Living in the five boroughs, the main topic of conversation that has dominated water coolers for the past 5 days has obviously been the threat of the transit strike looming since last Thursday. Last night found me glued to Eyewitness News for the latest update on what would await me this morning yet AGAIN. It was hard as hell keeping my eyes open past 1:00 a.m., but try I did...and at just past 2, I saw the blinking "MTA running" logo at the bottom of my TV screen while Last Call with Carson Daly was about to get hit the with the off button on my remote. Just a smattering of shut eye would reveal that all would be well. Or so I assumed.

After OD'ing on much deprived Z's, I scrambled to hit the snooze button and check out the latest word from the newsreel. A chorus of angry picketers told the whole story before I laid eyes onto the "strike ON" graphic from WNBC. The news I had been dreading for close to a week had finally come to fruition.

Fuck me gently with a chainsaw.

The bluffing days were over...the workers walked off the job at approximately 3:00 a.m. EST which meant mayhem and misery for millions of straphangers this morning as rush hour would turn into an obstacle course of the worst kind.

While my boss had already given my department a heads-up yesterday that strike or no strike, he wasn't coming in, I had two options:

• Be a trooper and forge ahead with my personal contingency plan to make it into Lower Manhattan come hell or high water

• Stay under my warm covers with a mug of chai tea watching the events unfold from the comfort of my home

It was a decision I agonized a whole millisecond over. As much as I would've loved to link arms with Mayor Bloomberg amid sub-freezing temps in solidarity, hell fuck no, I wasn't gonna go. But to the brave souls who ventured into apocalypse now with snotsicles a-glistening, my hat's off to you.

However, I can't get too comfortable in reveling in being the spoiled brat that I am since tomorrow I've got to channel my inner G.I. Jane and hoof it into the city by any means necessary. Suddenly turning down a charity bone to that clod in human resources is looking like a really bad idea. I could've had some vacation days be magically accrued at the last minute...you know, kind of like the MTA's billion dollar surplus they've been moving around like Colombian drug weight. Or if I had bothered to learn how to drive, oh about a decade ago as kids in the boonies do, I could've put my hustle tactics to good use running a gypsy van route up to MetroTech.

The same kindhearted souls who have put your job in jeopardy with end-of-year dockings, rerouting the yellow brick road for the kiddies to meet their perfect attendance quotas and making near biblical pilgrimages to see your loved ones outside of a 5-mile radius would really, really like to wish you a Happy Holidays from the bottom of their broken hearts. Can you feel the love tonight?

Labels: New York City, transit strike