TRANSIT NIGHTMARE

I almost don't want to write about the stupid transit strike because secretly I think it will give the whole situation more power somehow but what...a complete bummer.

Yesterday I left our house around 8:30am. Luckily E was able to drive me in a friend's car to the Flatbush LIRR station in Brooklyn which took up 30-40 minutes (normally 15 mins). From there I ran into my old co-worker who had waited on the ticket line three people away from reaching the machine and I cut in. (Horrible I know) Right before we were about to get tickets the train pulled in and we overhead a cop telling people that you don't need a ticket afterall and to just get on the train. So we did. We got on the LIRR train to Jamaica Queens (20 mins). When we got out we had to cross over several platforms, go down several steps and come out into the street where we were cattle driven into a S shaped line about seven rows deep. A man with a megaphone yelled, "TICKET HOLDERS THIS WAY. EVERYONE ELSE NEEDS TO WAIT ON THAT LINE!!!" We turned our head to see what 'that line' was and it was grim. Super grim. This photo doesn't even do it justice. It was MILES long.



It was FREEZING. Not just cold but the kind of cold where it's possible all of your ten toes have snapped off inside your shoe but you won't find out until later when you take your shoe off and they spill out like marbles. Awful. We waited on this line for 45 minutes and kept punching ourselves that we listened to that stupid cop guy at the last station about not getting a ticket in advance.

After finally weaving our way through we boarded a train from Jamaica to Penn Station which CRAWLED along. We were going so slow it's possible we could have walked to Manhattan and gotten there faster.

Once we arrived at Penn Station we had to hoof it up 15 blocks to an edit and then I had to hoof it back another 15 blocks back to my office.

Luckily a co-worker was able to give me a ride home in his car although a normal 1/2hr ride back to Brooklyn instead took 2.5 hours.

My normal commute in a day is a bit over an hour and back. Today took 5.5 hours.

I look forward to doing it all again today, tomorrow and possibly all next week when I return back to work until this thing ends.

Happy holidays!

JANE

If Jane our orange tabby cat came with a tag this is what it would say:

Hello. My name is Jane. I like to eat cobwebs and sit in empty laundry baskets. I like to wake up my owner two seconds before the alarm goes off each and every morning. If my owner pushes snooze then I will jump on their pillow and yell MEOW at volume ten in one of their ears until they get up. If that doesn't work I will then stick my paw in the plastic cup full of water on the bedside table and knock it to the floor each and every time until they sit up and yell JANE!!!!!!!!!!!. I love to lick photographs especially precious old ones that should not be in my reach and can never be recovered. I will know when you are sad or sick and curl up in a ball next to you. When you are eating ice cream I will try and stick my head in the bowl or if you are eating pasta with cheese sprinkled on top I will try and lick the cheese. I like to sit in suitcases that are open and currently being packed but only after they are full of black clothing I can leave my orange fur on. I like to sit on magazines and then run like I am on a treadmill scratching as I run in place until the magazine cover is full of white scratch lines and torn to shreds. I like to cuddle with you on the couch but only when you are turned on your side and I can go under your arm otherwise I will meow until you turn over. I love visitors especially women. I love parties and will be sure to hang out in plain site so as to get attention rather than hide from the noise and the crowd like most cats. I like to drink water out of the Christmas tree stand. I like to chew on the ribbons of all the gifts. I will let you know when it's time for bed before you do. I will stand by you giving you three sharp MEOWS that linger a bit at the end and then I will walk and stand by the bed looking at you with a cold stare. In other words I am Jane. I run this house.

EVEN

Some of you may recall from a previous post that recently I went to look at an apartment for one of my best friends J moving back from London with her husband and baby. The apartment is in the neighborhood and only a ten minute walk from my place. They ended up getting it and will be living there as of Monday. Still seems too good to be true.

On Friday I offered my services to take a personal day from work and receive her shipment of stuff coming from storage. Her place is gigantic - five rooms, great light with a backyard and a basement with washer/dryer. It wasn't the shipment coming from England but rather stuff she had put into storage before going to England there over a year and a half ago. It would be easy. The boxes would be clearly marked with what room they should go in. I was to just to oversee that the movers put them in the right rooms for the most part. The moving service they hired would actually open the clearly marked boxes and put things away in the proper rooms. No worries! Have a coffee and relax. Read the paper. Everything will be simple and great. Heck, I'll even wear a long clean white sweater since I won't be getting dirty.

UM.......

Three moving guys arrived and the main guy immediately gave me a clipboard of several pages - an Excel sheet of 99 boxed items over half of labeled MISCELLANEOUS or something vague like TABLE. What kind of table??? Dining room? Living room? Bedside? I frowned and scanned the document on the clipboard with a look of concern. The main moving guy looked at my long white sweater and me holding the clipboard and said - dead serious...

M: You look like a docta.
K: Huh. (scanning through all the pages)
M: Are u a docta?
K: No I am not a doctor.
M: Are you sure? Cause you really look like one.
K: Sigh. I didn't realize how many boxes there were...
M: You a nurse?
K: No I am not a nurse.
M: ...you sure?
K: (now looking up) YES I am sure
M: Ok sorry. You just reeally look like you work in the medical proffesion.

He shrugged and walked off.

Moments later the real stress began. One by one each moving guy would come in the room and yell out a number BINGO style "SEVENTY FIVE!!!"...."NINETEEN!"....TWO!!!!" and I had to quickly scan the clipboard, check off that the proper item had arrived and perhaps the most stressful part of all - make an immediate decision which of the five rooms the 99 boxes of MISCELLANEOUS crap would go in. In close to every situation the box was labeled wrong. Out of the corner of my eye I would see one guy uwrapping a set of champagne glasses in the bedroom, the other setting up a blender in the living room and the other coming in the door yelling with the gusto of a hotdog seller at a ballpark, "NUMBA FIFTEEN...I GOTTA NUMBA FIFTEEN!"

As things quickly started to spin out of control, perhaps it was the doctor instinct in me that decided I needed to find a remedy for this nightmare situation and I mean FAST.

I told the main moving guy that moving forward they could call out a number but I needed them to open each box, unwrap one item and then I would determine what was in it and what room it should go in. As a result to save time once the box was in the right room I would rapidly unwrap the 30 items per box and quickly start to put things away, gather the newspaper and throw the one moving guy an empty box as the other yelled out the next number.

By the end my back was KILLING me. I was FILTHY. I was EXHAUSTED. I guzzled the Snapple Ice Tea I brought with me, a large water and a coffee as I went along and at one point quickly went to use the bathroom and opened the door to see THERE WAS NO TOILET. Or SINK. Or BATHTUB. Apparently they were to be installed the next day. Great...I went back to unpacking.

My friend J has done many things for me in my life. And despite the 50 gallons of liquids putting pressure on my bladder as I unpacked each and every posession she ever owned over the course of her lifetime, I was able to still be sentimental as I came across those reminders of our friendship in the form of photographs, college yearbooks, clothes once shared and even household items.

Over five years ago, I arrived unannounced at the doorstep of J's tiny apartment having just left my husband, my home, all my posessions, my cat and my marriage. I was devestated, lost and confused. Her now husband was there the night I arrived and hauled my suitcase full of random crap up five flights. They made me tea. I slept on the couch that night but moving forward the nights she was home and he wasn't there, we often slept side by side like sisters in her tiny, tiny bed. Months went by and not a question asked. No rent asked for until I began to rebuild my life, get a new job and thanks to the support and love of other close friends and family I got up and going again.

When the movers finally left, I did one last sweep of the place and rearranged a few items. I placed a tiny live Charlie Brown Christmas tree in the corner of the living room with a gift under it for the baby from E and I. I put on my jacket and turned off the lights. As I walked down the steps I realized that despite my bladder about to burst, my cell phone dead, my white sweater covered in filth, my body in utter pain, that perhaps I was finally able to give a little something back. A cozy place in Brooklyn all set up and waiting for them to come home to.