Union Says NYC Transit Strike Is Over
By DEEPTI HAJELA, Associated Press Writer
2 minutes ago

NEW YORK - The city's crippling three-day mass transit strike ended Thursday after union leaders — facing mounting fines, possible jail terms and the wrath of millions of commuters — voted to return their 33,000 members to work without a new contract.

Union board members who emerged from the organization's headquarters said workers will return to their job sites starting with the next shifts. The vote was overwhelmingly in favor of returning to work, and resuming negotiations with the Metropolitan Transportation Authority.

It was unclear when the city's buses and subways would again start running, although transit officials said it would take a minimum of 12 hours to get everything restarted.

The announcement of the vote came outside union headquarters about 3 1/2 hours after state mediators said a possible deal was worked out. It puts the nation's largest mass transit system back in operation while negotiations resume on a new three-year contract.

Roger Toussaint, the combative president of Transport Workers Union Local 100, had recommended that his union's executive board accept the deal.

Labels: New York City, subway, transit strike

And on the third day we walked.

I was lucky enough to be extended amnesty from the unlikeliest source. My ex-boyfriend. Taking pity on my dire straits in spite of a bad breakup, he offered to drive me into work this morning. It's the little things like that that almost make me wanna book a room at the Mercer for a quickie as a thank-you. But then again, I did say almost.

I now understand why his license has been suspended twice in the past. He's the most manic motorist I've ever had the misfortune of being a passenger with. After nearly sideswiping a taxi while trying to merge on Boerum Place, I temporarily had to renounce the bile-soaked aftertaste of organized religion to recite a few Hail Marys.

But thankfully, all limbs are still in tact.

Labels: New York City, transit strike

Day 2 of Gotham under siege began today with my hat being thrown into the ring of commuters united in simmering rage but gritting their teeth in quiet desperation. To say that my A.M. routine was a little altered would be like saying that Al Scales Reynolds has a mere sprinkling of sugar in his tank. The approximate distance from home to my corporate plantation is a mere 7.9 miles according to Yahoo! Maps, so to the casual observer, it would appear to be a piece of cake. Until you crunch the data in actual foot power, you have no fucking idea.

To fully grasp the extent of my disgust, enclosed is an edited timeline of my bizarre ride to the far side.

4:08 a.m: After slapboxing my alarm clock for the past eight minutes, I finally roll out of bed and march bleary-eyed into the shower when even the inviting scent of Bliss peppermint soap isn't doing much to perk up my senses.

4:56 a.m: Doing bicep reps holding my Solano hair dryer in Hindu goddess poses trying to sufficiently prevent myself from contracting pneumonia simply because my 'fro was out of control and need to be tamed back into a manageable moptop.

5:37 a.m: Running around my basement like a banshee trying to find exactly where I stuffed those oh-so-sexy pair of thermal underwear to layer under my slacks and furry snow boots.

6:11 a.m: Two Ensures are chugged down as liquid nourishment to go, and I bring the old school AM/FM walkman without the tape deck to get my daily fix of hate from Star and Buc while I pounding the pavement.

8:49 a.m: Trying to weed through the advantage takers for a legitimate carpool further downtown on the corner of Underhill & Vanderbilt is as easy as getting a quick response from EMS in an urban neighborhood.

9:32 a.m: Contemplated hitching a ride with an Aviator full of Pace students, but the vibe was just a little too Negrodian for even me. Young Jeezy blasting in the whip before 10? Nah son, you can go ahead...I'll be alright.

10:25 a.m: I make my way over to the Red Cross hot chocolate booth off City Hall to refuel with a freebie before heading down Fulton Street into work.

Bottom line, I woke up two and a half hours earlier than usual only to be trapped in a snail's crawl to travel the normally clocked 25-minute trip. When it was all said and done, my average of just over a half hour from the subway was tripled in a bone chilling atmosphere. At any other time, I'm happier as a bug in a rug since today kicks off the first day of my favorite season. But this monkey wrench in the script fucked the game up beyond oblivion.

At this point I'm beyond frustrated with both the MTA and the TWU. Both sides need to be padlocked into a room until something concrete can come of this. I respect the union's stance, but goddamn... a sista's feet were crying the blues tonight.

The one upside in this whole fiasco? The emergence of Roger Toussaint as the perfect successor to Mike Quill's billy bad ass swagger. He's public enemy no. 1 on many a dartboards in the city, but dammit, when you see a countryman cause a crooked monopoly to get weak in the knees, you gotta respect the gangsta. Mama always said we Trinis don't bite nice...a metropolis had to learn this one the hard way. Bracing for the trifecta coming tomorrow...

Labels: New York City, rants, transit strike

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