Blackout 2003, including FREE desktop wallpaper
dum Dum DUM… BLACKOUT TWO THOUSAND THREE!
Fox news, FAIR AND BALANCED, bringing you the fastest, bestest, most accurate, most motherfucking unbiased coverage of the motherfucking blackout of two thousand motherfucking three!
Here’s what happened: we don’t motherfucking know. Here is footage of people being pulled from subway trains; enjoy.
Thank you, Fox news, you scumholes.
Here’s what happened to Brenda & I:
Power went out about twenty after four. After that, things went downhill.
A series of bad choices made a guaranteed swift exit from the miserable island of Manhattan turn into an interesting evening. Brenda was working a half day in the city today. My office had experienced a transformer fire three weeks ago, so when the lights went out yesterday it seemed like a block-wide annoyance. Our building has also been in the midst of installing fire alert protection, so when my finger was hovering over the send button and the power went out, I was pissed off, in a localized, “this is only block-wide” way.
Ten minutes later, my pal Jimmy and I were making our way west towards Penn Station, still thinking this was a local event. As we approached Penn Station, it was clear that no trains were going outa there, so we made a beeline for the river. We got to the ferry terminal in record time, before the crowds. The whole time I was trying to call Brenda, who was in the city for part of the day today. As I strolled up to the reasonably crowded ferry terminal, my phone began to ring:
“Hello?” “Hey. Where are you??” “I’m at the ferry terminal. Where are you?” “I’m AT YOUR OFFICE!”
Did I forget to tell you we have no “contingency plan”?
“Well, we’re here, get here as soon as you can”, I said, as if that actually constituted a battle plan. My friend Steve and I watched as humans and other degenerates flowed into the area, looking for a ride outta here. After ten minutes, we had moved to the median by the bike path. After another ten minutes, we were ON the median. Eventually, we found Brenda, but the ferry situation was pretty well fucked up by then (right-click and download to your desktop for a fun Blackout 2003 Keepsake!):
Brenda found, we split for some cold water and beer/wine. But the sun was setting and a plan was in order. After creeping around our friend Hugh’s place, we tried a few of our other friends cell numbers, to no avail. The sun was setting, and a plan was now required equipment. We ended up where we stared, at the 39th street ferry terminal. It was about then that Tom Clisby walked up to me, a guy I had not seen in years, but had worked with ten years ago, and said, “so, we meet again.” The three of us queued up and decided to grin and bear it; 70 minutes later we were on a ferry.
After a while we were in Hoboken, walking south to the train station. Brenda & I got on a train that was not our train, but was going in the general vicinity of our house, and that was damn good enough for us at this point. Tom decided to stay in Hoboken and hope that his train to Montclair would show up on the board. I still do not know if he made it home last night.
After an hour’s ride to Newark, which normally takes 15 minutes, we hopped over to a NE Corridor train bound for Metropark, where our Car was located. A short drive home, and a stiff gin & tonic later, and all was right with the world.
But you know what, people? I’m pissed off. After 9-11 I thought the NYPD went through some kind of training for major events. After yesterday’s events, it’s clear that either they didn’t, or we didn’t get our money’s worth. The cops sucked ass yesterday. My co-worker pal relayed this experience: a fellow commuter asked which ferry to get on, and the friendly police officer replied “I don’t give a shit what you do, all I know is I’m getting paid $50.00 an hour right now.” Yes, thank you, you fucking asshole. I’m glad we all banded together after 9-11 so we can be abused like this today, you fucking dick. Enjoy the overtime pay, I’ll be hating you privately, dickhead.
lighting simulationist, crossfitter, former drinker.