To be fair, that wasn’t so bad. Stuart and I woke up at the asscrack of dawn, moaned and whined our way through our morning preparation, and met my co-worker Paul at 30th avenue in his little car. Our fourth, one of Stuart’s co-workers, met us there and we all got in Paul’s car and suffered through 20 minutes of traffic at the Queensboro, happily bitching about our companies and health care and anything else we could think to complain about. It was only at the QB that we faced real traffic – once we got into the city, it was smooth sailing down 2nd avenue to Houston, to drop the downtown guys off and pick up Paul’s co-worker Steve and ride 8th avenue back up to Midtown.
My big fear, that the parking garages would be chock-full, wasn’t a problem at 8:40 when we arrived (we’d waited for Steve for 20 minutes because of a timing miscommunication) and now I’m sitting with a bagel and tea with just enough time to write this and get to my all-day training down on the 42nd floor.
This afternoon, Paul and I leave at 5, head back to Queens, where I then grab ingredients for tonight’s cozy little friend get-together down in Brooklyn, and jump in my (parents’) car, which was set to spend the week with us anyway, since we need it to get up to RI for Christmas weekend. The parents were here this weekend, actually, and we had an absolutely lovely time with their visit.
In fact, I guess, I can’t complain too much about the strike. I’ve got nothing but solidarity for the transit workers that are striking, so I’ve been trying not to sound like I’m the one with the huge problems, since I don’t have to strike to get my company to pay attention to me (they just don’t, it works out okay). Tonight, after our get-together, I’ll play happy taxi for my Brooklyn friends and then Stuart and I will head home and do the same thing tomorrow, and the day after, until the MTA and the TWU can see eye to eye on something.
How’s everyone else holding up?

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