The Strike

For whatever reasons – true or not and justifiable or not – the MTA and union workers decided to behave like kids at the expense of  7 million New Yorkers for the past three days. 

The MTA workers walked off their jobs on Monday night, and the subways and buses for the largest city in the US grounded to a halt. The bastards left commuters to brave the December freeze, miles of concrete, and flared tempers one week before Christmas.  Politicians fumed and the union head stalled (BTW, does anyone notice that Toussaint looks like a crazed maniac?).

I still don't understand the workers' demands.  They are making ~65K a year and don't have to pay for their pensions -- most New Yorkers will kill for that deal -- yet they're complaining about feeding their kids and getting food.  I don't get it.  Their job is to drive a bus and push some buttons on subways trains.  They don't pay for healthcare and their job does't require a lot of skill.  Yet, because they see a surplus, they're demanding their 'fair share'.  Now.

Meanwhile we (the passengers) have our fares hiked two times in the past three years already.

Now for the positives. In the three days, New Yorkers came together and displayed their resilience.  One morning, after walking about 2 miles, I eventually shared a cab with three other commuters.  We were trying to get to work, to the airport and to family for the holidays.  The absurdity of our predicament allowed us to talk in ways that would be unfathomable in normal circumstances.  Most mornings in the subway commute, I hardly looked at the person next to me, let alone engage them in pleasantries, but here I was, talking about teaching in the Appalachian mountains and volunteering in Mississippi with total strangers.

The Red Cross vans had attendants who handed out hot chocolate to pedestrians crossing the bridges from the outer boroughs into Manhattan.

A short wiry guy used his tiny white Celica to ferry tired walkers back and forth on the Williamsburg bridge on Wednesday night.  He was jumping on one leg near the bridge entrance when I walked passed, engrossed in Franz Ferdinand blaring from my Ipod.  I and three other shivering guys gladly tumbled into his car as we scooted over the bridge.  When asked why he was driving passengers for free, he replied 'I had a car and it just seems wrong to see people walk in this cold.'

I shared a cab on another night with an attractive hiccupping (she assured me she was not drunk) Chelsea gallery owner.  We talked about work and living in the Lower East Side and art and before I knew it, she sashayed off down Orchard and Delancey.

Each morning, people bravely streamed across the bridges and slowly made their way past the frozen sidewalks.  Workers walked miles and countless city blocks to get to their offices. Students chattered on and walked to school in pods, streams of hunched bikers wound through walkers in a blur, moms pushed strollers gamely as the temperature dipped below 20, and complete strangers collided together in superfluous conversations.  The hordes of people moved like ants over a disturbed mound.  Each day we learned something new:  sneakers are better than boots, ventilation is sometimes more important than insulation, and a cup of coffee goes a long way (so do cigarettes).

I felt sorry for the older people who had to use their rickety legs.

The strike ended yesterday after deliberations, threat of jail, imposed fines, and public posturings.  New Yorkers are glad  – we again have transportation to our hedonistic holiday pursuits. 

That's what I love about this city; the residents continue to take difficulties in stride.  Whatever may come at us, whether it is the lack of transportation or something else, we believe – we know – that we can continue on with our lives.

Perhaps it's because we're fiercely independent or fiercely possessive of the lives that we've built along with this city.  We come from all over the globe to pursue our dreams here, and dammed if a little inconvenience hinders how we carry out our lives.  We've dealt with outrageous rents and hyper competition, dashed dreams and too many hopes, and yes, we've dealt with terrorism in the past and probably will face it again in the future -- but through all that, our sense of realism of what is and what cannot be changed, combined with our resolute faith in the idealized life, of what should be owed to us, compels us to overcome challenges in ways that are the best representatives of the human experience.

I am so glad to ride one of those dirty smelly tin boxes again!