I graduated from college without a job so I moved home to zmother's house. After about six to nine weeks I got a job at the aforementioned union shop so I commuted there from the Neck. This involved driving on the Palisades Interstate Parkway, locally known as the Palisades or, more affectionately, the Pip (but not thePip).
Although I have a handful of fond memories from the early 1990s relating to time spent in cars on the Rockefeller and Alpine lookouts, the Pip might have been the worst stretch of highway in the Northeast back then. Neither New Jersey nor New York would invest any money in it, both asserting that the Port Authority was responsible for its maintenance. It had so many potholes that it was like driving on the surface of the moon. People would routinely get flat tires, so there often were cars on the side of the road. And it's an ancient road with no shoulder or acceleration lanes, so people bomb onto it with a full head of steam. It has a 50 MPH speed limit and tons of hidey-holes for Johnny Law so it's easy to get a ticket. And it spans the NY/NJ border so, of course, many of the drivers who use it are raging assholes.
I had many bad experiences commuting on the Pip. Some people drove below the 50 MPH limit because the road was so chewed up and it was not uncommon to get stuck behind two cars driving 47 MPH side-by-side in both lanes. It was just as common to deal with maniacs doing 80 MPH, perhaps in a hurry to get to White Castle. These maniacs liked to tailgate, and I would get out of the way when I could but sometimes there was simply nowhere to go--I was boxed in by the other cars and had to deal with being tailgated.
The Pip is a scenic road. As the name implies, it rides atop the Palisades Cliffs so it has great views of New York City. This means that it's right on the Hudson River so there are times when the cliffs, and thus the Pip fill with fog. There were two or three occasions where the visibility was almost zero (even worse than that ride back from JMU in the snow, a reference for only two of us). It was not fun.
All of this is to say that driving on the Pip sucks. They've since repaved it so it's better, but it still has no shoulder, a 50 MPH limit, and NY/NJ assholes driving on it.
As a result, this Jalopnik article did not surprise me. I recognized the Pip after not more than 5 seconds of video, and this is exactly what it was like commuting to work.
Here's another angle.
Yes, people drive like this on the Pip. And yes, people who drive on the Pip cheer when other people crash on the Pip.
I'm sure TR will opine that I was an aggressive driver in my youth and I will agree, I drove faster than I should've. But this is next level idiocy by everyone involved. And this is how I used to start my day! Luckily TR's homeboys' Aunt Fanny had a place to rent so we moved to Money Earnin'. But then I had to commute on the Sprain which might have been worse. Foreshadowing! Postcount!
After graduating from college I got a job working in a laboratory for a large pharmaceutical company. My site was over 100 years old and was responsible for many important innovations over the decades. It was a throwback to an earlier time when companies did everything in-house. For example, there was an eyeglasses shop on site. You could bring your prescription and they would make free safety glasses for you. The frame options were terrible and the lenses were bulletproof-glass-thick but they were free. I got a pair of prescription sunglasses there.
They also had their own plumbers, electricians, HVAC repair, you name it. It was almost like a little town unto itself or maybe a college campus. All of these repair/support roles were unionized.
Like many other laboratories, mine had freezers that went all the way down to -80C, we referred to them as a "minus eighty." You put things in a minus eighty to assure they don't degrade or break down. You know how they find a frozen wooly mammoth perfectly preserved in ice once in a while? That's what a minus eighty does.
One day I went to open one of the minus eighties and there were a bunch of lights flashing on the front. The thermometer said it was only -60C or something like that. So I quickly moved as much as I could from the broken minus eighty to my other minus eighty, but I didn't have enough room for all of it so I used space in another lab's minus eighty with the promise that I would get it out of there as soon as possible.
Then I called refrigeration. They said they could fix it but I had to call trucking to get it over to them. I called trucking and they said I needed to get it on the loading dock so they could pick it up. So I unplugged the minus eighty and rolled it to the door (they're all on wheels). It was too big to fit so I had to take the door off the hinges. Then I rolled it to the freight elevator, went down two flights, and pushed it onto the loading dock. I told trucking where it was and a few days later they picked it up and brought it to refrigeration.
Months passed. I called refrigeration about once a week and they assured me they would get to it soon. My colleagues were pissed that all of our stuff was smushed into one minus eighty and/or in someone else's minus eighty. No one knew where anything was so they had to check two minus eighties to find their antibodies or whatever.
The other lab was pissed that I put stuff in their minus eight for months. I told them the story with refrigeration but they didn't care. They complained to the head of their lab who complained to the head of my lab who came to me and I promised him I didn't break the minus eighty, I'm just the stupid mope who found it thawing and tried to take care of the situation. He liked me and didn't give me a hard time. He was a frat guy and he was delighted when he told me I needed to take the annual sexual harassment training and I replied "I don't need sexual harassment training, I was in a frat and I know all about it." He was fooling around with someone else in the lab so he knew all about it too.
I walked over to refrigeration a few times to see where things stood. I never saw anyone fixing any equipment but there was a lot of bullshitting and eating. To be fair, the place was littered with fridges and freezers and air conditioners and lots of oddball lab equipment that involved a condenser so they had a lot to do, and the union didn't let them do much during the course of an eight hour day. I was persistent and polite and told them how much grief I was getting over this freezer with the hope that they might move me up in the queue.
Finally I got a call from refrigeration--the minus eight was ready to come home. Of course, they couldn't do anything about it, I had to set it all up. So I called trucking and they brought it to the loading dock. When I started to push it into the freight elevator the truck driver said "Oh! Whut da fug do yoo tink YAW doin?!?" And I replied "Bringing the freezer back upstairs." It might have been better if I said "I'm fuggin yaw wife ya limp dick marmalook!" He was apoplectic. "Dat's a YOONyin job! You can't move dat fridge!"
I guess the look on my face helped him realize I had no idea what he was talking about. He softened a bit and explained "Dis is a YOONyin shop. Awl the diffrint depahtmints have a contract so dat only YOONyin imployEEZ can do spuhsific stuff. Only trucking can drive tings from one location to anover. Only mooving can moov tings. Das how dis goes."
I thanked him for the clarification and left the minus eighty on the loading dock. I called moving and asked them to move the freezer back. They said it would take a week. I said something like "I'm not asking you to push it to Chicago, just roll it 15 feet onto the elevator and down the hall to the lab." That was not the correct approach. Two weeks later they called to tell me they were on their way to move the minus eighty. And of course I was still catching frequent shit from everyone I worked with over the situation.
I met two gentlemen on the loading dock. There were always two guys. If you needed an outlet fixed, two guys showed up. If a toilet was clogged, two guys showed up. They would look at whatever needed repair, condescendingly tell you how stupid you were to allow this to happen, then one of them would take 90 minutes to fix it while talking to the other one about whether to buy an F-150 or a Silverado. The answer was always F-150 but it was a popular debate. When Iceman, the guy who delivered the dry ice, got a purple Ford Ranger it brought disgrace upon his wife and children. Or they would debate what modifications to make to their motorcycles, or talk shit about some other guy's modifications to his motorcycle. Occasionally the debate would involve Mustang vs. Camaro and they liked it when I chimed in (so they could mock me for driving a Miata, which honestly was great fun). Then they would leave.
It was not uncommon for the two guys to have the same name so one would be Big and the other would be Little (based on physical size not age). Like Big Ray and Little Ray the electricians. If they didn't have the same name the junior guy would get a shitty nickname. Like if the senior guy was Lenny the junior guy was called Squiggy.
I don't remember the guys' names but the big guy was big, kind of a Rob Ryan look-alike only bigger. He intimated that I was a wimp because I was not fat or tall and I did not move things. He wheeled the minus eighty into the freight elevator while the little guy remained silent. We rode up to the third floor and he pushed it down the hall. When we got to the freezer room he realized it wouldn't fit through the doorway. I said "Yeah, you have to take the door off the hinges to get it in."
He exploded. "I can't take duh daw awf iz hinjiz!! I'm moving! Das a fuhsilluhdeez job!"
I couldn't hold myself together. "Dis iz fuggin boolshit!" I replied. "I've been waidin tree fuggin munts tuh get dis freezer back! It's been siddin on da loadin dock for two goddam weeks while I waidid for you to spend tree minits rollin it up here! I got everyone in dis bildin bustin my bawls about geddin dis freezer back! I got every delivery guy in a hundrid mile radius bustin my bawls about dis fuggin ting blockin dem on da loading dock! Now you're just gonna leave it in da fuggin hawlway until someone from facilities removes da door? How long will I haveta wait for him? Den how long do I haveta wait for you ta come back ta roll it trew da doorway? And da whole time I'm gonna have Safety up my ass about da fire hazard from blockin da hawlway with a fuggin minus eighty! Fug dat. I'm takin da door off myself and you're rollin da freezer in. You can tell whoever da hell you want dat I did dis, I don't give a fug."
He was stunned. I walked to my lab bench and got my electric screwdriver (I had to disassemble and clean our 96-well plate washer at least twice a month so I splurged on the screwdriver). I started unscrewing the screws that held the door in place, mumbling stuff like "Deez fuggin mutts" under my breath. The big moving guy sheepishly said "I kin do dat, but don't tell nobody I did. I'll get in big trouble wit fuhsilluhdeez." Eventually I relented so he could salvage his dignity. The door came down, the minus eight went in, the door went back up, and I was able to get my group's stuff back in the deep freeze.
To put it more succinctly, but perhaps less entertainingly, what would've taken a week or less with almost zero effort from me on the free market took months of time and immeasurable angst through our on-site union shops. That's my experience with unions.
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