After work last night, I walked all the way up to West 103rd Street before I was able to get an available cab that was willing to take me home, and I think the driver only agreed because he didn’t know until it was too late that Dyckman is so far uptown.
This morning, I took another livery cab in to work. I’m aggravated that I’m pissing away money on this strike; most livery vehicles in my neighborhood are charging a flat fee of $15 or $20. And speaking of money, do you know how much these yahoos make? Under their current contracts, both subway operators and bus drivers earn about $62,500 (including overtime) a year, train conductors average $53,000 and subway booth clerks make $50,720, according to MTA estimates published today by Bloomberg News. And under the new contract being offered by the MTA, an average 3.5% raise each year through 2008. Gee, that’s rough.
Traffic has gotten both better and worse. Better, because commuters are more adjusted to the conventions of the situation. Worse, because everyone that didn’t think of it yesterday is now attempting to take non-striking trains in to work, like the Metro North. A coworker told me yesterday I should just take a cab to the Metro North station at 125th Street and take the train in to Penn Station, saving money and avoiding traffic jams. But I’ve read of hour and a half waits just to get tickets and Penn has never been so packed, to the point that people have had trouble entering and exiting; one person told WNBC the station experience was “like being in the mosh pit of a Metallica concert.”
Because of my isolated location, I’ve determined my best bet is to continue relying on livery cabs. The ones in my neighborhood have taken to congregating across the street from the Dyckman/200th Street station of the 1 train, and commuters have gotten used to the “4 people per vehicle” recruitment pitch, roaming the sidewalks and asking random passers-by, “You need a ride? You goin’ downtown?”
The driver and three other guys that piled in with me this morning were less chatty than yesterday’s group, but spoke in Spanish when they did, so I was in conversational darkness again. The driver, who was understandably cranky about the traffic, emitted strings of what I assume were curses and outbursts of exasperation, which contrasted strangely with Andy Williams on the all-Christmas-music radio station, singing about the most wonderful time of the year, a sentiment surely held in doubt by the vehicle’s fares and a few million other New Yorkers.
Despite getting snared in the same East Side gridlock as yesterday, as well as picking up additional passengers along our route as others disembarked, it only took an hour and a half to get to work. I miss my subway, with its cheapness and reliability.