How Beatrice Stole Christmas

The transit strike is what we have all been waiting for to make this town more Christmas like.

I walked across the Brooklyn Bridge to work today. It took me one hour and forty-five minutes from door to door.

Despite the cold, I was well prepared with my I-Pod Shuffle and my Kenneth Cole lumber jack coat.

I didn’t even wear gloves. I was fearless with my I-Pod and Kenneth Cole kissing me warm as I walked at least eight miles today with temperatures in the upper twenties.

But I saw people with really big butts walking the Brooklyn Bridge too and they seemed not to mind the hike, so why should I? I realized I too am a fat ass making that trip today.

I can’t do this for a week, nor can I afford a $50 per day taxi fare.

I could ride a bike, but why should I?

Walking is inspiration with us fat people.

We don’t fight for subway seats on the Brooklyn Bridge. We smile at each other, pulling each other onward to the salt mines.

But my feet feel refreshed walking in the City That Never Sleeps, without all that commotion under our feet sending slight bolts of energy through my awaked Kundalini transformed body.

The city was sedate today. For those of you who missed day one of the strike by staying snuggled up in your beds with visions of sugar plumbs dancing in your head, I advise you to get your fat ass up tomorrow and go to work.

Because it’s Christmas time. Not only are we not spending money, but half the stores are not even open.

That must be hard for a businessman who pays millions a year for store front in Soho.

I couldn’t even find a Starbucks open at 9:05 a.m.

I was going to reward myself for my walk with a Venti Late, but the NYC Transit Authority put a halt to the Starbucks Beast.

It’s like that Christmas cartoon, where the entire city is dancing around in a circle, hand-in-hand, down in Whoville and the Grinch is sitting at the top of the Empire State Building with King Kong, and both are about to come down and ruin Christmas for the residents of Whoville.