I’m not ashamed to admit that I went to bed last night hopeful that the transit workers would go on strike, but only for one day. Just one day is all I wanted. Sure it would have meant getting up at 6:00 rather than 7:45, but it would have also have meant a private car from my apartment to work shared with two other riders and a driver, of course. This would have meant having a trunk to cart my 25 pound (at least) bundle of Tex in the City goodies rather than humping the load as though I were a sherpa. I am not a sherpa nor a pack mule, but a skinny girl in high heels walking way too far and sweating way too much to be considered chic. Especially when my hat kept falling into my eyes. I raised my chin high to see under the brim and huffed and puffed till I made it into the office. Now watch, they’ll go on strike tonight instead and really tick me off.
Only in New York Quote of the Day:
Him to His Balding Partner: You have about as much talent as you have hair.