Transit Strike, Day 3: The Fur-real Life
"Gotta have 14 to a car, seeee? It's the rule, mmyeah. Gotta hang on to the door like this, seeee? Hey kid, pay attention, K? Mmyyeaahh."
I'm a walker. I love walking. It's what I do. Long strides, gaining "real estate" on those ahead of you, matching your footsteps to the beat of Britney Spears' "Toxic" remix. My name isn't Michelle "Puttin-One-Foot-In-Front-Of-The-Other" Collins for nothing.
But you know what I don't like?
I DON'T like having to wake up on a strange couch at 6 in the morning, not being able to shower, and having static electricity coursing through your hair. I DON'T like having to shlep my huge weekender bag 3 miles, while walking in huge, furry snow shoes that turn your feet into two pools of misery. I DON'T like the feeling of somehow being freezing cold while at the same time sweating your ass off. I DON'T like coming to work and having to peel off soaked layers of cashmere and other exotic fabrics sold at Target. I DON'T like spending $10 at Starbucks in the morning because you rationalized that you "deserve it." I DON'T like arriving to work at 8:30 am only to discover you're the last person to come in.
And, above all else, I DON'T like it when you realize that you're sitting in a cubicle, 10 miles away from your cozy-ass apartment, with no plan on how to get home after work.
There is, thankfully, one glimmer of hope in all this.