Transit Strike Diary, Day 2

It was fun for a day. Now it's just fucking annoying.

Last night the chartered bus lines my company hired were chaotic. One bus came at 4:00, and the next didn't come until 7:30. So walking was the better way. My legs were so tender after my 1.5-hour walk home last night I took Motrin to reduce the swelling in my hamstrings. Strange for someone who works out so often. I wanted to take a bath, but we don't have a bathtub stopper and I was too tired to press another object into service, so I showered, which didn't really help.

I slept badly, and when I awoke my legs still hurt.

Today I decided I would walk as far as the company's bus stop. No one was waiting when I got there, so I surmised I had just missed a bus. I was about to suck it up and walk when a black car pulled up. A man rolled down the window and asked if I was going to Manhattan. "Lower Manhattan OK?" I asked. "Hop in," he said. He now had the four passengers necessary to enter Manhattan.

I've never accepted a ride from a stranger before, but my instincts--and my legs--told me to do it. Aside from the obvious safety concerns, there's also the chance that the driver might talk incessantly, or smoke, or play zither music. Maybe he gets road rage. You never know. The other passengers were an Asian woman, who sat next to me in the back, and a black guy, who sat in the front next to the driver. No one said much for a while, until the driver asked me how I got to work yesterday. He had ridden his bike to work in Midtown the previous day, he said, but he'd had to stay late and didn't want to bike home in the dark without reflectors and a helmet.

Kevin, the driver, was very excited that he'd been able to find three complete strangers to ride in his car with him. I was surprised I had taken him up on his offer, but all I had to do was massage my legs and be thankful I'd been asked. Traffic moved slowly but steadily, and Kevin saved me at least 20 minutes. People were definitely less thrilled than they'd been on Tuesday, but it was too cold to complain, and who was going to listen anyway?

Kevin dropped me off at City Hall, and I walked another 20 minutes to work, just in time to attend a 90-minute staff meeting. I was in no mood to sit, much less sit and listen to people chatter on about employee surveys and goals. My hamstrings were so tender I couldn't even cross my legs.

I left work with my co-worker Albert at about 4:30. He lives in Boerum Hill, close to the company's bus stop. He had foot surgery a few months ago and didn't know if he could make it, but having someone to walk home with made the pain easier to bear.

The Brooklyn Bridge was thick with pedestrians. Hardly anyone cycled. There was little room for them to pass. At the Brooklyn end of the bridge, blindingly bright lights shone, forcing us to shield our eyes. As we got closer, a familiar voice said, "Welcome back to Brooklyn. You're safe now." It was our borough president, Marty Markowitz, the man who sold us down the river to Ratner.

"What are we safe from?" I said. "Certainly not him."

Albert invited me to his house to have dinner with him and his wife Rachel, and I accepted. Albert made a lovely meal, and a few hours later I made my way back home.

Tonight I'm hoping for a better night's sleep. As Scarlett O'Hara said, "Tomorrow is another day." I could be wrong, but I don't think her legs hurt as much as mine.