There is a transit strike in New York City.
 
That means no subways or buses are running. They are just sitting silently in their little subway and bus caves and diligently hoping that they can return to their joyful life of transporting angry people at a Not-Quite-Fast-Enough speed.
 
It's not the transit that's striking, you see. The subways would be happy to drive all day and night, really. They don't want a raise or pension benefits or anything--maybe just a little oil and someone to tell  them they look pretty even without a new paint job and possibly a promise that no one will pee
on them on holidays. If you said, "Hey, subway, how about  a pension?", they would probably respond with a Thank-You-But-I'm-Not-Interested.
 
No, 'tis the subway operators that are refusing to work.
 
But why should this matter to ME?
 
I, after all, do not take the subway. *I* have a car.
 
If I did NOT have a car, criminals would have no windows to break. Bad drivers would have nothing to honk at. Giant trees would have nothing on which to fall.
 
But I do have a car and it has provided all those valuable services and more to the state of New York.  So for once there's a crappy thing happening in New York City that doesn't affect me. Ha! For just this  eensy bit of time, I'm a winner, right?

Sigh....

Not exactly precisely, I'm afraid.
 
You see, in order to enter the city in a car, one must have passengers. Scads of them. And none of those passengers can be inflatable or imaginary or unicorns (and, let's be honest, I'm out of unicorns anyway.) And me with a  scheduled-at-the-last-minute-but-still-terribly-important-emergency-audition
has no passengers.
 
Now I do not know much about the logistics of this transit strike, but here is a thing I know:
 
I should NOT have to leave my apartment at one o-clock in the morning to make it to a 10 a.m. audition. This is a factual thing that I am confident about. I feel sure that if you took a vote or a poll anywhere at all, even amongst dolphins or pea-plants or the Irish, my point of view would prevail.
 
Yet I did have to do that very thing.  That very one-o-clocky-in-the-Not-Even-Morning thing.
 
Yes, last night I was forced to sneak into the city in the dead of night (when the "passenger" rule was not in effect), clad only in Strawberry Shortcake  pajamas and mittens. I additionally had to walk fifty blocks whilst carrying a bag of clothing, two bags of books, and a clarinet (it's hard to  explain exactly why I needed all of these things for my audition, but  you'll just have to trust me that I did.)
 
Also there's the part where I was supposed to sing like a lovely bird at aforementioned audition but, instead, sang like someone who had just walked fifty blocks whilst carrying a bag of clothing, two bags of books, and a clarinet.  Not so nicely bird-like as one might hope. To make a long  story only
slightly less long, I didn't get the part. I can only assume the part went to some clarinet-playing, clothes-wearing, book-carrying, and  can-still-afford-a-cab-and-thusly-didn't-have-to-walk-fifty-blocks sort of  person.
 
So the transit strike has me a little bit grouchy. I'd like to  complain a little more, but it's about 9 p.m.  If I want to make it into the city for my show tomorrow night, I'd better leave now.
 

A few years ago, Jill Twiss turned down her admission to law  school, left her hometown of Custer, South Dakota, and moved to New York City to become a stand-up comedian. Needless to  say, her parents were thrilled that she had given  up on the  frivolous idea of becoming an attorney and was instead focusing on something really secure like comedy. Since then she's performed at  venues  ranging from the New York City Subway to Madison Square Garden and was a finalist in the Bud
Light Ladies of Laughter Contest. You can see her writing regularly at  http://jilltwiss.blogspot.com