Trouble
I was reminiscing on my way to work today– walking 6.25 miles each way to a job that pays $24.72 per hour in a town where rent is $1,200 per month and a pack of Nathan’s hotdogs is $5.99 at the supermarket.
I was reminiscing about that childhood Christmas cartoon, “A Charlie Brown Christmas” as I stomped my way to work, not in a pleasant mood. After all, transit workers who scrape gum from subway platforms already have more benefits through their job than I.
It was a bad thought, that memory of a Charlie Brown Christmas. All I could remember from the Cartoon was the little orphan tree at the end of the show that was saved by a group of kids and a blanket. And I tried to remember the plot during the one hour and forty-five minute journey but could not.
Poor Charlie Brown. Nobody believed in that tree but him. They tried to nick name me Charlie Brown when I was a kid but I told them to call me Peppermint Patty or shut up.
The transit strike in New York City is awful. It’s like a gay bar at closing time when one is extremely horny. People are running through town like roaches scurrying across a Brooklyn kitchen when the light is turned on.
New Yorkers are starting to wear and look exhausted, a lot like a Charlie Brown Christmas trees and roaches.
Day two of the strike wasn’t like day one. On day one, it was fun. We all thought it may last for only a day and we smiled together with fat asses flapping in the wind on the Brooklyn Bridge.
Citizens of River City are growing tired as day three promises much of the same.
We got trouble my friends, right here, I say trouble right here in River City. Trouble with a capital T, that rhymes with P, and that stands for Car Pool.
I didn’t see one commuter on the Brooklyn Bridge carrying Christmas packages today.
Even September 11th wasn’t this financially disastrous for New York. One does not have to be the city Comptroller or Mayor to know that.
New York is still the financial capital of the world isn’t it?
I was reminiscing about that childhood Christmas cartoon, “A Charlie Brown Christmas” as I stomped my way to work, not in a pleasant mood. After all, transit workers who scrape gum from subway platforms already have more benefits through their job than I.
It was a bad thought, that memory of a Charlie Brown Christmas. All I could remember from the Cartoon was the little orphan tree at the end of the show that was saved by a group of kids and a blanket. And I tried to remember the plot during the one hour and forty-five minute journey but could not.
Poor Charlie Brown. Nobody believed in that tree but him. They tried to nick name me Charlie Brown when I was a kid but I told them to call me Peppermint Patty or shut up.
The transit strike in New York City is awful. It’s like a gay bar at closing time when one is extremely horny. People are running through town like roaches scurrying across a Brooklyn kitchen when the light is turned on.
New Yorkers are starting to wear and look exhausted, a lot like a Charlie Brown Christmas trees and roaches.
Day two of the strike wasn’t like day one. On day one, it was fun. We all thought it may last for only a day and we smiled together with fat asses flapping in the wind on the Brooklyn Bridge.
Citizens of River City are growing tired as day three promises much of the same.
We got trouble my friends, right here, I say trouble right here in River City. Trouble with a capital T, that rhymes with P, and that stands for Car Pool.
I didn’t see one commuter on the Brooklyn Bridge carrying Christmas packages today.
Even September 11th wasn’t this financially disastrous for New York. One does not have to be the city Comptroller or Mayor to know that.
New York is still the financial capital of the world isn’t it?
posted by Charles George Taylor at
6:56 PM
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