WRITE ABOUT THE STRIKE FOR OTBKB
from Lamentsoftheunfinished.blogspot.com
Ah, the Good Ole Days
The C train that can’t be on time to save its life
Being yelled at by female MTA workers
Double-fares
Missing a train by 1 second meaning I’ll be at least 15 minutes late
Waiting…
Freezing for 20 minutes on the outdoor platform in Astoria, Queens
Hot stations in the summer
Cold stations in the winter
Three trains passing on the opposite platform before your train arrives
Overcrowding
Broken escalators
Riding taking as long as walking
Not getting your money back when the train doesn’t show up
Drippy, wet stations
Rats
The smell of garbage at 125th Street
WRITE ABOUT THE STRIKE ON OTBKB #6
A strike story by Zeebahtronics.typepad.com
I’m so freaking spacy and exhausted. It’s about 10 miles round-trip from my house to work… am I a total lame-ass, out-of shape piece of crap that I’m so tired? I don’t know, but I can tell you that I was glued to the couch from the moment I got home to the moment I crawled into bed at 8:30 pm , a full three hours earlier than normal.
Well, I was glued to the couch except for the five minutes that I yelled through the phone at the Fresca Tortilla guy. When I called to order, I had the sneaking suspicion that something would get screwed up when I had to repeat and spell my address several times, but they advertised that they had motorcycle delivery, so I chanced it. Forty-five minutes later, Lauren calls to ask about our order, and he tells us he can’t deliver to us….
WRITE ABOUT THE STRIKE FOR OTBKB #5
This one’s mine:
A friend and I drove over to Fifth Avenue near 9th Street to do some shopping.
Earlier we’d been talking about feeling guilty because we haven’t really suffered because of the strike. We share an office in Park Slope and can easily walk to work.
When we got back to her car, which was parked in front of Hollywood Video, a Chinese woman asked my friend if she could have a ride. My friend said ‘yes’ without hesitation.
“You don’t mind if we give this woman a ride, do you?” my friend asked. “Who is she?” I asked. “I don’t know. She just asked me for a ride.”
The Chinese woman was incredibly polite. She kept saying: “How far are you going? You can just let me out anywhere.” At first we were just planning on driving her 20 blocks or so but after a few blocks we decided to take her the whole way. “Where exactly are you going?” my friend asked the Chinese woman, whose English wasn’t very good. “I am going to 41st Street, Fifth Avenue. But you can stop anywhere,” she said.
“No, I want to take you home,” my friend said.
We drove beyond the commercial stretch of Park Slope’s Fifth Avenue and Green-wood Cemetery. At the Jackie Gleason Bus Depot on the outskirts of the Green-Wood Cemetery we saw a picket line of striking TWU employees. Farther up we saw elaborate inflatable Christmas decorations and small houses festooned with red and green lights.
We asked the woman how she had gotten from Manhattan to Fifth Avenue and she said she’d hitched rides and walked a bit. She seemd tired. She said she worked in a school near City Hall.
Around 35th Street or so, there was a nice flag of lights spelling Sunset Park. The woman said she could get out anywhere. Clearly, she was embarassed by our willingness to drive her wherever she wanted to go. “Where are you are going,” my friend said again.
“I hope you are going in this direction. Do you live up ahead,” she asked. “No, we live way in the other direction,” I said. “Oh no,” the Chinese woman said.
At 41st Street the woman got out. “God bless you,” she said. And we did, indeed, feel blessed