When I woke up Tuesday morning, I wasn’t really sure what the transit strike would mean for me. I knew that my usual Metro North trains would be running, and that I would be able to walk—like I usually do in good weather—from the train to work in about ten minutes. I sat watching the news for a few minutes and everything that they said seemed so terrible. I saw images of people walking over bridges, and complaining about every aspect of the city’s contingency plan. The part I found most humorous was parents complaining about how their children’s schools would open late—what am I to do with Johnny until 10:30?
New York City teachers were given a one hour grace period, which we all took to mean that you didn’t have to be at work until 9:30. Since I usually arrive in the building around 7:00 in the morning, I decided to take a later train, but still arrive by 8:15. When I did arrive I realized that the building was just as barren as it usually is when I arrive, and I would still have my quiet time to work alone. The only thing that I really found out of sorts was that most of the office staff had not yet arrived, so a security guard was answering the phones. She’s a funny, loud mouthed, southern Mama that usually tells you exactly what she is thinking; all the while calling you Boo (and speaking VERY LOUDLY!). She thought it outrageous that parents and children were calling to see what time school opened, “Don’t you have a TV? Don’t you watch it? Haven’t you seen there’s a strike? It’s all over the news on TV and the radio that you don’t have to come in at regular time! 10:30 Boo, and if you come earlier, don’t expect me to open the door and let you in!” After that conversation, she turned to me and revealed how dumb she thought the last caller was, and reminded me that these people live with the TV and radio on, how could they miss it? Then she rattled on about how all this just made her angry and not answer the phone anymore, but she still did. EVERY TIME!
Well after the first day, it seemed that everyone found their routine to get to work, and we quickly got accustomed to teaching only half a day, after having plenty of time to plan and hang out with your colleagues in the hour before the students arrived. Ahh the life! It was great while it lasted, especially since it was right before vacation and the kids were wild to begin with!
I read a few articles about the strike and its impact on various facets of life in the city that never sleeps, one of which was the negative impact the strike was having on attendance rates in public schools. I think that one report stated that high school attendance rates went down to 31%, middle schools to 66% and elementary schools to 70%. I think that my students threw off that curve! I had perfect attendance everyday of the strike. I joke around and call my homeroom class of seventh graders mailmen: through rain, snow, sleet, hail, and strikes, they call come to school on time! Got to love my little ones!
On Thursday afternoon we were singing a different tune though. With the possibility of the strike ending one day before our vacation was really a drag. Why did it have to end, it was so convenient for us! What were we supposed to do with kids for an entire day on Friday? Actually teach for eight periods?!? Oh… the horror! Well the strike did end on Thursday night, and despite our hopes and prayers, the transit system was up and running to full capacity by the Friday morning commute. We welcomed the children at 8:30, and it was back to business as usual.