Strike

"They're punishing the wrong people," the man standing next to me said, looking north down the empty track. We were waiting at the Rector Street station for the next R train. It had been almost 15 minutes since a W, which ends at Whitehall Street, passed. No good to either of us. Normally the R to Brooklyn comes every 10 minutes. "They start playing games, slowing down early."

I felt the same way, but it was too cold to have a conversation with the man. And what was the point of complaining anyway? If transit workers declare a strike Friday as planned, there's not a whole lot we can do about it except make alternative plans.

My company has a contingency plan. Buses will run from various neighborhoods to lower Manhattan until 11 a.m. and return until 9 p.m. But the nearest stop to me is about a mile away. In 15-degree weather, one mile can seem like five. Maybe I can work from home.

I was trying to remember what I did during the last transit strike, which was in April 1980. I was a high school senior, and even though I took the bus to school every day, I lived a mile from school and walked. But at least the weather was nice.

That transit strike spawned a fashion trend: professionals wearing sneakers to work. I have mine ready just in case.