Author: Anayvvelyse Allen-Mossman

Wednesday, Strike Day 11 6:20 AM I wake up, realizing my alarm for 4:30 either hasn’t gone off or I slept through it. I’m gasping. I jump out of bed and pull on my jeans and union shirt. I also put on my raincoat–I checked the forecast for this morning last night and it didn’t look good. I call Benedikt to tell him and the rest of the group that I’m so sorry, I’m running late, but I’m on my way, please forgive me. I can’t remember if I brushed my teeth. 6:30 I arrive at the delivery picket on 114th Street. We’re standing, Benedikt, Takaya and I, outside of the back entrance to John Jay Hall waiting for trucks to pull in. I’ve already missed everything, apparently. 7:00 Davio, who was there earlier, Benedikt and Takaya convinced the teamsters driving the Sysco trucks to not make deliveries. I’m just there for the pouring rain and non-union drivers who kindly explain to us that they would lose their jobs if they didn’t make the deliveries. Takaya brings us coffee. It is so hot and my fingers are so cold. I mediate for a bit on the benefits and drawbacks of actually drinking it. If I drink it, I’ll be more awake. If I don’t drink it, my hands will be warmer. If I drink it, there will be more...