Yeeeow! The transit strike is ON! And let me tell you, booooy, is it ever wacky out there! Traffic’s a panic! People are coming out of the woodwork like cucarachas, scurrying every which way, their little legs not used to havin’ to move very much thanks to the public transportation system that they take for granted. Well, listen up, everyone who doesn’t have it too bad and who really does live within “walking distance” of wherever you have to go: You were given legs for a reason. To use ’em for this thing we call walking. They’re not just there for decoration or to act as a convenient place to store your pants. I know it’s difficult to grasp such a notion, but deal with it. Many of you whom I’ve seen on the street this morning look like this transit strike could turn out to be the best thing that ever happened to your atrophied* asses.
Now, before anyone accuses me of being insensitive or flippant and feels the need to take a black Sharpie and scribble a cock near the mouth of my cartoon face at the top of the page, let me just say that I do have sympathy for anyone who lives far enough away from his destination that walking is not an alternative. I have sympathy for anyone who is appropriately incapacitated (being lazy and/or having a fat ass is not appropriate incapacitation) or who has to carry a full set of encyclopedias from door to door in this chaos. I feel bad for people so ugly that they have to show their faces above-ground rather than slink into seats on the subway to avoid public ridicule. But for the most part? Nope. I just don’t.
This morning I went to the gym in a taxi, as I do every morning. I do this because I live more than 80 blocks from the gym (there are several in my neighborhood, but I prefer the one downtown) and I leave way before dawn. Usually I take the subway or bus home, and many times I only do so for about half the trip and then walk the rest of the way. (You know how magazines have articles telling people how to burn more calories and stop being lazy fucks, and to do this they should park the car far away from the mall or take the stairs instead of the escalator/elevator or get off a stop or two before their usual bus stop? Well, I’m the person who actually does that stuff. I’m the one running up the stairs when everyone else is standing in a coma on the human conveyor belt.)
So today I walked the whole way home. The trip is about 4-1/4 miles, and it took me just under an hour, including stops at traffic lights and a wonderful five-minute or so chat with a man and his dog, Bosco, whom I met along the way. The walk served a double duty: it replaced my usual hour of “cardio” and acted as my transportation. I hadn’t been that excited since someone gave me a pen that has little Post-It “flags” built into its barrel!
I walk everywhere anyway. Even when I don’t “have to”. (Hence, the “Wandering Jew” description at the top of the page.) “Walking distance” for me is probably a lot more liberal than it is for most people. I don’t mind at all. What I do mind is people grumbling that they have to use their legs for trips they shouldn’t have been using public transportation for in the first place.
Yes, the strike sucks. Yes, the strike blows. But for those of you whose only physical challenge is to stop being such sloths, maybe this pain in the ass is the kick in it you so desperately need.
* Only in a muscular sense. Adipose-wise is another story.
P.S.  I just heard on the news that, just like every car driving within the city must contain at least four passengers, every stroller must contain at least four babies!