Without any of the grandeur and shit-slinging I expected (and shamefully kind of hoped for), the strike is already over. Picket signs, go back to your usual sheds. Workers pick up your usual tools. There's a tentative contract on the table; the opposing team has decided to pack it up and go home. That was so uneventul that I'm a little sad. No pictures of hubby holding a picket sign.
On the upside, we will be having take-out for dinner. JUST SAY NO TO GRILLED CHEESE! Unless, of course, the members don't vote to accept the deal. Then we're back at square one. But in the meantime, it's restaurant food tonight, baby!
Thanks to all for enjoying this brief adventure with me. Again, as a white-collar, I'm still scratching my head. It's like being involved in a car accident. What the hell just happened?