Well, kids, unless we get our Festivus miracle in the next six minutes, the Transport Workers Union will be striking for the first time in 25 years, and thus will New York City Transit grind to a halt. I am less worried about getting to work and back tomorrow (I have a taxipool with three coworkers to get me to work in the morning, and Lloyd and I are going out to dinner with Bunni, and should be able to get a taxi home afterwards) than I am about getting to Penn Station on Friday, when we are supposed to head to Philadelphia. We have a car service scheduled to pick us up, but I've just taken another look at the contingency plan, and it would appear that we will not be allowed to travel below 96th Street unless there are four people in the car. Lloyd plus me plus the driver: that makes three.
I know that there is something to be done, some way for us to get there. From this vantage point, though, I have no idea what that something is.
It's 12:01. No deal. We're all sitting and waiting.