters race to the goal using every wacky mode of transportation they can. Tomorrow I plan on chartering a zepplin uptown where I will hitch a ride in the back of a chicken truck until I am picked up by a bus full of good-hearted gospel singers who can follow me to the goal: a million dollars in gold bullion! (Or another day at work.)
Police State!
Also, my second job has been cancelled until the strike is over due to the diminished Manhattan foot traffic. The fly-covered, distended belly of my malnourished bank account looks as though it might be ready to eat itself with overdraft fees if I don't do something soon.
I am an angry New Yorker.
The last time the TWU (Transit Worker's Union) had a strike was in 1980, and it lasted 11 days. This strike has only been two days long, and already I would give my good eye for the smell of fermenting urine and urban decay that meant I was only ten minutes from downtown. If this goes on much longer I might have to buy a pair of rollerblades. Or a car.
But some good has come out of all of this. On both ends of the Williamsburg bridge, the Red Cross was there to give me coffee and cookies and hot chocolate, which was about the best thing I could have ever asked for upon exiting a freezing throughway with high winds. And one of the awesome life long New Yorkers at my job told me that I was now an honorary New Yorker because I am living through some kind of bullshit. Apparently if you walk across a bridge because of some crisis or another, you get instant citizenship.
Ugh.
posted by eric at 8:56 PM
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