No fireworks this time

Yet another regular monthly business meeting of Local 282 of the Amalgamated Transit Union (“What’s Ah-Two?”) drifts into the filmy past.

—1) No fireworks this time.
Although it could have degraded to that.
Seems like just about every union meeting I’ve attended migrated to screaming and yelling and loud accusations of sell-out.
Only about eight members were in attendance, but enough, together with the morning and afternoon meetings, to constitute a quorum I guess.
One of the 89 bazilyun proposed arbitrations to be voted on was how the bus-runs were laid out.
Apparently the Company is no longer following a judge’s decision, that school-trippers are actually line-service, and go out even if there’s no school.
I used to do that.
If school was off, the run was canceled.
I still got a full day’s pay, but worked only four-five hours.
If my morning half was all school, I’d get the morning off.
But a yellow-bus company challenged Transit’s doing the schoolwork, and cost came into play.
Transit doing the schoolwork cost way less than the yellow-bus company, so a court sided with Transit saying the schoolwork was actually line-service.
But the stipulation was the work had to run every day, school or not.
Transit did that for a few months, then flip-flopped the judge’s decision and stopped doing the work if school was closed. (Probably ran outta buses.)
At issue were the number of runs over 9&1/2 hours; Transit not counting them, because they were supposedly NOT regular runs (i.e. they were “schoolwork”), yet on the other hand for the judge they claimed they were regular runs (i.e. not schoolwork, but line-service).
“This effects me personally,” a member said. “I pick that work because I get time off if school is closed.”
“Well, there are 157 school-trip runs,” the dais said. “Them 156 other drivers should be here too.”
“I’ll tell ya why them 156 other drivers ain’t here,” someone bellowed.
“They’ve decided this union is a joke; that ya’ve all sold out, and are in bed with management.”
“Uh-ohhhhhh.......” I thought. “FIREWORKS ALERT!”
But nothing came of it.
Everyone on the dais was preparing for a blast.
But we adjourned at 9:30 p.m.; a record.
It probably woulda made me address the crowd.
I usually just sit quietly, but got involved in one of these noisy fracases a while ago.
“This is the same yelling I heard at these meetings 20 years ago; that our union was a sell-out.
We ain’t actually a union, except the mechanics, bless ‘em.
No one participates.
Will I see you at the next meeting? I’ll be here.”

—2) It looks like the guy way up the road by the Thruway along my route into Rochester for the union-meeting has finally given up on decorating his 100-foot Blue Spruce tree.
It’s dark when I start out for the December meeting, and every year that guy had colored lights on that tree, all the way to the top.
I wondered how he did it.
That thing is so tall, ya’d need a cherry-picker; although I suppose ya could do it with a humungous extension-ladder.
Yet every year it was decorated, except last night.
Richards used to do that next to us in Erlton.
Their Blue Spruce in their front yard was about 30-40 feet high, and Ed Richards would hoist up his extension-ladder, and string lights all around it.
Erlton was good for outdoor Christmas decorations.
The family on the southwest corner of Jefferson and Cooper went completely bonkers.
They had lights along every possible edge, and even far away atop their fence.
Ya could tell when they turned ‘em all on; streetlights and house-lights inside dimmed. —The refrigerator would drop its hum.
The Hall family on Wesley Ave. had a notable display. Mrs. Hall was my Cub-Scout den-mother; and Mr. Hall was an electrician.
Mr. Hall had rigged up a washing-machine timer in his basement to energize various Christmas-light circuits he had on his house.
First red; then green; then blue; then white; then altogether.
His house was like watching a theater marquis.

—3) Part of the reason I attended this meeting, was because I turn 65 on February 5, 2009; Medicare age.
I managed to buttonhole the union-prez after the meeting, one Joe Carey (“Carry”); who’s already Medicare age.
Every attempt at my speaking is always a mess; halting silences while I try to put words together, and/or decide what to say.
The old speech-center doesn’t work very well, and hasn’t since the stroke; but since it works fairly well, people assume I’m normal.
And get frustrated when it doesn’t, or think I’m angry because I can’t get words out.
Whether my concerns were answered is questionable, since I probably didn’t get the right questions out.
“My wife turns 65 on January 2, 2009, and got a communication from Transit last October. —Yet I haven’t got anything yet.”
“You don’t need to worry,” Joe said. “You’re already on Medicare.”
“No I’m not,” I said.
“But you’re disabled. You’re on Social Security,” Joe said.
“Social Security, but not Social Security Disability.”
“But once you’re on SSDI you’re on it for life.”
“Negatory,” I said. “That ended about seven years ago so I could go full-time at the Messenger.”
The import, I guess, was that Transit already has what’s needed for me to Medicare Cut-Out; but needed input from Linda.
“On it for life?” I thought. Hmmmmmmnnnnnnnn. “Are ya saying I shouldna discontinued SSDI?”
Around-and-around we went; my halting silences trying to decide what to say.
“If you’re not on Medicare, what health insurance are ya on?” Joe asked.
“Preferred Care,” I said. “We had to fill out a change-form; also when I went off SSDI.”
“Your wife was never on Medicare, which was why Transit needed a change-form.”
So it sounds like we have to drive all the way to Transit to -a) make sure they don’t have me as disabled; and -b) if I need to do a change-form. A “grandstand,” as it were; since they won’t respond to our phone inquiries — probably disturbing their coffee-breaks.
“Yeah, they never call back,” Joe said. “It’s pulling teeth!”
“Yeah, but ya can write,” a compatriot said.
“But that’s different,” I said. “Writing ain’t speaking. The writing works fine, but the speaking doesn’t. I have to let my wife speak for me.”
Driving home afterward I realized my driving works fine too; but not the speaking. —It’s frustrating that everyone thinks I can speak fine when I can’t.

(CUE BLUSTER-KING; and the usual anti-union tirades.)

“Local 282” is the Rochester local of the nationwide Amalgamated Transit Union. (“What’s ‘ah-two?’” is something my mother asked seeing my ATU [Amalgamated Transit Union] button.) —For 16&1/2 years (1977-1993) I drove transit bus for Regional Transit Service (“Transit”), the transit-bus operator in Rochester, NY. My stroke October 26, 1993 ended that. (282 was our union.)

RE: “Adjourned at 9:30 p.m.; a record........” —The regular monthly business meetings of Local 282 usually last until 10 p.m., or later.

The “Thruway” is the New York State Thruway (Interstate-90), which I cross under to get to Rochester.

“Erlton” (‘EARL-tin’) is the small suburb of Philadelphia in south Jersey where I lived until I was 13. Erlton was founded in the ‘30s, named after its developer, whose name was Earl. The “Richards” were our immediate neighbors to the southeast.

“Jefferson” Ave. was the main east-west drag through Erlton we lived on. Both Wesley and Cooper Aves. crossed it.

RE: “Medicare Cut-Out......” —Medicare is primary, and pays its part first. I also have supplementary healthcare insurance from Transit that pays the shortage.

“Linda” is my wife of 40+ years.

The “Bluster-King” is my all-knowing, blowhard brother-from-Boston, the macho ad-hominem king, who noisily badmouths everything I do or say. —My siblings are all flagrantly anti-union.